#i can practically guarantee that i already spend way more time thinking about our interactions than he ever did

[archiveikemen]

Liam Evans 2nd Birthday Campaign: Story

Epilogue [His POV]

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

It was the first time I found myself unable to look at someone because their existence was so dazzling.

Kate: Nn, Liamm

(Cute…) 

I reached between my lover’s legs as she laid below me with tears in her eyes, enduring the pleasure. 

Liam: Like it here?

Kate let out a high-pitched cry of pleasure when I sank my fingers into her wet spot. 

Kate: Ahh, that spot— 

(Cute, cute, so cute.)

As I pumped my fingers in and out of her, she came so hard that she was in a daze.

Seeing her melting from the pleasure made me want to give her even more. 

(Seriously, how can you possibly be this cute and loveable?) 

Kate looked like a cat begging for food when she rubbed her cheek against my hand that was positioned next to her face. 

Liam: ! 

Kate: Liam… already…

It was awfully lascivious.

Liam: Yeah, I’m already at my limit too. 

I was only pretending to be composed because I wanted her to be impressed, even just a little bit.

(But that pretence falls off right away.) 

When in front of Kate, any attempts to act cool were meaningless.

As I reached for my belt, Kate spread her arms wide. 

Liam: Sorry, I don’t think you’ll be getting any sleep until past noon.

Laying on the white sheets scattered with rose petals, she gave me a gentle smile.

Kate: I don’t mind as long as we’ll be sleeping together.

(You’re truly so kind and doting towards me.) 

In place of a reply, I hugged her tight and gave her a breathtakingly deep kiss.

Then I entered her, surrendering myself to the euphoria. 

…

Tom: Thanks, Liam. You’re a great help.

I was standing on stage after practice to help Tom install the new lights. 

Liam: Nah, I was also curious to see how the new lights look. 

Liam: But they’re rather hot, so I think we could consider thinner costumes. 

Stage lights shine brightly on the actors, but they also give off heat, making us feel hot being under them. 

Tom: I see… I’ll discuss that with the costume team tomorrow.

Tom: This is the kind of lighting that best makes our lead actor shine like a star. It was worth every penny of that high price.

Seeing Tom pretend to cry and worry about his wallet made me recall my birthday a few days ago.

Liam: Like a star…

At that moment, I couldn't contain my smile when I thought of Kate’s dazzling smiling face. 

Tom: … You took a day off on your birthday this year. How did you spend it? 

I looked up to see Tom wearing a soft smile as though he knew I had a great birthday. 

Liam: … I had a wonderful time. My lover celebrated with me, and my friends threw a party too.

On the night of my birthday, Kate took my hand and led me to the dining room where everyone from Crown had gathered.

(Victor whipped up a luxurious dinner spread, and Harry and Will prepared presents for me.) 

Colourful streamers popped out from party crackers, filling the room with vibrancy and joy. 

(Last year, I would've been too afraid to accept that happy scene.) 

But with her smiling next to me, I had the courage to embrace that happiness. 

Tom: From that look on your face, I can already tell you had a good time. I’m relieved to know that.

Tom: I’d appreciate it if you could also fly back here to celebrate with us too next year. 

While holding the keys, Tom smiled and I gave a vague smile in return…

(When that day comes, I’ll definitely fly back here like he said.)

Once you’ve gotten a taste of happiness, you can never forget it.

(I long to see your smile again and hear your congratulatory words.)

…

I parted ways with Tom and walked through the streets at night.

(It’s quite late, so Kate’s probably already asleep.)

I had let her know before leaving the castle that I’d be return late, so she definitely went to bed first.

The hands on the clock tower struck twelve, I lost count of how many nights I’ve spent walking alone like this. 

(In the past, I’d go out drinking, partying, or doing dangerous things with Al.) 

But ever since Kate and I started dating, my nightlife decreased dramatically and before I knew it, scouting potential date spots became my norm. 

(Maybe I should look around and plan our next date for the weekend.)

I turned around and went past shops I planned to visit with Kate.

(Here and…)

(This shop too.) 

Liam: That should do it. 

After checking out various places, I was on my way home again.

It had been two hours.

(We’ll have a meal together first, then we’ll check out that shop for some trinkets, after that we’ll go grab a snack…) 

As I was planning our date while walking in the night, the lightness of my heart was shown in my footsteps. 

(Kate will definitely like that shop.) 

A smile formed on my lips when I imagined her reaction, and the smell of modern roses reached my nose. I reached into my pocket and inside it was a pink pouch filled with the rose petals Kate showered me with on my birthday. 

(I was right to turn it into a sachet to carry around with me.)

I narrowed my eyes contentedly when I gently shook the sachet and caught another waft of the roses. 

(I’m sure that this scent will fade away too.) 

But you taught me that there’ll always be next time. 

(Like petals falling off a flower, happiness will eventually come to an end.)

(But I’ll live in the present as though that day will never come.)

— As long as you continue shining brightly at the centre of my world. 

Liam: … This won’t do, I need to see Kate right now. 

I put the sachet back into my pocket and quickened my pace. 

The stars twinkled in the sky. 

…

Without knocking on the door, I sneaked into Kate’s bedroom and saw her sound asleep on the bed. A smile formed on my face.

(She has such an adorable sleeping face… I wonder what kind of dream she’s having.)

From the slight upward curve of her lips, I thought that she must've been having a pleasant dream and laid down next to her.

Before I met Kate, my heart that never once felt full was always dull. 

But after meeting her, I continued being afraid of experiencing happiness and regretting having ever been born.

(... Even now, I still can’t bring myself to say that I’m glad I was born.) 

The scars in my heart remained, and they would never disappear. 

(But despite that, you saved me.) 

Kate smiled happily as I tucked the strand of hair that had fallen onto her cheek, behind her ear.

Kate: Liam… welcome home…

Liam: Sorry, did I wake you? 

I quickly moved away, but Kate stayed fast asleep… 

Liam: … Was she sleep-talking? 

She snuggled up against my chest with a tender smile. 

Liam: … Do you see me even in your dreams? 

Despite not receiving a reply, I wrapped my arms around her and held her close. 

Liam: That’s not fair. I want to see you in my dreams too.

Even now, I’m still afraid of sleeping.

(Because I can never have happy dreams.)

But being by your side makes me feel like I won’t get nightmares.

Liam: I wanted to feel happy and needed by someone, and yet I wasn't prepared to receive happiness. 

Liam: That’s why there were so many moments where I couldn't bring myself to take your hand. 

There were multiple instances where I wished I had taken your hand.

Liam: But because you didn't give up on me, I started believing that I shouldn't give up on myself either. 

Time and time again, you reached out your small hand towards me; and that’s why I can be here right now, expressing my love for you. 

Liam: That’s why, this time, I’ll be the one to hold your hand no matter how many times. 

Liam: If it slips away, I’ll tighten my grip. If we miss each other, I’ll run after you. 

Liam: Even if you give up on yourself, I’ll never give up on you.

Liam: With the rest of my life, I’ll repay you for everything you’ve done for me.

Drawn to her warmth, sleepiness started to wash over me. It was a rare occurrence. 

(It still scares me to give into my sleepiness, but…)

For some reason, I had a feeling I would have a pleasant dream that night.

Liam: Good night, Kate. See you in my dreams. 

As I hugged her tightly and shut my eyes, I saw with my mind’s eye an image of her showering me with petals.

— Tonight, too, the brightest star in my universe was shining brilliantly in my arms. 

[justasparkwritings]

Perpetual Bliss

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Little Angst, Bashful & Timid KSJ

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2.1K

Warning: Light Swearing 

Summary: Seokjin and you have been seeing each other for a few weeks, but neither have you have crossed the line from casually dating to lust and desire... will tonight finally be that night?

Listening: This Kiss by Faith Hill

Notes: This is for @ksmutclub​‘s Summer of Kiss event! 

Tag: @jinpanman

Beta: @sugasbabiie​ of course

           Lightning streaking across the sky.  

           The bubbles in fresh champagne.

           A perfect scoop of ice cream.

           Tingles down your spine.

           Subliminal.

          Driving on a summer day, music blasting, hair moving in the wind.

           Butterflies over a first love.

           A stolen glance.

           Blush creeping over cheeks and ears, burning down your neck.

           Plush pout, gentle lick of a bottom lip, nerves shaking as hands reach and hold.

          A pivotal moment.

          Ahhh.

          Bliss.

          The first kiss.

          Seokjin isn’t one to lean in on the first date, to invade the space of his companions, asking to cross the line between friendly interactions and lust—which is why he didn’t kiss you on your first date. Or second. Or, third.

          In fact, Seokjin has worked himself up in such a tizzy that he isn’t quite sure he remembers how to kiss anyone, let alone how to make the first move.

          “Jin?” You call, staring up into his clouded eyes.

          “Yes?” He answers, eyes coming back into focus, glancing past his lashes to stare at you. You’re beautiful, he thinks, sexy and charming, and so funny.

          Do you know you are hilarious? That when he goes home after every date to relay the jokes you told, he can’t ever get them out because he’s laughing too hard? Which inevitably leaves Yoongi annoyed that he ever decided to ask, “hey, how was the date?” Do you know that he’s crazy about you, that in between rehearsals and practices, he’s counting down the minutes until he sees you again? That when he falls asleep, he’s wondering when he can ask you to spend the night, or stay at yours, so he can hold you, wake up to you, maybe even love you?

          “I was just saying that I don’t really want you to go,” You repeat.

          You’ve propped yourself up on his chest, chin resting against your hand, moving ever so slightly with each intake of Jin’s breath. Somewhere between the third act resolution and the credits, you’d started speaking to him, only to glance up at him and realize he wasn’t paying any attention to you at all. You can feel the rapid beating of his heart, not at all calm and steady as it was a few minutes ago. It is cute, really cute, watching his eyes go out of focus, his thoughts so deep he hadn’t heard the call of his name, not once or twice. But finally, eyes focusing, blinking quickly, lips pouting again, he’s returned to you.

          “I don’t want to go either,” He smiles, “I have to, though.”

          You sigh, fighting the urge to trace his cherry pout with your index finger.

          “I guess, work or something,” You roll your eyes. “Not like you need to pay bills or anything,”

          “I suppose I don’t, but I can’t miss practice,”

          “I mean, you could,”

          Seokjin scoffs, “Ya - you want me to call in sick?”

          “Would it really be that noticeable?”

          “I’m one of seven, of course they’d notice, and I need all the practice I can get,” Jin uses his index finger to bop your nose, the immediate scrunch eliciting a giggle from him. “You’re so cute.”

          You glare, the finger you’d so desperately wanted to use to trace his lips, repeating his actions on his nose. “Anyway, you’re a great dancer.”

          “I work really hard to be okay at it,”

          “You’re great, better than okay,”

          His heartbeat, which has evened itself out, picks up at your praise, and the wiggle of your hips repositioning yourself against him.

          “If you say so,” Jin’s ears are burning, hot to the touch, and he can’t stop himself from glancing from your eyes, kind and soulful, to your lips. He notices the subtle poke of your tongue, wetting your bottom lip before your teeth rake over it. He’s watched you do this before, often taking your bottom lip between your teeth to gnaw at the flaking flesh, but never this close, never when his lust for you has reached monumental heights.  

          “When will I see you again?” You whisper.

          Again, your voice pulls his focus back to your eyes, staring again, expectantly, hoping he’ll say soon, bracing for the potential that he’ll have to disappear for work for a week or two.  

          “Day after tomorrow?”

          “Yes,” You nod.

          “It’s a date,” Jin pulls you closer to him, holding onto you, a gentle kiss on your head. You exhale, breath fanning his neck, nose nudging the column of his throat. It’s safe here, cozy and welcoming, the giddiness in your heart echoing in the beating of butterfly wings in your abdomen. Seokjin’s hands, resting on your lower back, dangerously close to tickling you, are steady and calm.

          “Your heart’s beating so fast,” You comment, lips coming in contact with the skin of his neck.

          “Ya, of course it is; it always is when I’m with you. You’re acting like I’m so cool and collected all the time, I’m a mess,”

          “You’re not a mess!”

          “Ayesh, my ears are going to burn off my head. You’re cool and collected! So unphased. I can barely get a sentence out without stammering. You make me so nervous all the time. And then you just laugh at me!” Seokjin argues. You love when he gets worked up, his words hurdling past his angered pucker, not stumbling but gracefully gaining speed, one after the other until he’s not only red from embarrassment but red from fury.

          You sit up, laughing while he tsk-tsk-tsks.

          “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I keep laughing. What you’re saying is valid; it’s how you’re saying it that has me laughing,” You explain, laughter diminishing as his embarrassment ceases.  

          “Seokjin’s pain is just so funny,” He mocks, “trying to be cute and vulnerable, and this is what I get!”

          “Here,” You take his hand, placing it gently above your heart. “Can you feel mine?” Your body stills, heart racing matching the pace of his, too quick, too unsteady, the warmth of his hand making the rhythm pick up speed.

          “Hm,” He answers.

          “Not just you, but my heart too.”

          For what he can estimate is the hundredth time, his eyes linger on your lips, lowering to the placement of his hand before he takes it away.

          “You should probably go; it’s getting late.”

          He follows your lead, standing too. “Yeah, yeah I should.”

          “Text me when you get home?” You ask.

          “Yes,”

          Seokjin hugs you, once again placing you in a position to listen to his heartbeat. The longer he holds you, the faster it beats. A kiss to your hair, and he’s gone—no traditional kiss goodnight, no lingering desire in his eyes. But if he isn’t mistaken, he saw yours: the slight disappointment, the gentle frown, the way you tucked your cheek between your incisors, gnawing as he walked away.

          Had he missed his opportunity?

          It isn’t until he gets home, tossing himself on his bed, shoes neatly tucked away, that he texts you. You respond immediately, and it’s your response that swells the lump in his throat.  

          Seokjin: Home sweet home

          You: Great! Also, I kind of thought you were going to kiss me…  

          Seokjin: I should’ve, I wanted to

          You: Why didn’t you?

          Seokjin: I was scared – what if I’m bad at it?

          You: Haha – I can’t imagine you are

          Seokjin: But… I could be

          You: I could be too

          Seokjin: I’ve wanted to, before tonight, I’ve just been so nervous

          You: I’ve wanted to, too… I think about it a lot

          Seokjin: Really?

          You: Yeah, I do

          Seokjin: Me too

          You: Well, then we better make it happen next time

          Seokjin: It’s a date

           Kissing you is all Seokjin can think about. Not just what it’ll mean for your relationship, but you.

          Kissing.

          You.

          How will your lips feel - will they be supple and soft? Chapped and rough? What sounds will you make? Will you hold his waist or tuck your hands into his shaggy hair? Will you be greedy or giving? Will your tongue move past his lips, drawing his out?

          But the one he cannot shake, cannot begin to comprehend: what will you taste like?  

           He’s tried not to venture down that path, the path of temptation, the path that moves from a kiss to kissing, to making out and hands slipping under clothes… clothes flying, sinful sounds… Seokjin has had to stop himself on more than one occasion. The temptation… the desire… it’s all too much when he hasn’t even kissed you once.

           As he tries to focus in rehearsals, brushing his teeth, playing games with Jungkook, all he can do is wonder: have you thought the same things, wondered what he’ll feel like, what he’ll taste like?

           “Hey,” You greet, stepping into the car. You’re glimmering, Seokjin observes, glancing at your bright smile.

           “Hey,” Seokjin offers you a nervous smile in exchange, ears already a bright red.

           “Jin, are you nervous already?”

           He chuckles, “Aren’t you?”

           You set your hand on the center console, palm up, waiting, expecting him to place his in yours. He complies, letting your thumb caress the skin as you speak. “I mean, yeah, but we’re still, us right?”

           “Yes,” He hums.

           “So, let’s go see the movie, and get pizza when it’s over,”

           “What, and make out on your couch?” His nervous giggles betray his hidden desires. He really would like to make out with you on your couch.

           “Do you want to skip the movie and do that instead?” You question. He turns his key in the ignition, shutting off the motor, and sighs.

           “We’re good, you and me, right?” He asks.

           “Yes, I think so,”

           Seokjin takes your hand again. “Good, good, me too,”

           “You’re asking because?”

           “Because, at some point in the very near future, I’m going to kiss you for the first time, and I need to know that if it’s a terrible kiss, if I’ve forgotten how or my teeth hit yours or our foreheads bump, that we’ll still stand a chance,”

           “You want a guarantee that if our first kiss is trash, I’m not going to ghost you?” You clarify.

           “Yes,” He’s staring ahead at the empty street, wondering if being this vulnerable will result in you no longer finding him attractive or interesting. Though nothing could be more embarrassing than his outburst the other night. He’d been kicking himself over it; how was it possible that he could both embarrass himself fully and so openly share how quickly he is falling for you.

           You squeeze his hand, still in yours. “Jinnie,”

           “That’s a new nickname,”

           “Oppa,”

           “No, please, no,”  

           “Jinnie, how about this,” You tuck your leg underneath you, turning your entire body to face him. “Kiss me,”

           “What?” He yells, head whipping around to you.

           “Just a peck, nothing more,” You instruct.

           “Okay,” His eyes are still wide, caught off guard by your sudden directions. He takes in your posture, the nervous habits he’s picked up on the last month or two, how endearing when caused by him.

           “Meet me halfway,” You whisper, squeezing his hand once more.

           Seokjin unbuckles his seatbelt, turning to mimic your posture. He inhales, steadying himself before leaning in.

           “Wait,” You request.

           “Oh god,” He groans.

           “Shut up,” You laugh, your free hand pushing his hair behind his ear, slowly coming to rest on his cheek. Your thumb draws languid circles on the apple of his cheek, blush seeping into his honeyed flesh. His eyes, already a little blown, gazing longingly into yours. “I really like you.”

           His eyes soften more, head leaning into the palm of your hand. The butterflies blossoming in his abdomen, he’s so relieved you can’t feel his heartbeat. “I really like you, too.”

           It’s the confidence he needs, the security and safety of being in his car, with you, so close together, and admission of mutual affection, that inspires him. It pushes him over the edge, leaning in slowly, brushing his nose against yours in an Eskimo kiss, eyes drifting closed, lips finally, ceremoniously, meeting yours.

           Unsinkable.

           The bubbles in fresh champagne.

           Centrifugal motion.

           Tingles down your spine.

           Toes curling.

           Shooting star.

           Everything is in slow motion.

           Soft touch.

Heartbeat in your ears.

           Sweet and gentle.

           A pivotal moment.

          Ahhh.

          Perpetual Bliss.

           Seokjin pulls away, resting his forehead on yours. His breath fans your face—it’s gentle, calming, not so nervous or shaking as it was before.

           “Wow,” You whisper.

           “That was criminal,” Seokjin says.

           “Do you want to go to the movie?”

           “I don’t know if I’ll be able to focus, now that I know,” He answers.

           “Now that you know what?”

           “Now that I’ve had a taste, a feel, I don’t know if I can focus on anything but you,”

           You groan, loudly, before opening your car door and stepping out. Seokjin follows, moving quickly to slip his hand back into yours. He’s following closely, excitement bubbling in his chest. Because now, now, that he’s experienced just a taste of kissing you, going a minute more without your lips on his, is completely unthinkable.  

[blackxkatt]

I need this out and I don’t know where else to put it because if I put it anywhere where people might see, I’m giving more ammunition to the idea that I’m just some monster or something, and I'm tired of having to hedge every bit of opening up about this with, "I know I fucked up, too". It's time for me to be able to tell my story without diminishing my own experiences.

I used to vent to the void on tumblr a lot so I figure this is a good place to do so. Writing out stuff like this is a good therapy technique, and I don’t hurt anyone this way. Okay here goes

My relationship with Becky was awful. In hindsight, I should have ended it so much sooner than I did, but I kept trying to force it because I wanted it to work. We were awful for each other. We made each other worse people. It needed to end.

I did everything I could thing of to make the break up smooth for her. I avoided Easter so that I wasn’t marring a holiday. I asked Tanner to cancel D&D for the day (little did I know, I was canceling that game forever) so that she’d have a week until we had to exist in the same space again, even virtually. I drove to her house, so she wouldn't have to deal with a drive before or after. I knew she had therapy the next day, so that she’d have time to process and professional help soon. I didn’t bring up anything either of us did and didn’t bring up any blame. I said we were just incompatible, because we were. I told her I understood if she didn’t want to be friends -- she said she did. I said if that changes, just let me know. I held her while she cried, walked her dog with her, and went home.

Over the next week, she began to escalate attacks towards me with no warning. On the morning of our D&D game, 2 hours before we had to coexist in front of our friends, she sent me a list of grievances during our relationship and demanded an apology for them, to help her healing. I wanted to be done with this, I had thought that the break up meant we could finally be done with it. I apologized regardless, because I knew I wasn’t perfect and had admitted when I’d fucked up before in the relationship, but not for all of it because some of it plainly wasn’t true. I asked if I could respond and ask for an apology for my own healing. She said no, she didn’t care, and that she wouldn’t let me make it all about myself.

She demanded Tanner message her practically every second of every day, elsewise she’d melt down that he was spending time with me instead of her, when we live together. She literally got pissed off that I visited his Animal Crossing island before her. Tanner couldn’t even mention me neutrally without her going on a tirade about how awful I am and how he shouldn’t defend me, let alone mention that I was hurt, too.

Eventually, she blocked me. I had spent the entire time keeping the door open and trying to maintain a friendship, both because I didn’t want to lose that, and for Tanner’s sake, and meanwhile she was nuking the bridge. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I couldn’t see myself being metamours with someone who so clearly and actively hated me.

Tanner, on advice from a counselor, sat us both down to talk about our abusive tendencies and how this was affecting him. The first thing she did was give me the most disgusted look when she walked in. She nodded vigorously during the entire bit where Tanner raised his issues with my behavior.

Almost all of what Tanner talked to me about were things we’d worked on in the past, that I’d been fine on, that I’d backslid on since dating Becky. Others we’d discussed before and he’d been fine with, but had changed since. The rest, he later apologized for, because he realized he was being abusive in those expectations and hadn’t been concerned with fairness at the time. Almost all of what he brought up wasn't new, because Tanner and I have checked in with each other and worked on our relationship for almost 7 years.

Meanwhile, Becky continued to be abusive to him, in the same ways she had been to me, amped up to 1000. And I had to sit and let it happen. I left my own house for hours at a time for them to have dates. I canceled or moved my own plans for her. I had a festering wound I was hoping would heal, because Becky continued to insist to me that we’d forgive each other some day, but I was the only one working towards it, while she cursed me at every opportunity.

This all culminated in her calling Tanner one day, during our date, to demand that he choose between us. To try to convince him to be monogamous with her. To tell him how awful I am and that she can’t believe he would choose me. To guilt him for daring to do so, even though she’d forced the choice.

I beat myself up, like I was the reason for the break up. But I wasn’t. Even if I wasn’t in the picture, she was abusive and had continued to be without pause. It was her own jealousy and refusal to heal that ended their relationship. I know that now. But it took awhile for my anger to set in. It did once I found out she messaged him more times after that to try to convince him, once again, to leave me, and once again getting upset with him when he wouldn’t.

I waited for a while before asking Tanner if he was alright with me cutting Becky out, since after those instances, I didn’t see our relationship being positive again, at least not for quite awhile, and I’d spent months swallowing my pain for the sake of their relationship and couldn’t do it anymore. That was when I found out, from him, that Becky had already cut me out with no intention to recover. She had remained in all of our group chats, so that was news to me. It was power I was not willing to let her hold over me any longer, pretending she was the bigger person for being silent in the chats but not leaving them. I won’t be made into a monster for defining and defending my boundaries for the first time since the break up. It was unfair of her to remain in every single chat when she’d made it clear she was cutting us, or at least me, out, forcing me to face that trigger every day, giving me almost to reprieve or space to vent about my own pain. I asked friends to remove her from those shared chats, and they did, and I refuse to be made into a villain for being the one to cut the last of the bridge she’d torched. The last one is the d&d game that wasn’t destroyed with our relationship, and it’s the last thorn in my wound keeping me from healing, but Tanner and I are both scared that group will fall apart, too, if she’s removed, due to reactions in another chat she was removed from. So, I have to continue to swallow that, for who knows how long.

Now that that story is out, I’m going to list what I can about my and Becky’s relationship -- her abuse, her gaslighting, making sense of it all and getting out what she never let me.

-A lot of our problems stemmed from the fact that I didn’t react how she wanted. She would be abusive or demanding, and instead of reacting like Tanner, who would submit for the sake of keeping the peace, I would push back, either calmly or not so calmly due to it triggering me. Both elicited negative responses. We triggered each other this way often.

-She was racist to me. She weaponized the exact racism I told her I had experienced from almost every white person I’d ever known, even my loved ones. She promised she never would and then did exactly it, armed with the knowledge of how to shut me down. She told me I *was* aggressive, actually, that she’d surveyed my friends and they all agreed that I was aggressive, and by insisting that I wasn’t, by defending myself, I was gaslighting her. Oh, and she only used the word aggressive because that was the word I’d used, not that she actually thought I was aggressive. Why did I think she thought I was aggressive? That was my own fault. I constantly made myself smaller for her, like I had for so many racist people in my life. I could no longer be all of me anymore.

-She insisted I was incapable of calm discussion (see the racism above), that I deserved her anger and brought it upon myself because it was the only way I listened. Never once in our relationship did she ever say, “can we talk about this?” or anything along those lines, which I would have responded to (and have in other relationships). It was always blowing up out of nowhere because I said the slight wrong thing or didn’t say the right thing or because she’d misunderstood me.

-On misunderstanding, she admitted that she constantly misread me and misunderstood my words due to her  past trauma and expectation of negativity. Once upon a time, she told me that if she took what I said in the most positive light, she understood me finally. Yet, later in our relationship, she started insisting that every misunderstanding was my fault, that all poor communication was on me, that I was an anomaly, that I somehow experienced less emotions than other people. When I would refuse any of these accusations or point out what I had actually said, she told me I lacked critical thinking or was gaslighting her.

-Tanner said something that made so many of our problems click: Becky didn’t want a relationship, she wanted codependence. Something she admitted she struggled with, something her family struggles with, and yet I never put it together. She wanted all of our attention, all of the time. Every triad date we had was centered on her. My healthy independence was a threat to her. She insisted I was lying if I didn’t have some deep issue to discuss with her every day. She insisted I was lying when I promised her I wasn’t hiding my life from her, that I just sincerely didn’t have any crisis or something to discuss. My refusal to enable any of her bad habits or abusive behaviors upset her. When we broke up, and she could no longer guarantee all emotional energy was given to her, she spiraled.

-Of many things we’d previously discussed and she said she understood, group chats take less energy for me to participate in, and I was always happy to interact with her in group chats if I couldn’t handle a 1 on 1 chat. Eventually, I was scared to interact in group chats, post online, show any presence that I wasn’t busy or asleep, because she would become upset with me for not messaging her individually.

-The biggest red flag I ignored, one that terrified me so much I told no one about it until I was considering the break up, was when she asked me to choose between herself and my best friend. When I told her I couldn’t do that and was uncomfortable that she’d even asked, she got upset, and I ended up comforting her instead of addressing it any further. And without even realizing it, I began to feel anxious and guilty whenever I interacted with Dan. I would fear even mentioning them to her, because it inevitably resulted in her jealousy. I began to interact with them less (notice a pattern? Interacting with my best friend less, interacting with my group chats less, interacting online in general less...)

-Every concern I brought up ended the same way: she’d say I was gaslighting her, or she’d get upset and I would have to comfort her.

-She was never polyamorous; this is obvious in hindsight. She was a monogamous person who happened to form a crush on two polyamorous people. She would consistently try to persuade me away from polyamory and into maintaining a closed triad, and would get upset with me when I expressed that wasn’t what I wanted. She’d often remind me that she’d be extremely jealous of anyone I ever dated and that they couldn’t be as important as her.

-She said she understood it would take Tanner and I time to feel as close to her as we do with each other. Yet, she was constantly jealous of us and became more and more angry as time went on. She seemed to expect a timescale of months to level out a 7 year relationship with a 7 month one, when it would have taken years.

-Along with codependence, she was looking for a therapist in her SOs. She would have a new breakdown to discuss daily, and a myriad of untreated phobias and illnesses. She’d consistently complain about her therapist; when I made suggestions to tell her therapists her concerns or get a new one, she’d brush it off or insist it wasn’t that bad. If Tanner or I didn’t enable her phobias, she’d get upset with us. We could neither make plans for just us two(though she hates being left out) nor bring her (she hates crowds and spontaneous plans). She’d say she’d come, we’d just have to deal with her crying the whole time. I’d express that we want her to have fun, not suffer, and she’d say she’d suffer either way. We were guilted out of most plans.

-Most of the end of our relationship, that finally made me realize we needed to break up, was a slow change that I’m not sure how it happened. At some point, Becky stopped seeing me; she only saw what fit her preconceived notions of me. She made assumptions about me, my thoughts, my character, who I was. She made up situations in her head and got angry at me for them out of nowhere, with no communication, and the one time she did listen that she'd made up the situation (because Tanner told her), she spiraled into self-hatred, not an apology. She twisted everything I said into some kind of attack against her and insisted every clarification, explanation, or evidence was an excuse. When I would point any of this out, that some of what she said was just plain untrue, she’d once again insist I was gaslighting her. I was trapped. She refused to see the changes I made for her, and was coming up with her own reality of our relationship. Nothing I did mattered anymore; even Tanner told me he saw it. He told me that I had done a lot of work but he didn’t see the same improvement on her end, and that she needed to meet me in the middle if we were going to work. But she only saw the monster she’d made me. I couldn’t continue to date someone who was so committed to misunderstanding me. This is why I only apologized for most of what she said in her list of grievances -- because some was simply untrue. I never lied to her, I never gave her half-apologies -- never in my life have I given anyone an “I’m sorry you feel that way” apology. I apologized for things that didn’t even merit apology. I regressed and backslid on so much healing I had done. She mentally sent me back to high school, convinced me I was who I was as a child, when that was completely untrue. So much of the relationship had become this perfect trap -- where it was damned if I do, damned if I don’t. I ended it because I couldn’t live like that anymore, and I wanted our friendship back. We were awful romantic partners, but such good friends. Not anymore, I guess.

-Every trauma I ever did confide in her, she eventually weaponized against me. She'd recreate every one, or bring them up to silence me. She'd use every moment of vulnerability to further convince me I was an inherently awful person and push me to back slide and regress into trauma I'd grown beyond. Any questioning was met with, yup, I'm gaslighting her or lack introspection.

-She said I never showed interest in her, and I still don't know where that came from. We'd talk about life goals, the world, our ideas. I told her I loved seeing her creative projects and that progress. I read her fan fiction and bragged about it. I don't know when she stopped seeing it, when she stopped seeing me. I introduced her to all of my friends, integrated her into all of my friend groups, because I thought I was building a future with her. But now I'm the villain because she wanted to hold my social life and the friends I'd introduced her to hostage.

-One comment that stuck with me was that she said we weren't even dating, just friends who kissed. She said it again in our last argument before we broke up. I literally didn't know what to do to prove to her that I cared about her, to make her believe me when I said she was my girlfriend. I even came out to my parents about her to try to prove it and it wasn't enough. I got to the point where I almost finally had sex with her just because she wanted it, just to see if that would finally be enough for her to believe me. I'm very glad I didn't.

-She was consistently passive aggressive. She would always say something was fine, then clearly be upset when I'd do it. I'd have to press for there to be any chance of her admitting she didn't like it. There were clear "correct" answers to all of her questions and suggestions, and whenever I refused to acquiesce, it would become an argument.

-Intentions don't matter and all that, but they do. They do, because that's shorthand. She'd constantly use that as a shield, telling me my intentions didn't matter, when at a certain point, she had to be responsible for refusing to hear me. And while intentions don't matter, I never intentionally hurt her, but she intentionally hurt me several times, almost never apologized for it, and in fact insisted to me that I deserved it and had brought it upon myself.

-And I defended her. I continued to defend her for so long, from so many people. I knew she had trauma, and I knew she was in an environment that wasn’t suited to her healing. I convinced myself that I just had to endure until post-pandemic, or until she moved out, or until she got medication she could take, or, or ,or-- and Dan gave me the wake up call that if I was walking on eggshells with her, the environment we were in would only change where I was walking on eggshells with her. Tanner gave me the wake up call that we aren’t even sure she *wants* to leave that house with her family, because of that toxic codependence.

-I’m still terrified of how quickly she turned on me. How quickly she made me a monster. Our break up didn’t have any villains; break ups don’t always need villains. But like a light switch flipping, she turned hatred upon me. She told me that she doesn’t feel empathy and only performs goodness because of a moral code she made for herself, but I never considered what it would be like if she designated me an enemy in that moral code.

Some of this I realized towards the end of our relationship. Some of this I realized after. I’ll add to this post whenever I need to as I parse out more, or remember what I’ve forgotten to add.

I’m not the monster she made me in her story. I’m not responsible for her version of me anymore. I won’t be made to feel guilty or like a villain for finally enforcing my boundaries. I’m still angry that I can’t be open about all of this without continuing to fall into this trap she’s made, of me being awful and hateful instead of abused and rightfully angry. But Tanner and I are the happiest we’ve been in a year. I deeply regret that relationship, but I’m so happy now that I’m out of it, even if it didn’t end how I’d hoped. And I think that says I made the right decision.

[lizzybeth1986]

I don't think you play TRR/TRH anymore but you should see what they did to Kiara in the newest chapter. It's so dumb and makes me so angry, especially considering the current climate of events. I've already seen people on Reddit be like "but we helped her overcome her trauma" (we didn't lol) and someone called her the c-word, very classy. Honestly PB's been low key racist in the past but all the stuff right now makes it high key...

(Apologies for the long post and not being able to place this under a cut)

I'm pretty glad I got these anons because truth be told I wasn't sure how many people - besides the few that I already knew were constantly speaking about Kiara's treatment in the books - would care enough to ask any questions about this. Most of the posts I saw expressed a disturbing eagerness to throw her under the bus, without exploring nuance or asking questions, and at this point I'm not very surprised.

I've always maintained that the treatment for Kiara is what happens when both the writers and the fandom are heartless, and these past few weeks have only been proof of that.

There are questions you could raise about this finale re: Kiara - questions almost no one seems to bother asking. I have three:

1. In this Coventus Nobilis...how is it that I see four Heads of House, and only one heir? 

2. If Kiara - who is not head of house - is supposed to represent Castelserraillian instead of her father Hakim (who presides over that estate), why do I not see Madeleine? Why do I not see Penelope? 

3. Why are we suddenly seeing Adeleide  popping up out of practically nowhere to rep Krona/Fydelia, and Landon conveniently rep-ping Portavira?  

Some of the answers to these questions lie in the questions themselves. Why else would Madeleine and Penelope not be present in this meeting - if it weren't to purposely distance them from this awful moment? After all, both of them have inbuilt subplots ready for the next book that would require interactions with the core group. How else do you think the writers could ensure we kept coddling them and pandering to them in Book 3, except by distancing them from this "betrayal"?

Why else would the narrative choose to pit Kiara - the lone woman of colour we'd been shitting on for most of this series - against Olivia - the white woman who has been given innumerable individual PoV scenes and her own mini-book (and whose reputation we had to help rebuild in said mini book whether we cared about her stupid duchy or not). 

Why else would they force Kiara to alert us mere minutes before the meeting begin, if not to distract us with crumbs ("See? At least we wrote her as warning you. Of course we don't hate her!"). 

Why else would you have Olivia and Kiara pitted against each other like this - if not to show these two women side by side, on opposing ends -  and compel us to believe that the white woman we spent 4.5 books propping up and pampering, is the most loyal one.  When in fact we have done absolutely nothing to deserve any fucking loyalty from Kiara or her family to begin with! (Ezekiel and his white bride notwithstanding).

What we finally got as a result, was a narrative that (as @queen-of-effing-everything summed it up when I discussed this with her) in one full sweep "glorifies Olivia, shields Madeleine and Penelope and sets up Kiara". Very few of us even noticed. And even if we did notice, is there any guarantee that we would care??

Remember how I mentioned in my last ask that I wished we expanded the same energy that we did with Aurora, to speak up against the ill-treatment of other black characters? Kiara was undoubtedly one of those.

After this, we as a fandom will speak very easily now of her "betrayal". We will call her the b-word and the c-word. We will boast of how we will "take her down" along with Adeleide and Landon and Bartie Sr. We'll boast about how we "never liked her" to begin with, as if doing so required some...idk exemplary foresight. We will make memes about how Olivia was "the only bitch we ever respected". We will make huge, sweeping claims about how Kiara was our "friend" and how (as you've mentioned, anon) we "helped her overcome her trauma" (!!!!) and claim by that token that  we were entitled to good treatment from her. I'm pretty sure when TRH3 finally comes out, her every word and action will be screenshot, put up on blogs, mocked and torn down just so we can write essays on how awful she is. 

Yet I saw very little of this energy in Book 3, where the MC could first emotionally manipulate her into supporting the Unity Tour, and where we actively suspected her  at a time when she was traumatized. At most there was some lukewarm acknowledgement of how she "deserves better", all while people still continued to write fanfic that positioned her as creepy and obsessed and villainous.  Almost no one had a problem with Savannah not acknowledging Kiara's earlier support of her, and in fact I'd seen posts that clubbed her with the other ladies of the court who likely "treated Savannah badly". Her father Hakim was made to join the tour alongside her by default, without the expectations that Landon/Emmeline and Godfrey/Adeleide were allowed to have, and the fandom was mysteriously silent about Hakim being made to "bow to his knees" in a way the others did not have to. Very few people even bothered to  notice or talk about how often Penelope was allowed to hold the MC's baby, or how Kiara was never really allowed to hold her even once. Which "friend" treats someone like this??

When I finally published this essay on the treatment meted out to Kiara especially in Book 3, what I got was a lot of neat, but ultimately hollow, little platitudes about how Kiara "deserved better" (How and in what way? Who knows, who cares). Out of those many many people who reblogged and responded, only a handful held the MC and Drake in particular (and Maxwell, who thought it appropriate to joke about "one suspect down") accountable for choosing to suspect and interrogate just her, and for showing ZERO remorse in forcing her to reopen those wounds. How is it that we can judge Kiara for this latest "betrayal", yet pretend that the MC and Drake had nothing to do with the pain THEY caused to her? How is it that this fandom was so fired up over her comments, yet would have such a weak, muted, carefully-generalized response to the screenshots where Drake was openly suspecting her and optionally  minimizing her trauma? 

Following that, why should we be entitled to good treatment from Kiara when we never really gave her even half as much?? Why is it so easy to divorce characters from their words and actions in Drake/MC/Maxwell's case, but so hard for a character like Kiara? (One may claim this is because Drake and Maxwell are potential co-protagonists, but the aforementioned essay already proves that you as a main character can get punished for not treating a mere side character with kindness).

Another thing that fascinates and repulses me even further is how the fandom has created myths around this one character, and how PB has constantly leaned into these "characteristics" even though the text itself tells an altogether different story:

1. Kiara is a snob. This is especially hilarious considering that she is established in Book 2 as being the only person who befriended Savannah before her departure and cared about what happened to her when she left. Never once in the books has she looked down on us for class-related issues, or outright mocked people for not knowing the languages she knew. In fact, she was the first person to acknowledge our skills if we showed any before Lythikos in Book 1. On the other hand, Penelope can be uppity and look down on us in Book 1 (there is even a dialogue option in Chapter 10 that leads to her calling us a "commoner wench") if we don't do well, and yet she's a cinnamon roll.  Olivia can engage in snobbish , entitled behaviour without the fandom having a problem just because she's their favourite. Madeleine can look down on us and pretend for 3/4ths of the social season that we're not worth her time yet somehow Kiara is the snob. Okay. Okay. 😐

2. Kiara is "obsessed with" Drake and constantly comes on to him. This is said by the same group of people who saw Olivia fucking Nevrakis plant a WHOLE FUCKING SMACKER on Liam's mouth, and said..nothing. Kiara on the other hand, has admired Drake's abs once, mentioned she'd always liked Drake once, spoken normally to him about his sister once, flirted with him once (Paris tea party), and ordered a wine from him when he was bartending. In the next book she either looks at him wistfully or admires his suit. Yet somehow she's the creepy, annoying, stalkerish. Okay. Ooookay. 😑

(This one was particularly damaging, because post the TRR3 hiatus, all efforts from PB were focused on reversing Kiara's position as an alternative LI. This included "confirming" on livestream that her affections were one-sided, at a time when Olivia was finally allowed to have some romantic moments with a single Liam, pushing forward a buildup scene to Drake's eventual secret wedding that had him acting extremely rude and confrontational to Kiara mere minutes after suspecting her (while she was expressing joy at his upcoming wedding in his playthrough!!!), and involving a subplot where he openly and by default suspected her. Sure, he spends a minute to be nice to her and chat about trauma if the MC chooses. But that's like a drop of sewage water floating in an ocean of shit).

3. Kiara Pretended to Be Our Friend And Then Dropped Us: This is false. Kiara only ever promised to put in a good word for us to the rest of the court, no more, no less. And she fulfilled that promise. Otherwise she never pretended to be friends with us nor made friendly overtures either way. In fact if you're going to accuse anyone of duplicity, you have Penelope and Madeleine. Yet somehow Kiara is the dishonest one. Okay. Okay. 🙃

4. Kiara Was Insensitive To Penelope and Didn't Understand Her. I'm not sure how Kiara is supposed to magically understand something that her friend isn't telling her. Plus this argument deliberately leaves out the fact that she stood up for Penelope when people chose to be mean to her, and even explained to the MC that she employs "tough love" because she can't always be around to protect Penelope. It also leaves out how one-sided this friendship is and how Kiara is made to do most of the heavy work in this friendship. Meanwhile, at Kiara's most difficult time period, in Castelserraillian, Penelope says absolutely nothing as the MC forces Kiara to join the Unity Tour, while making bedroom eyes at Kiara's brother. In fact the only reason Kiara's brother even exists is to give Penelope a love interest. The Kiara-Penelope friendship practically revolves around Penelope. I have never really seen Penelope look out for Kiara or attempt to actually support her in any way, and Kiara was the one who got the knife wounds. Yet somehow I'm supposed to believe that Penelope's the better friend of the two. Suuuuure. 😡

And this steaming pile of crap doesn't just make its way into shitposts and short opinion posts. It creeps into fanfic and fandom opinions. It finds its way in the tags and in other social media. It eventually even finds its way into the books, even though nothing in the earlier narrative ever really supported these extremely stale takes. 

Because PB didn't care for Kiara the way they cared for their white characters, they had no problem framing her narrative the way this fandom so desparately wanted it. Book 3 has the MC claim behind her back that Kiara is stuck-up and acts like knowing ten languages makes her better than everybody else, even though this is not backed up by the text, and in fact you will never see any acknowledgement of how Madeleine forced Kiara to make herself sound "exotic" in Book 2, or of how Madeleine and the MC (optionally) could downplay or question her skills unless they wanted to use her. Also, Penelope is never allowed to be talked about like that no matter what she's done. PB even had a scene (in the Hana playthrough) where they aggressively retconned the events of Madeleine's bachelorette party, where Kiara supposedly shouted at Penelope until the latter cried, and Madeleine was the one "having fun". Kiara was literally being thrown under the bus to make Madeleine look better. Madeleine. Imagine that. Madeleine.

Given how desparate the fandom was to nitpick and overdramatize everything Kiara said and did, is it any wonder that the team got away with the writing they gave her in Book 3? Considering that all the false arguments I stated above have made a resurgence in the past few weeks or days...is it any wonder that the only "support" this fandom is capable of re: Kiara, is lukewarm platitudes, cold takes and rank hypocrisy??

Yes, we can hold PB solely/largely  accountable for the treatment meted out to Kiara now. They made these choices over and over, and continue to do so, while tossing us occasional crumbs of faux-sweet behaviour from the MC. And they did this in insidious ways, which were so hard to catch that even a Kiara stan like me had to observe multiple playthroughs just to unravel even half of what they'd done.

But let's not pretend a huge chunk of the fandom was just as responsible for this - with their unfounded opinions, their disgusting bias, their favouritism of white characters, their refusal to observe anything besides their favourites, and their godawful fanfiction where Kiara is a creep or evil or killing the virtuous main character. Out of the huge body of fanwork that I've seen for TRR that features Kiara - at least 90% of it features her stalking Drake, or harming the MC (particularly the Drake MC), or in cahoots with the villains, or generally being referred to as a creep (why Olivia, who kissed Liam without his consent in Book 1 and was entitled enough to be angry about him not returning her feelings in TRH1, never got this sort of writing - I fail to understand). There is a tremendous gap between the vitriol dumped on her when she does something the MC doesn't like, and the milquetoast response when harm is done to her. There have been times when I've had to comb through pages and pages of hate just to read even one positive post on Kiara in her own goddamn tag.

When the next book arrives, I know you folks will continue to gas up the white women in this book every chance you get, and mask your racist vitriol for characters like Kiara (and Hana, let's not forget the way y'all treat Hana) behind the same self-righteous judgements and the same tired, stale takes. I know that PB - despite what I will still believe is their hollow promises today - will write every single one of those stale takes into existence. All because it will be "justified", because Kiara is a "bad person" or "untrustworthy" or "fake". Whatever. Y'all can stick to Olivia The Black Hole and babysit Madeleine and Penelope, I guess. Kiara always deserved better than these writers and most of this fandom anyway.

[embertarot]

✨ Full Moon Reading 12/29/20

Queen of Pentacles ✧ King of Wands ✧ Queen of Swords ✧ Ten of Wands

(Full Res) (Closeups 1, 2) Reading for the Full Moon in Cancer (12/30) (Striked text means the card is reversed.)

Welcome to the last Full Moon reading of the year, and my last collective reading of the year! I want to thank everyone whose interacted with my readings and supported me from the bottom of my heart. Despite everything this year I managed to find a light at the end of the tunnel, a sense of meaning to hold onto as I push forward, and it’s all been thanks to you these past few months. 

There was a time I was worried I’d never have freedom; that being disabled, I’d never get to have my own life — and then I found this, and it meant something to people. My words meant something to people. I’m so thankful for every second I get to spend on this earth doing readings for you guys, and I’m grateful for all that lead up to this, and for every like and every reblog and every tag and every interaction & donation.

I’m grateful for it all, and I hope with my readings I can return even just a fraction of the hope and peace of mind you’ve all given me. I’m opening commissions soon, and you’ll be hearing more about that in the coming days, but as further thanks I will also be opening up special free reading slots after New Years for the month of January. I think it’s something to look forward to :-]

With this novel out of the way, let’s get into the reading!!

This entire year has been a challenging and provocative one, up until the very end if last week’s first quarter reading & the previous new moon solar eclipse one are any indicator. The world has been drenched in chaos since the very beginning of 2020, and we don’t need the stars or the cards to tell us that, but I digress. We are reflections of our environment; as the world outside was shaken, as things began to collapse, many of us caved in ourselves.

This year has been isolating. It’s felt hollow and it’s felt hopeless at times. Holding yourself together is always much more difficult than people make it out to be, but when your inner world and the world outside of it are falling apart? It’s one hell of a feat. If you’re here right now, if you’re reading this, you should be proud. You may have fallen momentarily. There may be debris, pieces to pick up, but you are still standing. Even if you think you didn’t accomplish much this year, that’s admirable, and I guarantee there’s a number of personal successes and victories underneath the surface you haven’t realized, processed, or let yourself celebrate yet.

This year, despite routines, convenience, structure, & stability collapsing... A lot of us learned how to nurture ourselves. We learned how to be practical without the guiding hand of authorities, learned what practical looked like for us. Some of us created our own structure, our own systems for the unique ways we function. It’s also possible you’ve found your own career path this last quarter of the year, or just a way to make more income that’s more tailored to you. Some of you are already deep into this, some are just starting out and feeling hopeful. Some of you are still in the planning stage, and may still be struggling to work past blockages, but you’re on your way. Overall, in whatever you do work-wise (or not), have faith in your abilities and who you are as a person, and trust what your heart is telling you to do. 

There’s spiritual energy here, too. We’re finding our places in life, establishing solid connections to ourselves and, by extension, to others. This is an especially powerful time for those that are meant to lead or mentor, visionaries starting out on making their dreams reality, people that will need others to help them, and will boost them up in return. 

Maybe this King represents you taking leadership of your own life — of your needs, of your desires, of your passion; finding your own unique path whatever it is, and learning the difference between self-discipline and the discipline we receive from others; and how one must come from a place of self-respect while the other is rooted in punishment & control. This year, on some level, you’ve reclaimed your power, or taken the first steps to getting back behind the wheel.

We’ve made strides in independence. We’ve been given the tools to be more direct in communication, to create the boundaries we need to keep ourselves safe. We set these boundaries with others, but we’ve also learned how to set them with ourselves, understanding it’s essential to our health and to our growth to be able to do so. We stand taller. We stand wiser. And as the year winds down, the clarity we’ve craved is within reach.  

As the year ends, the fight isn’t exactly over. However, there’s nothing left to do but release the last of the burdens we carry. This is a huge turnaround from the energy we’ve been in the last few months. We stand in strength and in power. With the Ten of Wands reversed, a phase of our lives nears completion. We take that which has pinned us down and push something greater out into the world. 

Again, thank you all so much for everything, and here’s to brighter futures ahead for all of us ✨

If you enjoyed this reading: if it resonated, if it helped you, if you like my vibes… Let me know! & consider following & supporting me on Ko-fi, where I post updates on my work as well as the occasional review when I acquire a new deck or goody. You can also buy me new decks and divination tools here. 💜

[pcttrailsidereader]

Time In Nature

By Howard Shapiro

Some of us are already outside experiencing the benefits of nature. We are at the very least strolling through the place we live. Some are planting gardens, pulling weeds, and generally observing the changes that occur between winter, spring, and the upcoming summer.  Others are already getting a jump on summer and are out on the hiking trails. Many people are making their way north on the PCT. 

This time of the year gets me thinking about time in nature. I take a moment or two to wonder why it is so important to me. One of the more obvious reasons is where I live. In the Pacific Northwest winters can be cold and dark or is that damp, cold, and dark? Either way, with the birth of spring come longer and warmer days. These days are welcome but tease me into thinking more of warm bright days ahead just as the gray rolls in and a steady drizzle sets in. Nevertheless, when days are sunny and bright there is no better place to be. I get live in an amazing place. 

Being in nature becomes a stronger and stronger attraction. I am reminded of why it holds such a significant attraction for me. I feel renewed. I feel hopeful and begin to imagine how the next few months outside will take shape. Who I may be sharing my time with and why that is important too.  Many reasons to be outside gain momentum and that inertia pulls me along. 

Here are a few fun facts about time in nature: 

Just ten minutes of gardening or a weekly visit to a public garden can alleviate depression.

Twenty minutes you spend hiking among trees, bird watching or pursuing other activities in nature will reduce cortisol, the stress hormone.

Thirty minutes of sitting or  walking in a park setting can lower blood pressure and heart rate.

Forty-five minutes or more of hiking outdoors results in less fatigue and increased alertness than if you spent the same amount of time indoors on a treadmill. 

Sixty minutes interacting with nature, such as walking in a park or your neighborhood can boost memory and attention span by as much as 20%. 

Now if you push these numbers out, that is, instead of minutes consider hours and even days and the positive effects are more than noticeable. This may be why more and more thru-hikers find it hard when they leave the trail. Even day hikers and section hikers will remark on the overall health and well being experienced from time being in nature. 

Certainly, days walking in the rain may curtail some of the positive feelings associated with putting ourselves in nature, many of us will often remember the best parts of that damp experience. The water droplets hanging off of a tree branch, the sound of thunder, the change of light, the arcing rainbow all give us something to take home from our time spent outdoors. 

Whether you get out in the mountains and hills over the next few months depends on a lot of factors. If you do, it won’t be all that hard to be reminded why you gave yourself the time to take a dip in nature. I guarantee you will feel better physically and mentally. Even the people around you may notice some subtle and not so subtle differences in how you engage with them and life in general. That is a benefit in itself! 

If you don’t have the opportunity to get deep into nature remember nature does not just exist in National Parks, Forests, or Wilderness areas. Walking around the block or down the road can offer very positive outcomes. In the meantime you can plan longer and more times in natural settings so when the time is right you can fully embrace it.  

If you explore our archive we posted two additional stories about the practice of Forest Bathing, December 12, 2017 and August 14, 2018. 

[datawyrms]

hey so do you think you could write stuff about danny and dani being cousins and maybe him visiting the ghost zone to go see her and nocturn cuz the one that mentioned that was super cool

You bet! Sorry I took awhile, I’ve been juggling things and flicking between ideas and not finishing anything :v It’s short and doesn’t go very far but hey just something to maybe expand on later, yeah? (oh look i slapped it on AO3!)

”I have no idea how you stay over here so long.” Danny shuddered, trying to ignore how green everything was. The sky should be blue, not some endless green expanse.

“Stealing to eat is a pain cuz. I don’t get why you’re always over there!” Dani rolled her eyes as she glanced at her trailing friend. “I know you like flying as much as I do and you spend most of the time pretending you can’t.”

“It’s not that hard to fly if I want to,” his shrug was dismissive, but he couldn’t keep the frown from his face. “I just don't get why you don’t just hang around the Far Frozen if you like being in the Ghost Zone.” Well, it was more ‘why can’t you hang around ghosts that HAVEN’T tried taking over the world’, but the last time he’d phrased it like that, Dani had kicked him.

“Not all of us have ice powers!”

“Uh. You totally do. Or should eventually, I guess.”

She seemed to appreciate he didn’t bother voicing the obvious, slowing down so they didn’t need to keep hollering at one another. “Nope. Frostbite didn’t seem to think so when I asked.”

“Really? Huh. Your ghost sense is like mine though isn’t it?”

“Don’t ask me, I’m just listening to big, smart and fuzzy. Just means I can get something way better than ectoblasts but Blue.”

Well when she made it that easy… “Nothing cooler though!” Ducking the hurled ectoblast was easy enough, she’d aimed a bit high.

“Looks like my power is shooting people who make bad jokes.”

“So saying to chill out would-” he broke off laughing as she tackled him at full speed, sending the two half ghosts in a barely controlled spiral. 

Still, the clone had joined in the laughing by the time the two managed to steady themselves again. “You’re awful.”

“I get too much practice.”

“No kidding. You’ve sent how many ghosts back here this week? Eight?”

“Try twenty and you’ll be getting close,” his amusement faded. He really, really should be getting back. Yet he’d promised to at least try visiting sometimes, so he had to at least get to the place. Even if every bit of him was wanting to get back to Amity already now that he was thinking about it.

“Whoops. Sorry cuz, forgot you’re reallll territorial sometimes.” Dani elbowed him, forcing Danny out of his own thoughts.

“I am not!” His denial was a bit more forceful than he’d like to admit. “You just reminded me how many ghosts might hold a grudge this week.”

“Uhhuh. Since you know we’ve been attacked so often today.” the smaller ghost paused as if she needed a moment to count. “ All zero times! The horror.”

“Real funny. Don’t you feel weird over here?” he caught her eyes, a little confused to see a complete lack of understanding. “You know...that feeling? That we don’t belong over here? That little pulsing at the back of your head?”

Her blank stare answered that well enough. “Noooope. I don’t know if that’s a ‘you’re a territorial nutcase’ or a ‘you’re a corpse stuffed with ectoplasm’ thing.”

“One, no I’m not, and two EW? Gross!” he gagged, fighting off the urge to shudder. “Someone call you that as an insult or something?”

“Mhm, Kitty was trying to explain why humans are kinda weird.” she gave a little shrug. “So we’re even weirder. Though I totally melted so I’m probably not lugging a corpse around all the time, but you might be!”

“Yup, that’s it, you spend wayyyy too much time around ghosts.” He had not expected to get a new nightmare from Dani nowadays, she’d given him plenty already. Yet life was apparently full of surprises. 

“Or you don’t spend enough time around em.”

“No, pretty sure you crossed from morbid to just disgusting there.”

“Hey, if you really want to creep someone out just crack your knuckles at em. Get a shudder out of any ghost that can’t get over to the human world, guaranteed” 

“I’m not really big into the scaring people thing.” The fact Dani was still made part of him twinge in discomfort. She was her own person, obviously. It should be a good thing that they were different in more ways as time passed...

“Pft. You’re such a human cuz” she gave him a nudge before shooting forward “Almost there! Don’t shoot at a sleepwalker if it surprises you!”

“I won’t,” he muttered, already more alert for any movement.

He didn’t really expect Nocturn’s lair to seem so inviting. He’d been expecting the dull wasteland that he’d seen back when they’d fought, dark skies, ominous towers, that sort of thing. A hazy sort of garden lit by gently swilling lights had not gotten on his list of possibilities. Even the clouds seemed to be dotted with stars now that he was close enough to see them. The tower nearby didn’t seem dangerous with the surroundings feeling so peaceful. Though that was probably a trap, all of Nocturn’s power was tied up in sleep. Getting an enemy fired up and wide awake would just make him have a harder time, wouldn’t it?

“Hmmm. I thought he’d be outside.” Dani crossed her arms, glancing at some of the nearby trees.

“I’m mostly here to see you anyway.”

“Which is why you need to see him! Otherwise you’re just gonna keep grumping about how I’m being corrupted or something.”

He’d like to deny that, but the lie would be pretty obvious. “He has better taste in lairs than takeover plans, at least.”

“There’s a place inside that has a way to see the real stars! The ones out here are nice too though.” Dani brightened at his admission, a little more animated as she pointed out the scattered ‘stardust’ clouds.

“Is that why you stay around here then?”

“That, and no nightmares. Noc can just cut them off before they start if I’m nearby.” she paused, kicking her feet. “It’s really, really nice not having to remember him every time I go to sleep.”

Well, Nocturn couldn’t be all bad if he’d help his poor clone with that. He’d be pretty tempted by a ‘no more nightmare reminders’ offer. “I bet.”

“You still think he’s up to something, don’t you.” her frown burrowed into him so he had to glance away.

“I can’t help it! We didn’t really meet on good terms.” Maybe he was being unfair, but the uncomfortable feeling he always had in the ghost zone combined with that bad history was making him jumpy.

“Do you think I’d lead you into a trap?”

“What? No!”

“Well I’m the one who invited you!”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t plan something behind your back.”

Dani let out a frustrated groan. “He won’t! You don’t mess with family cuz.”

Danny’s retort died in his throat as Nocturn seemed to melt into visibility behind the smaller half ghost, struggling with the impulse to shove Dani out of the way to protect her.

“Sorry Dani, I was distracted by a particularly interesting set of dreams, I’ll have to show you. I think you’d enjoy them.” Nocturn seemed to have no such difficulties, speaking easily and giving her a warm smile. “Did you fly far?”

“You bet!” she nodded before glancing back. “Brought someone back while I was at it.”

Danny’s pulse quickened when the lanky ghost finally took notice of him. Had he really just...not noticed he was right there?

“Ah, your wayward cousin.” the dream ghost gave a small nod. “I expect you had an uneventful trip then?”

“Yeah, sorry if you were expecting any gossip.”

“A safe trip is the best news you could deliver regardless.” he messed with her hair, earning a hug before she pulled away.

“Nuh uh, you’re a total snoop Noc.”

Maybe he’d been a bit of a jerk for expecting something worse. They just seemed...happy. Really he just felt like he was intruding at the moment.

“Only while people sleep.” there was a hint of a laugh, but when his red eyes caught Danny again it died out. “Is there an occasion for the visit?”

Dani rolled her eyes, glancing back at Danny and his stiff posture. “Trying to get someone to relax already. Sheesh cuz, your brick wall impression is great.”

“Sorry,” he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. The first impulse that he had to protect his clone had passed with the two ghosts interacting in a friendly matter, but he couldn’t quite dismiss Nocturn as a potential threat.

“Don’t be. I am aware our previous meeting made an unfavourable impression.” No apology for the attack was in those words. That, and Dani had made it pretty clear he wouldn’t be getting one either. How did ghosts just think that putting  people at risk was no big deal?

“That’s an understatement.” Dani’s scowl at his words only earned her one of his own back. “I had to use Dash as a weapon of mass destruction. It wasn’t a good day, okay?”

“Yeah, but we’re not even close to Amity and you’re still being tetchy.”

“Don’t be so hard on your cousin, Dani. He wouldn’t have made it this long without that kind of caution.”

He hadn’t really expected Nocturn to come to his defense. Great, now he felt like even more of a jerk for still wanting to punch the ghost in the face. “Uhh. Thanks?”

“I guess. Should we hold off on exploring more till another time then?” She was looking at both of them now. 

“...Yeah. I should be getting back.” Admitting it made the guilt worse, but the itching need to be away and back to his home made the idea of staying any longer sound like torture. Even if there’d be an accurate set of stars to look at.

“You are welcome at any time, though Dani does tend to roam. Safe travels.” There was no judgement from the older ghost, only a sort of understanding look.

This ghost of all people knowing how he felt better than himself was disquieting. He settled for a stiff nod before turning to take flight at his top speed. The sooner all that was behind him the better. Questioning how his feelings towards the whole situation might be more his ghost half than human half talking just wasn’t something he wanted to be thinking about right now. Later maybe, when he wasn’t this on edge.

[am-imagines]

And the Favorite is...- USWNT Imagine.

I got this ask:  Hey I read your fic with R being Krashlyn's kid and it was pretty good. Can you do another one? Where R always shows up in someone's insta story like dancing with Sonnet, scaring someone with Kelly, going out for breakfast with Press or playing some kind of games with Tobin? Like how she interacts with her crazy and overprotective aunts. And I ran with it. I hope you like it, dear anon!

You can find the first part here.

I am totally biased, I hope you don’t mind.

The Olympics inauguration is only a couple of days away. It’s the time when nerves grow before disappearing at the ceremony, but your time is filled with so much activity that you don’t even have time to be nervous.

Your team is great and practice is always fun although you can’t wait for the first game. The excitement grows, the pressure builds, and you’re actually ready for your first Olympics.

In order to keep you distracted, your parents have found a thousand games for you to try. Your family isn’t exactly conventional, and those games are far from being board ones. You have to experience a new city in the company of the USWNT while getting information, playing pranks or doing certain things with them to win the game.

You don’t mind it one bit. You love all your crazy aunts. Hanging out with them is a fun way to discover the magic of a new country. They don’t keep you from getting lost. They just get lost with you. Thank God technology is a thing and the GPS has saved your life.

“Here’s another one!” Ash exclaims. “Who gives the best hugs?”

Currently, you’re sitting in bed between your parents while they livestream. Their fans are happy to see how you interact with them, and they don’t miss the chance to ask you stuff about them and the Krashlyn adventures in Tokyo.

“Ma,” you say pointing at Ali. “Her hugs are warm and soft. But mom’s are great too; rib-wrecking and yet can’t say no to them.”

A chuckle escapes your lips when both of them hug you at the same time. Ash kinda proves your point; making you grunt when she squeezes a little too tight. The smile never leaves your lips; much less when they decide to kiss your cheeks at the same time.

It’s embarrassing, but you do nothing to stop them.

Finally, they settle down and you shake your head in amusement.

They’re supposed to be the parents.

“Oh! I gotta go,” you announce mostly to the camera. “Pinoe must be waiting for me. Please, don’t embarrass yourselves or me more than you’ve done.”

“Can’t promise that, kiddo.“

Maybe it would be easier to leave if your parents didn’t cling to you like koalas while remind you to take care and call them if you need anything. You struggle for another minute before they finally relent. Then, they go back to their livestream while you put on your shoes.

“Here’s another one!” You hear Ash through the door, but don’t stay long enough to discover what is the next question.

Pinoe is waiting for you, and you find her with ease thanks to the pink hair.

Sonny and the others like to tease her about it, but you like her style. Not everyone can rock it like she does, but you’re gonna try to challenge the odds with a crazy hair color as well. Not pink, but probably just as outstanding. Blue, purple, orange, silver...you haven’t decided yet.

However, this day is all about make-overs, courtesy of Megan Rapinoe.

“Sorry I’m late,” you say when you make it to her side,

“I thought those two would keep you forever.”

She shows you her phone where you can see your parents throwing their teammates’ names around to answer God knows what question. You don’t have enough time to figure it out before Pinoe puts her phone in her pocket and offers you a pair of shades.

People assume she isn’t the most affectionate person; usually more compossed than the rest of the USWNT, but that’s not the case. Maybe she’s not as open with physical displays, but she expresses herself in other ways. Spending time around the city always means she spoils you like crazy. And no, that’s not the reason you love spending time with her.

Ash loves her for a reason, and you can see exactly why.

Being around Pinoe means not thinking about the Olympics for a bit, even when you can’t understand a single neon sign around you.  It’s all about fashion in ways other than clothes. Your hair ends up in a crazy color that looks amazing on you. It won’t be that visible under the helmet while you play, but you feel empowered by it.

Then, Pinoe gets you the perfect clears for your first game in a couple of days. You can’t wait to show them off, so both of you take a picture in front of the mirror in true Pinoe style.

A few hours later, when you’re back on your room, the pic comes up on your Instagram with a simple comment: #FavoriteAunt.

It makes you chuckle, but you like the post anyway.

***

“Y/n, Y/n! Come here. Hurry!”

You comply without thinking when Kelley motions for you to hide next to a trash can. She’s already recording, and that can only mean one thing.

“Who’s our victim?”

She’s about to prank someone and you’re always up for it. Mischief is clear on your eyes when you look at her behind the camera.

“Allie is about to come up.”

Of course. It had to be Allie of all people.

You’ve scared her over a hundred times, but it’s always fun to make her jump. Thinking about it, camp wouldn’t be the same without Kelley scaring the ever-loving socks off Allie Long, or any other poor soul she has as a target.

“You want to do it?” She asks although she knows the answer already.

“Hell yeah!”

“Language, kid!” She admonishes just for the show while beaming at you.

It takes barely ten seconds for Allie to walk down the corridor. She’s focused on her phone; giving you the perfect opportunity to strike.

You wait just for another second; letting her get closer before jumping and screaming as loud as you can. She screams back at you in total panic; her phone almost thrown at your face in a defensive reflex. It’s a good thing you have her a new phone case that actually protects her phone or it would be down for the count by now.

Kelley is laughing like crazy behind you, and so are you.

That doesn’t stop you from retrieving the launched phone, handing it over to Allie and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Love you,” you say smugly.

“You’re lucky I love you too or I would get you back for this,” she answers while pulling you in for a hug. “Now you, O’Hara, are a different story.”

“You don’t love me?” She asks Allie with that big mocking grin. “I’m the favorite aunt!”

“No, you’re not.” The blonde argues. “I’m the favorite.”

Kelley is still recording, and you’re sure she won’t be able to post all of that at once.

But you don’t know what started the whole favorite aunt debate and by now, you’re afraid to ask. So, while they’re still arguing over it, you make a silent escape.

However, when you see the whole thing posted all over social media later, you can’t help but like it and post a heart emoji directed at both of them. They don’t ask about it directly, so you don’t give an answer either.

The fans are going crazy when the entire soccer National Team jumps into the conversation. Everyone wants to know your answer, but you like to see them fight over that. It’s never too serious, so there’s no shame in enjoying the show.

You don’t make further comments, and all they can do is settle for the night.

It’s a good thing because you have a game to win the next day.

***

Your first victory is exhilarating, but your celebration is quite reserved. You’re on there to win just a game, and although it’s a great feeling to do so, you’re aiming for the gold.

Your nerves were gone as soon as you stepped up to the plate for your first at-bat. Your parents were right about it, and having the entire USWNT cheering for you brought the best out of the entire softball team. The greatest team is there for you; the next generation of golden athletes, and you’re ready to play the part.

After celebrating with ice cold Gatorade, you hang out on your parents’ room.

Playing Smash Bros on your switch with some of your teammates seems like the perfect way to unwind. After a few rounds, you opt to play Mario Kart instead, and you know exactly who would love to join the party.

Tobin calls you after accepting the invite. It’s not that she has a lot to say but because you love hearing her ramble and fight the game when things don’t go her way.

You send a blue shell after her and laugh when she groans in defeat. You don’t have to be in the same room to have a great time with Tobin. She’s amazing.

“You want to have dinner with Chris and me?”

“You getting me ice cream?”

“Fried ice cream if you hurry up.”

“On my way!”

You’d feel bad about ditching your parents, but they have plans with the rest of the team. They’d love it if you’d join them, but there’s no guarantee to make it back before curfew if you go with them. So, after letting them know you’re joining Press and Tobes for dinner, you’re on your merry way.

Dinner is spectacular and Christen smiles the entire time.

It’s not a surprise that the entire world is in love with her. She lets you try from her plate and shares your excitement over dessert while Tobin snaps a thousand pictures of the moment. It’s the perfect way to end the day; with an extra selfie where the three of you smile at the camera.

That’s the picture you post to thank them for an amazing night.

***

The Olympics advance and you try to follow as many events as you can while still being focused on your discipline.

It seems like forever before the USWNT faces their first match.

Your coach gives you permission to go to the match, and the world is ready to see if you’re wearing the jersey of your favorite aunt. You’re not sure why there’s so much expectation considering your parents are also part of the team. In your mind, wearing one of their jerseys is the way to go. And you make your way into the stands wearing the Krieger one.

You wear Ash’s number with your team, and well...you’re Harris too. So, you decided to switch for once. Watching Ali beam makes you happy, and you cheer them on with all your heart. The shouting never stops until your throat is sore and they come on top with their first victory. The atmosphere in the stadium is crazy, and you love every second of it.

It’s hard to tell what happened after that, but you make it to the Olympic Village on JJ’s arms. She’s stronger than anyone could imagine, and it’s shocking when she throws you over to A.D. as if you weighed nothing.

Speaking of strong women…

Every few feet you are in the arms of someone different until you make your way to Naeher. You can see the hint of a smirk on her lips and that makes you smile.

“Thanks for the save,” you say. “Pun totally intended. You were amazing out there.”

A nod is your answer before someone is calling for your attention.

“So,” Mal starts and you know the question before it leaves her lips. “Who’s the favorite aunt?”

“Not you, sorry.” You reply playfully while sticking your tongue out to her. “You’re too young, Rose and T. are the same. You’re more like my cousins.”

Everyone thinks of you as the kids even if you’re not an official part of the team. You’re okay with that, even when they’re overprotective most of the time.

“How did this whole thing start?”

“Livestream,” all of them reply at the same time.

The roll of your eyes is a given. Of course a fan question caused havoc among the USWNT. This has been fun, but they can keep going for ages, and it’s time to stop.

“If it started like that, then maybe it should end with another livestream.”

A deep silence settles over the entire team, and you realize that your inner thoughts were said out loud. It’s too late to backtrack because Kelley, Pinoe and Ash exchange a look before storming out.

“Mom, wait!” You call after Ash, but they’re already gone. “Oh no.”

Alyssa puts you down in case you want to follow them. There’s no real point. You won’t be able to convince them of not doing the livestream right at that moment. Instead, you allow Sonny to guide you through the corridors until you make it to your room.

To no one’s surprise, they already have half the things ready.

With a huff, you take your place in the middle of your bed while every single aunt takes a place wherever they can. Sam ends up on the floor next to Rose. Ali pats your shoulder and takes a seat in the other bed so you can deal with this madness.

Once everyone is seated, Kelley starts the broadcast with: “You know what we’re here for.”

“First of all,” you interrupt before she can say more. “I don’t know who you are, or where are you from, but for the person asking that, you have no idea of the utter chaos you provoked.”

With a glare to the camera, you return your attention to Kelley who only laughs at your words. She’s so damn crazy, and that’s one of the many reasons you love her.

“Come on, Y/n! You’re killing us.” Pinoe says from the corner. “Who’s the favorite aunt?”

“And the favorite aunt is...”

You pause for dramatic effect while you scan the room trying to find her. Then, the moment prolongs because you can’t find her between all the familiar faces.

“Wait, where is she?”

Everyone turns; counting heads and thinking about who is missing. Confusion grows until the door opens and the missing piece enters with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, I’m late.”

“I knew it!” Kelley exclaims with a triumphant air fistbump.

“Of course you did. I told you before,” Alex says in the most nonchalant tone she can muster. “Y/n said it at her birthday party, remember? You got there late because your plane was delayed, but everyone else was there.”

“I thought it was just because she got you cake!” Sonny exclaims.

“The cake was just a bonus.”

“Why are you late anyway?” JJ asks Alex while the blonde holds you and refuses to let anyone else close to you.

“Well, I went for a blue one.”

“Swap?” You asks excitedly and Alex nods.

You can’t move when JJ holds you so tightly, but that’s okay. Alex takes the empty space between your legs while she puts her jersey over you. Blue is the kit you like the most, and Alex made sure to sign it for you.

In all honesty, you love them all.

They’re your family, weird as they are.

[chwrpg]

I burn! I pine! I perish! -- Cohen James

A NOTE FROM ADMIN B: Please welcome to the stage, Ash and New Calvin! (Sometimes I can still hear old Calvin’s voice....) I think it’ll be fun to see a new take on a character that has been a staple in Rosewood since day one, and we all know you can DELIVER so I can’t wait to see my new son on the dash!!!

OOC NAME/ALIAS, PREFERRED PRONOUNS, AGE & TIMEZONE:

Ash Thee Butch Queen, she/her, nice try, satan, EST

DESIRED CHARACTER:

Cohen James

HOW ACTIVE WILL YOU BE?

Hella to Kinda

SECONDARY CHOICE:

Omg, no

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER:

Cohen is a guy who is always thinking on both a big picture level and about the small things, and he knows that about himself so to offset that, he often does the impulsive thing -  not because it comes naturally to him, but because he doesn’t ever want to overthink something so much that he’s paralyzed. He’s a free spirit and passionate to boot, so being stuck in any sense of the word didn’t appeal to him in the slightest. For the most part  Cohen likes to think the best of people, giving them a lot of grace; some people only gave you once chance to make a good impression, but Cohen was often known to give second and thirds because he’s more likely to think of a glass half full than half empty. He’s grateful for his lot in life, well aware that he and his family had more money than any of them could spend in a lifetime, but he refuses to bury his head in the sand just because he was born wealthy in  regards to the world around him. His heart is big and he shows it any way he knows how, and sometimes that means giving money to a person or cause without a second thought, but he also gives his time to do his part to leave the world a little better than he found it.  Because of his impulse, he doesn’t always make the best decisions the first time around, but he’ll always try to right his own wrongs. In other words, his moral compass has known to get out of whack every now and then, but he wasn’t to proud to course correct.  

SAMPLE WRITING:

The first time Cohen ran into Birdie, he literally ran into her. It was his first night in town and his cousin Cal along with Calvin’s best friend went to a bar called the Coyote Ugly in celebration of not only Cohen arriving, but also part of an apparently week long send off for his cousin who was shipping out for another 4 year bid in the USMC. He’d been in Rosewood in less than a day, and the bar that night was the first thing to really impress him despite both his cousin and friend going on and on about how much Cohen was going to love it here eventually. He didn’t know how much he believed that he’d find himself in Illinois of all places, but he was at least making himself be open to it

He was seven or 8 shots deep, jumping around on the dance floor with a group of people from some frat that despite the guys yelling it a lot, Cohen couldn’t remember when he declared loudly that he was getting the next round for everyone.

Spilling a girl’s drink wasn’t the most original meet cute, but Cohen figured it was okay since Birdie didn’t find it that cute anyway. Or rather, at all. His first glimpse of the aforementioned angel was that of an angel of fury, “Shit I’m sorry.” He told her after colliding with her, the girl leaving the bar just as he was approaching it. “Let me buy—” He looked up to see Birdie in her full annoyed glory and it was like he’d gotten hit by a 18-wheeler despite him being the one who did the colliding. ‘You should be!…’ she tore into him, really let him have it, but she at least let him get her another drink for not only her but the three friends she’d apparently come with, “Listen I’m new in town and I was wondering what you would think about you maybe showing me around? I’m Cohen.” Birdie snorted, and Cohen couldn’t decide if the face she was making while she looked him over was one of her being impressed by his nerve or off put. Either way liquid courage was a hell of a thing, and Cohen stood there with what he thought was a charming lopsided smile, but in all likelihood didn’t land the way he thought it did. 'I think I’d rather consume the drinks you spilled off off the ground. Watch where you’re going, Cohen.’ She breezed by him, and sure, getting rejected stung, but for some reason that he couldn’t and didn’t care to decipher, he wasn’t deterred – he just had a feeling that he’d see her again and when he did, he’d win her over for sure.

___

The next time he saw her, he was at the campus book store. He had a list of books he was needing for his classes, and had acquired all but one. It seemed luck was on his side though because the book store had exactly one copy left and it was all his. He decided to stick around for a bit, settling in to an empty table near the service desk while he scrolled through his instagram feed and he figured out how he wanted to spend the rest of his day. What had to be no more than 15 minutes later, a familiar, exasperated voice of an angel came from the very same service desk he’d been at. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but in his defense, if he hadn’t then how would he have known that the universe was giving him a second chance at a first impression? Because as luck would have it, the book she needed was the book he’d bought.

He went back and forth with himself on if he should approach her, but his legs made their mind up before his brain could when he saw her about to leave. “Hey, wait up.” He said, practically sprinting to catch up to her and cut her off before she left, 'Are you stalking me or something? I carry pepper spray and I’m not in the mood’. “What? No, wow, straight to stalking, huh? No I go here.” He pointed to his new badge, on a Red and yellow 'The Flash’ lanyard around his neck. “I was picking up books but I think it’s a good thing I am here because ta-da.” He told her, presenting her the French book in question, “I bought the last copy a little while ago.”

'Of course, because life isn’t already unfair enough’ She muttered,

“Come on, you gotta think good thoughts, here. Today is both our lucky days. You get this book and I get to see you again. Take it.” He told her and she looked at him suspiciously.

'You want me to take it? What���s the catch?’ Birdie asked, eyes narrowed in his direction. She was highly suspicious of him, obviously, but he knew he could turn it around, he just needed a chance, and the fact that they’d run into each other wasn’t exactly one in a million, (the town was only so big, let alone the student population), but them being there on the same day in the same time frame was enough to think that he was given a second chance to make a good first impression for a reason. After all, Cohen had met plenty of girls, but none of them had had the instant effect on him that Birdie had - it was like Cupid shot him with an arrow or something. “No catch.”

'No catch?’ She parroted suspiciously,

“Okay well one catch. You give me another shot at meeting you.”

She scoffed,

“Look I probably came off as a tool like Peter Quill levels of douche bag that night, but I was really drunk, my cousin and his friend wanted to show me the town. And I know that maybe when I’m drunk and think I’m being charming I’m really being obnoxious, but believe or not, I don’t actually suck. My mom thinks I’m the coolest.” He gave Birdie a hopeful smile, but she didn’t answer. It did, however look like she was contemplating, so he took that and ran with it, almost literally, making a b-line for the outside. And as soon as he was out of the door he came back in and walked up to Birdie, running his fingers through his hair to get it out of his face, “Hey, I’m Cohen and I don’t know if you believe in fate or not, but I just have this crazy feeling that this book should belong with you and not me…” He once again held it out to her and reluctantly, she took it. Even more reluctantly, Cohen got a smile out of her after the 10th guarantee that there were no strings attached.

He could have ended the interaction there, but he tempted fate, asking Birdie out to dinner. She said no, but the way she’d said 'nice try, though’ wasn’t exactly discouraging.

___

He’d seen Birdie around a few times after that, but Cohen figured that there was a thin line between being charmingly persistent, and a creeper straight out of r/letsnotmeet, so he hadn’t approached her on any of those occasions. Besides, between school, being shown the ropes at HearstCorp, and still carving out time to do his own thing, Cohen had plenty of things to keep him occupied. And so what if he got a glimpse of the most beautiful brown eyes he’d ever seen every now and then that made his stomach morph into a pit of hungry moths? Plenty of people had pretty eyes, and a pretty frame that Cohen was convinced would fit perfectly with his own, pssh - he had a crush but he wasn’t Joe Goldberg.

So the next time he’d spoken to Birdie, it was because she approached him, not the other way around.

He hadn’t come to Rosewood with much in the way of clothing, figuring he could just pick up whatever he needed, and what he needed that day was not only a tux, but several business suits.

Cohen didn’t think it was needed, but there was a gala that his grandfather was putting on essentially announcing Cohen’s intent to one day take his grandfather’s place at the head of the company. It sounded like a whole lot of pomp and circumstance, but the excitement in which his grandparents spoke about it, made it impossible for him to shoot the notion down, (the way they talked about galas gave Cohen the inkling that they were like their Coachella) hence why he found himself at one of the upscale tailor’s on Rosewood’s main street.

'Cody’? It wasn’t his name, so while he’d heard it somewhere in the back of his mind, Cohen paid it no mind and continued on with his mirror selfies, waiting for the tailor to get back with his measurements and proposed alterations.

'Cody!’ The voice registered that time, and Cohen whipped his head around to see Birdie, “It’s…Cohen, you didn’t remember my name?”

'Cohen, right. Sorry’. Well that sucked, but she at least genuinely looked as if she’d regretted the faux pas. 'You clean up nice’.

He could feel a blush creeping up his neck as he watched her eyes roam over him; it more than made up for Cody, 'Is that Tom Ford?’

“Uhhh… yeah totally. Maybe, I don’t know. I liked the way the jacket looked. It gives me Bruce Wayne vibes, right? You really think it looks good? I have to go to this gala thing and I didn’t have anything to wear so my grandpa told me this was the place I wanted to be. Everybody’s real nice so I’m not mad at it. What are you doing here though?” He asked innocently, and it wasn’t lost on him that she didn’t answer his question, but he didn’t call her out - it was a little weird, but she was curious about him so he wasn’t going to mess that up…on purpose

'Gala, what gala? I’m pretty much up on every social function and there’s no gala on the calendar for at least the next three months.’

“I think invitations are going out today. It’s kind of for me technically. My grandpa’s just kind of stoked on me working with him on like some family business vibes so it’s gonna be a whole bunch of people who are really happy for me or maybe hate me who I have no idea who they are”. He chuckled, sending a sparkling, soft smile in Birdie’s direction.

He couldn’t exactly get a beat on what she thinking in her head; was he talking too much? Did he seem braggy? He didn’t want to seem braggy. Braggy was the worst.. Luckily, the tailor came back, and after a quick conversation, Cohen told the guy that he’d take the tux as well as the suits he’d picked out earlier. He pulled his wallet out and handed over a black card, polite to the tailor, but wanting to get back to his conversation with Birdie, “So anyw—”

'what kind of business does your family do?’ Birdie asked, and Cohen answered, “Publishing and media pretty much. It’s not all that interesting. Hey, so crazy idea and I swear it’s not me asking you on a date, but since you know so much about galas, maybe you’d want to come? No pressure if you don’t, it’s just I won’t know like 95% of the people there and you’d probably be helping me not chop my arm off just so I wouldn’t have to shake anymore hands.” He moved his arm up and down, and damn if he didn’t feel like a goddamn superhero for making Birdie laugh.

Things were going so well, so of course they had to be interrupted; this time by Birdie’s phone ringing. She took a look at her phone, muttered 'shit’, then focused her attention back to Cohen, her braids whipping around from the motion in a way that for sure wasn’t going to be a thing he thought about all the way home.

'Mmm, maybe. I’ll think about it. I’ve got to go though. See you later, Cohen.’

“Later days!” He called back when she was already just about out of the door, “Later days? What was that?” He berated himself only for his own phone to ping with a notification, and when he pulled it out of his pocket he saw 'From Instagram: Birdie Stratford started following you’

He spun in place, then gave his reflection a wink and the gun, powered by nothing less than pure elation, “Whooo I’m in the game, baybeee! Bruce Wayne who?”

ANYTHING ELSE?

Bro, why is this shit so long? Good luck reading through this BS. You should have never called me a fatass kelly price. 1985 or whatever. 

[bi-outta-cordonia]

Ebb and Flow

Last chapter moved kinda quickly in terms of progression and maybe there’s a miniseries lodged somewhere in all the development I’m shocked we didn’t get to see. Hopefully there’s more hiding in the later chapters. We’ll see!

Blades of Light and Shadow. Tyril Starfury x f!elf MC (if you squint, now complete with light touching!) sfw, all ages. Tags include: Tyril has secrets, that’s why his hair is so long, because it’s full of secrets, also he’s still grappling with some of that juicy early onset sexual tension with Ashala, maybe he’ll deal with it one, maybe. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Salt of the air, taste of the fury on the tongue. The high winds rise as the sea roll low. Clutch the vessel starboard and let Honerva flow!”

Tyril’s ears twitch along to the melody, lifting and bending easy from years of involuntary practice. The priestess—Nia—her song is familiar to him but also completely foreign. Parents of Undermount sing the same tales to their restless and misbehaving children, not as an upbeat shanty but rather as a warning to the wise. Honerva is a goddess that demands much from the mortals that traverse her realm. Stay humble but maintain vigilance. Stay the course but do not ignore the many weaving paths that make up the sea. Honerva may grant safe passage or she may dash a ship full of innocents against craggy stones, whichever mood strikes her first. 

Nia does beautifully as her voice ebbs and the sailors whoop heartily. She offers a dainty bow and heads back to her bunk beneath deck with Threep still perched on her shoulder. 

Much like the odd whims of Honerva, the air shifts as soon as familiar magic cuts through the thin barrier around him. He often erects a small shield when he stands on his own, nothing like the ones he forces up in battle. It’s just enough to give the humes pause as they walk by him—perhaps they’ll turn away so he doesn’t have to stomach looking at them. He knows how they take to him all too well. Better to steer them clear of him before something unpleasant unfolds. 

Even so, there is no guarantee that all the walls around him will remain in tact. Ashala Venralei is impossible to miss and her magic is advanced enough that crossing into his doesn’t give her the overwhelming need to be elsewhere. She quietly folds her hands one over the other and leans against the wooden rails. 

“Honerva is not a gentle goddess yet humans have such cheerful songs about her,” she says. 

“I see,” is all he says. “I didn’t think you’d know of the stories surrounding her.”

“Did the mage miss the morning ritual I conducted prior to our departure?” she teases, head turning completely towards him. He glances at her from the corner of his eye and frowns heavily. “Perhaps I am more elf than he cares to admit—I practically begged for safe passage. Honerva changes moods as often as Mal changes the details of the stories he’s already told. We should be grateful that her temperament has not changed yet.” Her lips quirk. “And that Mal’s stories are amusing. We move amongst seasoned travelers, it seems.”

“Ah, you speak not of I, lowlander,” he corrects. “Undermount has been my home for decades until now. What stories Mal provides come from his adventures. The ones I provide belong to me yet seem to surface whenever it suddenly becomes the fancy of one extremely nosy lowlander.”

She doesn’t laugh and it irritates him in a way. Instead, he watches that sly smile of hers crack across her face, golden eyes as bright as the beaming sun. What little she conveys with her body he can read upon her face. 

Sometimes.

“You could always stop me yourself,” she says. “Two days out from port and you’ve yet to spend time with anyone aside from myself. A choice, I presume?”

Tyril doesn’t answer for a long moment. In the skies above, a flock of gulls circle and swoop down towards the sea to scoop up fish for their meals. White feathers shine wetly as they beat their wings and head back to land. He averts his gaze and stares at the distance ahead of him—nothing but miles and miles of endless sea, the horizon almost indiscernible between the place where the sky meets the water. 

“I don’t…” He stops and narrows his eyes. “All that I could say about the life I’ve grown accustomed to matters little compared to the reality I embrace now.” He stands taller but takes a shaky breath of the salty air. “Stories of the past often matter greatly depending upon the context but my stories are nothing. Just the ramblings of…”

He grows quiet, bowing his head a bit, and he dares not risk a glance towards the woman beside him. His old governess would give him a whack on the knuckles for such weakness. First and foremost are the lessons of propriety—how to maintain veneer with ease and how to trick one’s enemies into believing the face displayed for them. Of all the sickly sweet smiles and taut smirks, nothing delivers more emphatically than the look of unwavering curiosity brimming in Ashala’s eyes. 

Slowly, Tyril turns his head towards her and meets that gaze with his. She exudes smoke and ash, chokes the world around her into a violent submission for it has walked its course over her. She will walk her own path to save a man unrelated to her by blood but in between, the natural well of magic in the world will tip in her bend and the elements all around her will move aside for she refuses to be moved by them. 

“You are…” he starts, resting his chin upon his hand. Her eyes flash—a warning or amusement? He isn’t entirely sure. “A strange creature.”

Ashala shrugs. “You are blue. And tall.” She squints at him. “And horribly gruff. I expected elves from the city beneath the stone to be a lot more refined.”

“I can be if I choose so.”

“But you choose not to be in any given moment.” Her head nods towards the door leading to the bunks beneath deck. “Save for when you interact with Nia, of course. Imtura seems unbothered but Mal does everything in his power to crack the frosty exterior you put up.” 

He chuckles. “And you seem to think I exist for the sake of reciting old stories. You and Mal are no different in that sense—you are both bothersome. Only he seems to do it because nothing else in this world could possibly entertain him more.”

“You have a vein that pops up on that rather large forehead of yours when you get riled up,” she says. His fingers twitch and his jaw works. He will not rise to the bait. He is better than this. 

Better than the coy smirk that tugs at her lips when he does reach up. 

And much better than the playful glint in her eyes as he silently tucks his hair behind his ear, very much avoiding the spot on his forehead where the vein could be. 

He will not think about this later. 

“Is there something in particular you desire, lowlander?” he hisses. “Or have you come to pester me for yet another story?”

She remains silent for a long moment. Her golden eyes sweep back over the water and take in the sight of clear skies all the way in the distance. Her body closes off, turns away to face completely forward. There is a blankness about her face and his brow furrows. 

“We all carry secrets, Tyril,” she says quietly. Ashala’s head remains high despite the strange air settling between them. Before the words leave her mouth, he knows the question sitting on her tongue. “Undermount is your home, yet the minute you called out the next destination, there seemed…there was a hesitation on your part.”

His lips press together. “I see.”

“Your skill is unparalleled. Of the five of us, it is clear your training as House Starfuy’s heir—” His jaw works, “—has granted you the boon of power beyond imagining. Knowledge, tactics—there is much to speak of regarding you but we respect your need to hold such truths to your being. Perhaps there is something we are unaware of that is too painful for you to recall—something that would leave you vulnerable.”

He sighs and lays his arm flat against the railing. 

“No, it…” 

Memories flood the empty space within his mind. Meditation keeps it clear but there are nights where he is restless, tossing and turning as events of the past play out in the form of nightmares most unimaginable. Where there is wisdom there is pride most evil, most corrupting of those that cross its path. His mother—her face is there but hazy. Fanciful feasts, the boisterous laughter of men and women dressed in the finest of silks as servants present delicacies from far and wide—

There was a man whose lips he can still taste—

The woman with straw blonde hair that smiled so beautifully—

House rankings, climbing the rungs of hollowed out ladders that snap so easily but mend just as well if only he would think.

Climb faster.

Push harder. 

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs again. 

“It’s…far too complicated to explain at the moment,” he finally answers. Weight presses on his shoulders and a knot forms in his belly. He remembers a sensation like this back then, only it was much more constant. “In some ways, I envy the life you’ve led.”

Ashala offers nothing at first, her eyes never straying from the horizon slowly moving in the distance. “You’ve been surrounded by luxuries most of your life. Your knowledge of our—of your culture is far more extensive. I cannot fathom the idea of envying one born to nothing.”

“I...I was not lacking for anything, no. You assume correctly in a sense. Even the happiness was constant for a time.” Quiet again. At the very least, she does not push. “Everything moved towards a single goal and that was the most exhilarating aspect. To be able to provide for the house meant just as much as being a part of it. Climbing the ranks was a ruthless game but standing atop the other children brought glory beyond compare.”

“You were heir,” Ashala says. 

A rueful smile tugs at his lips. “Everything I could ever want at my very fingertips—and now? Now, I travel the world committed to a mission that the others of our kind would rather blatantly ignore.” His head shakes. “What good does it do to only partially stop an evil that would destroy us all? Why stop at splitting the shards and why not completely cleanse the world of the Court’s influence?”

Ashala hums but does not respond immediately. Her head turns and she observes him quietly. 

“Then it was pure altruism that saw you abandon such a lucrative role?” His eyes dart away and he knows the exact number of whacks on the knuckles the gesture would earn him. 

“I’ve been away from Undermount for a long while,” he says. “It’s been months at best yet I know the exact number of whacks I’d get for being so loose with my feelings.”

“Oh? How rare to see such a sight,” she says, hand raising to point at the corners of his mouth twitching. Tyril jerks his head away and snorts, drawing a small laugh from her. “A rare yet delightful thing to see. Perhaps I was mistaken about your ability to express any emotion aside from disinterest and disgust.”

“You could stand to repress some of yours more often,” he fires back. “Humes are widely regarded as loud creatures—you are an elf. Some stoicism would make you tolerable at the very least.”

Her laugh is a full-hearted cackle. None of the heat nor venom of his words take for she finds any slight instance of his annoyance enjoyable. Heat floods his cheeks and he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips as she howls with laughter. 

“To have an elf accuse me of not being stoic enough!” she wheezes, wiping at the corners of her eyes. “Would you believe that humans find me to be the most unapproachable creature that walks this land? The children would often run from the pull of my magic lest it would swallow them whole. I suppose those in possession of magic naturally terrify the folk who have so little experience with it.”

He nods. “Much of yours was self-taught, however. Being able to conceal it is one of the first lessons a proper instructor should’ve taught you, but…” He coughs. “I suppose I could…show you. It would be a useful skill when we face certain enemies.”

She quirks a brow. “Now you instructing me? Perhaps it is a moment I eagerly await if only to see the bitter disdain on your face when you realize how difficult it is to teach me!” His eyes roll but she ignores it. “You still didn’t answer my question, Tyril.”

“It was…” He pauses for a long moment. “It was mostly for that reason, yes. But in truth, it is like you mentioned before. There are some secrets I would still prefer to ‘hold to my chest,’ as you say. It isn’t…it isn’t the most pleasant thing to recall, not now. I…”

Again in an instant—

The faces of hundreds who looked upon him with hope—

That looked broken and angry when he turned his back on them—

There is no shame in doing what needs to be done—for doing the right thing. Pride is not the only source of his sense of self. It makes up only a small portion of all of him but the thought still eats at him—the question of what could’ve been always lingers no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that it isn’t important to know the answer. 

Tyril crosses his arms and gently smooths his fingertips over his bracers. His head bows and he stares at the water violently lapping at the hull as Imtura’s ship cuts through the sea. 

“You don’t regret this,” Ashala says, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“No, not at all.”

“But there are things you wonder about. Things that you cannot change or reverse as a result of your actions…”

He stands still for a moment before nodding once. “All that I do here matters more to me than the circumstances that put me on this path. I chose it, yes. There are factors that led me here, that is also true.”

She stares at him for a long while, that piercing gaze stirring something a bit unsettling within him. It’s like looking into the base of a flame all consuming, a void all encompassing. Ashala Venralei—would he ever tell her the truth about her name and all the reasons why no person in Undermount would ever consider stringing such words together to form a child’s name? He knows what Tyril is—Orthonus, Livienna, Myhri, and Rashki.

“The child born from ash and dreams”—to get to where they needed to go, Ashala’s parents burned a considerable bridge that meant that home would never be a place they could return. 

“We will stop the Shadow Court,” she says and she does something dangerous—far too dangerous—

She reaches across and lays a warm hand on top of his. He swallows and stares into her eyes once more, something far more uncomfortable welling in the pit of his belly. It’s a warmth and a storm in one that starts in his gut before it shoots through the rest of him in uneasy webs. 

He wills himself to nod curtly. When she graces him with a warm and genuine smile, he quivers. 

It must be luck she turns on her heel and leaves him before she notices. 

[trxxrpg]

Welcome, Lucent “Lucky” Lachlan to Tabula Rasa, He kind of looks a lot like Domhnall Gleeson please submit your character account within 24hrs

OUT OF CHARACTER NAME/NICKNAME/ALIAS: Slowner

AGE: 24

TIMEZONE: PST.

EXPERIENCE: Too damn long. 11-12 years. Started roughly when I was 11, writing my own stories and miniature novels. That progressed into literature based roleplays by the time I was 13.

IN CHARACTER CHARACTER NAME: Lucent “Lucky” Lachlan - His name directly translates into “Glowing”, “Radiant” and “Dauntless” in three separate languages, Spanish, Italian(Luciento) and Latin (Lucentine).

CHARACTER AGE: Roughly 26, doesn’t actually know his exact age due to being orphaned before any legal paperwork had been filed on him.

FACECLAIM: Domhnall Gleeson

GENDER: He’s a male.

SPECIES: They are a hybrid between a supernatural male being and a human female.

SUBSPECIES: Leprechaun

TRAITS: +++ Lucky, + Economically Inclined, + Efficient — Cocky, -Cheeky, -Coy (yes; those are all synonyms, no; you can’t complain.)

SKILL SETS: Lucent’s Luck is supernaturally modified by his Leprechaun heritage. Despite being a hybrid, most of Lucent’s biology and genetics were gained from his father - Resulting in a fairly potent and consistent stream of “Jackpot” style luck being present in Lucky’s life. These occurences are what ultimately earned him his monicre. Much like Domino from Marvel, Lucky’s luck is much more versatile than one would be lead to believe at surface level. In a practical sense, Lucent’s luck can provide a tangible and realistic field of awareness around him. Like a sphere of aura or energy, Lucky supernaturally and subconsciously affects reality to tilt the outcomes of events in his favor. From things as simple as rolling the right dice to something as elaborate as allowing one of his guards to be positioned in the perfect spot to cover his own blindspots. To be clear - A leprechaun’s luck affects observable reality to skew the chances of something happening or not happening. It affects people, places, things and thoughts on a nearly impossible to perceive level. Only someone who spends a lengthy and recurring amount of time in close vicinity to Lucky would begin to slowly begin to grow suspicious of how the man always seems to come out on top of any situation. Its uncanny and unsettling to some, but the ultimate ace up your sleeve to others.

Examples of “Luck” affecting outcomes: -Lucky is accosted by an aggressor, who mis-identifies him almost immediately as someone else, or said aggressor simply would trip over a crack in the pavement and fall flat on their face unconscious. -Lucky walks into a car lot and is told he is the 10,000 customer and is granted a free car. -In a fight, Luck is enough to see that Lucent dodges an attack completely or is able to misplace a normally fatal attack to a non-fatal area. A punch from Lucky, while being a punch from a biological human - Is packed with the physical manifestation of his ‘Jackpot’ - meaning if he hasn’t used his luck it becomes stronger. Since Lucent is not aware of himself being a Leprechaun, he wouldn’t be able to actively use or NOT USE his powers; Resulting in his luck averaging out to be noteably higher than other supernatural beings, but not high enough to garner Lucky any interest in most people’s eyes.

*His luck isn’t a slight tilt of the pinball machine, It turns the damn thing upside down.*

QUOTE/LYRICS: Personal: “Feelin’ lucky?” Philosophical: “Live for the moment lest you lose it forever.”

WRITING SAMPLE CHARACTER BACKGROUND: (I add bits of his background into the actual IC writing sample at the end of this app. I will mainly focus on the ideas and themes prevalent in his background in this section as we have discussed a lot about Lucky in person already.)

*Lucky was orphaned as a child. This results in him having severe trust issues, to constantly suspect people of betraying or abandoning him and generally results in his intolerant nature. If you can think of a young, impulsive irishman that is willing to headbut his way through things, that’s lucky in a nutshell. Hailing from Ireland, this is only further exasperating his short temper and spitfirey nature. He is mildly alcoholic and drinks as a coping mechanism for his depression and anxiety. He started drinking at 14. His mother left him on the steps of a wealthy businessman and politician’s estate. This decision ends up playing out amazingly in Lucent’s favor. At the age of 20 his adoptive parents pass away peacefully of old age and leave everything in their estate and portfolios to their son. Within 6 years Lucent would establish himself in the eyes of the public as a successful businessman and philanthropist. His casinos are widely considered the best around the globe and his name is often touted about in circles of celebrities and other high profile types. It stands reason that anyone with a gambling background would know of Lucky when he arrives. His opening ceremonies generate a rather large buzz, including celebrity style red carpet treatment and a “quality higher than anywhere else” guarantee. All of his employees seem happy and well paid. At least half of his success can be directly attributed to his supernatural luck, though it is worth noting that the man himself is also incredibly adept at getting what he wants from others.

CHARACTER BIOGRAPHY: Lucky is a half-leprechaun half-human hybrid. This means that he naturally retains the tenacity and adaptability of humanity as well as the deeply invested cultural beliefs and respects of an irish leprechaun. Honesty, loyalty and respect are what dictate his relationships and interactions with others. If people prove civil and abide by Lucent’s prestigious establishment’s rules then he generally is a kind and agreeable man.

However, Lucky is also a man with little to no patience for upsets to his perceived norm. People that stand out or rebel against his jurisdictions often get to meet the unpleasant side of him, a side that is fully aware of how deep the influence of his economical and societal status has. One might assume him a 'control freak’ on a surface level, but in reality Lucent simply has a plan in mind for how he wants things to go and gets frustrated when that plan is willfully ignored by others. As long as they do what is expected of their station or position, Lucent often lets his employees operate at a casual and comfortable pace - believing it instills a healthy work ethic and loyalty among his employees which shows to be effective as there have never been any scandals or secrets revealed about him or his organization.

Lucky runs a chain of Casinos with locations in popular tourist sites - His most recent endeavor has chosen Tabula Rasa as it’s destination. Lucky aims to bring the full experience of one of his casinos to the sanctioned city of Tabula Rasa. Why did he choose a city with unique political ties and perhaps abstinations due to it’s sovereignty? That much is simple - Lucky sees it as a ripe opportunity to perform two tasks simultaneously.

ONE: Open a casino in a predominantly supernatural economy, see how much money he can squeeze out of the 400-500 year old vampires with long lasting economic ties ;D or the werewolves that probably have drug money and fight ring money up the wazzooo. It’s a smart business decision.

Two: Lucky will have privatized cameras monitoring the internals of his casino. Potentially even some of the rentable rooms/suites. That’s right, Lucky may be planning to blackmail people if spicy shenanigans go down in his place of business. In addition to this, he has received contracts from several television companies wishing to get “an inside view” of the functionings of the supernatural city.

PARAGRAPH SAMPLE: Raindrops spattering against the blacktop, falling like tears from the very sky itself as a cradle lay at the foot of a door; mewling and balling - crying out into the cold, dark, unloving world. A child was orphaned that night, left alone without a mother or father by a woman weeping as she fled her shame. The shackles of guilt too much for her to bear she only hoped she could replace with the comfort of knowing she had picked a good home for her son. She didn’t look back, didn’t turn to have one last look at her child; for she knew that if she had, she would’ve ran back to him sobbing and begging for his forgiveness.

Or at least that’s how he liked to think it went. Cubes of ice stacked in fours clattered as they were swirled about in the glass clasped gingerly between his thumb, index and middle fingers. The next moment he banished the thought beneath a torrent of whiskey - hoping it was possible to drink oneself into amnesia, this was the typical Friday for the hotheaded irishman. His two-piece suit clung to his body, fitted perfectly to a pristine and refined crisp. Every crease was pressed that morning, both shoes polished independently. This man was dressed far too well to be muckraking at a bar, yet there he sat clanking his glass for another round.

“Again?” Called the bearded man from behind the bar, “That’s your twelfth in under 20. Trying to drown, buddy?”

“No ser, Just tryin’ not te’ think.” He raised his glass with as little effort as humanly possible before setting it back down. It would be then that the man did what every bartender did when serving him, They tried to cut him off. A large hand closed ontop of his glass and slid it from his hand.

“Well you’ll have to go not think somewhere else, you’re disturbing my business.”

“Disturbi- Oh… right.” The red headed male looked to his sides at the barstools full of his entourage; roughly six armed men dressed in deep black suits with verdant green ties and .45’s in their holsters. “Apologies, We’ll just make our leave then.”

And so they did, the seven irishmen stepped out from that establishment and would set out to their true destination - an establishment of their own. A right irish diamond here in the land of the affluent and esteemed. Gone would be the days of hoity toity bars with expectations and back would be the glorious days of pub crawls, brawls and throwing up in every bathroom stall from here to the piers! Though one thought kept rearing it damnable face in the recesses of his mind. And the words that haunted him were spoken in the voice he imagined for her.

“Nothing you do will ever be good enough. No matter how much you achieve, how far you go. You’ll always be undeserving of a mother’s love. Yer a right bastard ye know? Not even I wanted you.” The glass of a mirror in his suite would shatter later that night in response and within the fragments of glass he finally felt like he could see his true self; And he was a broken, bloody, mess of a man.“

[yesbothways]

I shared this with my people here in the USA today on fb.  Some of this might be useful for folks, especially in shaping their own conversations with folks about coronavirus. I believe we can all reduce harm now and going forward. I am hoping we will learn the right things from this experience.:

1) FLATTEN THE CURVE. Our first responsibility right now is to restrict our interactions with public spaces and people to what we need to do. That is what's needed for sure now, not maybe and not later. What's possible will vary drastically for different people, but we need to take action now to reduce the load as much as we personally can. It is not merely a matter of our personal "odds" of dying. This is a matter of our healthcare system being overtaxed. Our healthcare system will be overtaxed by cases of coronavirus.

I see some folks who look at statistics and basically say this virus should be ignored and simply allowed to run its course. We do not want that. We do not want that percentage of the world to die, and we do not want them to die in a compressed timeframe. It will not make any of the world's problems better. This is not a solution to overpopulation. This is not a solution to anything that's wrong with the world. What those of us who live through this learn from this might be. To any folks who have this mindset, please address this now in life. If folks see this mindset, please engage and challenge this.

This mentality of changing nothing means not being willing to collaborate with healthcare workers who will live through hell if we live as if nothing is happening. They need fewer cases, and they need those spread out over time. We need to collaborate with healthcare professionals, so they do not have to work with too few resources, so they do not have to decide who to treat and who to let die. They can save many more lives, protect themselves and their families better, and suffer far, far less if we will collaborate with their work.

That is what is happening to healthcare workers now in Italy. Italy is not a third world country. America will be the same, unless we learn from what they are telling us, even begging us to understand. The healthcare system here runs at over capacity on a normal day. We need to try not to catch coronavirus, so that we do not pass it on. We need to try to catch it later rather than sooner. Just that matters a great deal. Now is the time to flatten the curve and avoid the spike that will hit the healthcare system like a tsunami that takes far too long to subside.

2) INVEST IN QUALITY OF LIFE. We are in this for the long haul, so the changes we make will need to be made sustainable. This is not like what we know: a blizzard, tornado, or hurricane. This will not blow over in two weeks or even two months. It won't miraculously miss us or descend upon us regardless of what we do. Americans tend not to prepare for disasters, and we only do so with a hyper-individualistic mindset that attempts to avoid our dependence and interconnectedness. We seem dedicated to maintaining our mass denial about the vulnerability of our global systems, even when it is shown. We can learn from this if we do prepare and respond providing we do so in a mindset of accepting our vulnerability and interdependence. The first meditation of the day right now is mortality, whether we like it or not.

The main suffering that most of us will endure is spending prolonged amounts of time in our homes. This is self-chosen now, but it may become mandated and even enforced. We need to prepare to reduce that suffering as much as we can for ourselves and others. I am encouraging people to think more about their food supplies, and try to get and maintain food supplies for 2-8 weeks at home. We don't need to buy "emergency food." We can buy a diversity of foods we like and would want to learn to cook. We can think of it as partway recreation for excess time at home. There is no reason to think that we will lose water or power. That would be something new and something else coming into this. It also seems like food deliveries and supply chains will continue. We will need to continue to get food. A little resilience work here will be wise, but we are not "exiting" the system at all. We are not dodging this to wait it out. That's not possible. Our food privilege is incredible. Our food systems are vulnerable and unjust. Now is a time to consider this more.

We will need to accept some risk. This is good for us to accept up front and manage with as much grace as possible. If we try to reduce our risk to zero, then we will create psychic harm to ourselves and add pressure behind keeping an already dangerous way of imagining our world and make us more likely to behave erratically and aggressively over this. We can cultivate good habits that drastically reduce risk that include the wellbeing of the collective. The greatest innovation in all of human health has been clean water and hand-washing. Clean water is magnificent. Soap is beautiful. We forget. It is a discipline to remember this. We do not respect or honor much less revere cleaning and care in this culture. That is feminized, racialized, degrading labor according to our culture. Let's change our minds about that and have reverence for what nurtures life, not just forms of power. On a practical note, a simple solution of bleach and water is easy and inexpensive, and it is as effective as all the fancier products. In times and environments when immune system are suppressed or risks increased, it does make sense to use some chemicals to reduce harm. Now is one of those times. Clean items of common use / touch: faucets, phones, doorknobs, switches, keypads, keys. Wash clothes. Especially if at home more, clean and improve living spaces.

We can have some perspective without saying, "I am not scared of this." Our position of privilege is globally rare. Even now during this crisis. So we can become more conscious of our privileges in ways that make us better and more humane. Recognize what miracles clean water and ease of buying soap are. Recognize how big and comfortable our living spaces are. Recognize what a wild luxury our democratic access to art in the form of music, books, and online resources are. Recognize how incredible our access to electronic devices are. Not with guilt but with increased awareness and questioning about who has this and why.

If we are able to then also experience our increased sense of vulnerability with honesty and maturity, then I think we can relate to the world in more humane ways. The damage this virus does will track along already existing inequalities. The world already heaps the suffering of infectious diseases on the relative poor. Now would be a good time to engage with the ideas of people like Paul Farmer. And if we have excess income, now is a time to look for who is having their income disrupted or who is unable to afford the increased costs of this. Comfort those who are more afraid and more vulnerable with kindness and with real, pragmatic solidarity. At some point, we should all take a little more risk to reduce someone else's. Now is a time to renew and deepen our outrage at systems that serve the rich over the interests of the common folks. Existing powers are being disrupted. Now is a time to look for opportunities to be in solidarity with the local and global poor and marginalized. Now is a time to want and even to demand better lives for everyone and to shake off our belief in the viability and even possibility of running on a core value of self-interest.

This will end. This will take time. We cannot avoid this. Let's all reduce harm, alleviate suffering, and increase good as much as we can. The suffering is guaranteed. The potential good is ours to create. It is not guaranteed.

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

A Critique, Not a Program: For a Non-Primitivist Anti-Civilization Critique

So the anarchist individualist as I mean it has nothing to wait for [...] I already considered myself an anarchist and could not wait for the collective revolution to rebel myself or for communism to obtain my freedom. — Renzo Novatore

I conceive of anarchism from the side of destruction. This is what its aristocratic logic consists of. Destruction! here is the real beauty of anarchism. I want to destroy all the things that enslave me, enervate me, and repress my desires, I want to leave them all behind me as corpses. Remorse, scruples, conscience are things that my iconoclastic spirit destroyed [...] Yes, iconoclastic negation is most practical. — Armando Diluvi First of all, there is nothing inherently primitivist about a critique of civilization, particularly if that critique is anarchist and revolutionary. Such critiques have existed nearly as long as a self-aware anarchist movement has existed — and not always even connected to a critique of technology or progress (Dejacque felt that certain technological developments would allow human beings to more easily get beyond civilization; on the other hand, Enrico Arrigoni, alias Frank Brand, saw civilization and industrial technology as blocks hindering real human progress). The real question, in my opinion, is whether primitivism is any help at all to an anarchist and revolutionary critique of civilization. The word primitivism can mean two rather different things. First of all, it can simply mean making use of what we know about “primitive” societies[1] to critique civilization. This form of primitivism appears relatively harmless. But is it? Leaving aside the obvious criticism of the dependence on those experts called anthropologists for information about “primitive” societies, there is another problem here. The actual societies that we call “primitive” were and, where they still exist, are living relationships between real, living, breathing human beings, individuals developing their interactions with the world around them. The capacity to conceive of them as a model for comparison already involves a reification of these lived relationships, transforming them into an abstract thing — the “primitive” — an idealized image of “primitiveness”. Thus, the use of this method of critiquing civilization dehumanizes and deindividualizes the real people who live or have lived these relationships. In addition, this sort of critique offers us no real tool for figuring out how to battle against civilization here and now. At most, the reified, abstract conception of the “primitive” becomes a model, a program for a possible future society.This brings me to the second meaning of primitivism — the idea that “primitive” societies offer a model for future society. The adherents to this form of primitivism can themselves rightly be called primitivists, because, however much they may deny it, they are promoting a program and an ideology. In this form, I actually consider primitivism to be in conflict with anarchic thought and practice. The reason can be found in the Novatore quote above. Simply replace “communism” with “primitivism” and “collective revolution” with “industrial collapse” and everything should be pretty clear. As I see it, one of the most important differences between marxism and anarchism is that the latter is not essentially an eschatological vision of a future for which we wait, but a way of confronting the world here and now. Thus, revolution for the anarchist is also not something historical processes guarantees for the future, but something for us to live and create here and now. Primitivism is no more livable now than the marxist’s communism. It too is a program for the future, and one that depends on contingencies that are beyond our control to bring about. Thus, it has no more to do with anarchist practice than Marx’s eschatology.I have already pointed out how the very concept of the “primitive” reifies the real lives and relationships of those given this label. This manifests among primitivists who seek to practice their ideology now in the way this practice ends up being defined. In a way far too reminiscent of marxism, “primitive” life gets reduced to economic necessity, to a set of skills — making fire with a bow drill, hunting with an atlatl, learning wild edible and medicinal plants, making a bow, making simple shelters, etc., etc. — to be learned in order to survive. This might then be spiced up a bit with some concept of nature spirituality learned from a book or borrowed from new age bullshit perhaps referring to a return to a “natural oneness”. But the latter is not considered necessary. The totality of the life of the people labeled “primitive” is ignored, because it is largely unknown and completely inaccessible to those who were born and raised in the industrial capitalist civilization that now dominates the world — and that includes all of us who have been involved in the development of an anarchist critique of civilization. But even if we only consider mere survival skills, the fact is that even in the United States and Canada, where real, fairly extensive (though quite damaged) wilderness exists, very few people could sustain themselves in this way. So those who learn these skills with the idea of actually living as “primitives” in their own lifetime are not thinking of the destruction of civilization (except possibly as an inevitable future circumstance for which they believe they will be prepared), but of escape from it. I won’t begrudge them this, but it has nothing to do with anarchy or a critique of civilization. On a practical level, it is much more like a more advanced form of “playing Indian” as most of us here in the US did as children, and, in reality, it is taken about that seriously. Nearly all of the people I know who have taken up the development of “primitive” skills in the name of “anarcho-primitivism” show how ready they are for such a life by the amount of time they spend on computers setting up websites, taking part in internet discussion boards, building blogs, etc., etc. Frequently, they come across to me as hyper-civilized kids playing role games in the woods, rather than as anarchists in the process of decivilizing.An anarchist and revolutionary critique of civilization does not begin from any comparison to other societies or to any future ideal. It begins from my confrontation, from your confrontation, with the immediate reality of civilization in our lives here and now. It is the recognition that the totality of social relationships that we call civilization can only exist by stealing our lives from us and breaking them down into bits that the ruling order can use in its own reproduction. This is not a process accomplished once and for all in the distant past, but one that goes on perpetually in each moment. This is where the anarchist way of conceiving life comes in. In each moment, we need to try to determine how to grasp back the totality of our own life to use against the totality of civilization. Thus, as Armando Diluvi said, our anarchism is essentially destructive. As such it needs no models or programs including those of primitivism. As an old, dead, bearded classicist of anarchism said “The urge to destroy is also a creative urge”. And one that can be put into practice immediately. (Another dead anti-authoritarian revolutionary of a generation or two later called passionate destruction “a way to grasp joy immediately”).Having said this, I am not against playfully imagining possible decivilized worlds. But for such imaginings to be truly playful and to have experimental potential, they cannot be models worked out from abstracted conceptions of either past or future societies. In fact, in my opinion, it is best to leave the concept of “society” itself behind, and rather think in terms of perpetually changing, interweaving relationships between unique, desiring individuals. That said, we can only play and experiment now, where our desire for the apparently “impossible” meets the reality that surrounds us. If civilization were to be dismantled in our lifetime, we would not confront a world of lush forests and plains and healthy deserts teeming with an abundance of wildlife. We would instead confront a world full of the detritus of civilization — abandoned buildings, tools, scrap, etc., etc.[2] Imaginations that are not chained either to realism or to a primitivist moral ideology could find many ways to use, explore and play with all of this — the possibilities are nearly infinite. More significantly, this is an immediate possibility, and one that can be explicitly connected with a destructive attack against civilization. And this immediacy is utterly essential, because I am living now, you are living now, not several hundred years from now, when an enforced program aimed toward a primitivist ideal might be able to create a world in which this ideal could be realized globally — if primitivists have their revolution now and enforce their program. Fortunately, no primitivist seems willing to aim for such authoritarian revolutionary measures, preferring to rely on some sort of quasi-mystical transformation to bring about their dream (perhaps like the vision of the Native American ghost dance religion, where the landscape built by the European invaders was supposed to be peeled away leaving a pristine, wild landscape full of abundant life).For this reason, it might be a bit unfair to call the primitivist vision a program (though, since I have no use for bourgeois values, I don’t give a shit about being unfair...). Perhaps it is more like a longing. When I bring up some of these questions with primitivists I know, they often say that the primitivist vision reflects their “desires”. Well, I have a different concept of desire than they do. “Desires” based on abstract and reified images — in this case the image of the “primitive” — are those ghosts of desire[3] that drive commodity consumption. This manifests explicitly among some primitivists, not just in the consumption of books by the various theorists of primitivism, but in the money and/or labor-time spent to purchase so-called “primitive” skills at schools that specialize in this.[4] But this ghost of desire, this longing for an image that has no connection to reality, is not true desire, because the object of true desire is not an abstract image upon which one becomes focused — an image that one can purchase. It is discovered through activity and relationship within the world here and now. Desire, as I conceive it, is in fact the drive to act, to relate, to create. In this sense, its object only comes to exist in the fulfillment of desire, in its realization. This again points to the necessity of immediacy. And it is only in this sense that desire becomes the enemy of the civilization in which we live, the civilization whose existence is based on the attempt to reify all relationships and activities, to transform them into things that stand above us and define us, to identify, institutionalize and commodify them. Thus, desire, as a drive rather than a longing, acts immediately to attack all that prevents it from forcefully moving. It discovers its objects in the world around it, not as abstract thing, but as active relationships. This is why it has to attack the institutionalized relationships that freeze activity into routine, protocol, custom and habit — into things to be done to order. Consider this in terms of what such activities as squatting, expropriation, using one’s work-time for oneself, graffiti, etc., etc. could mean, and how they relate to more explicitly destructive activity.Ultimately, if we imagine dismantling civilization, actively and consciously destroying it, not in order to institute a program or realize a specific vision, but in order to open and endlessly expand the possibilities for realizing ourselves and exploring our capacities and desires, then we can begin to do it as the way we live here and now against the existing order. If, instead of hoping for a paradise, we grasp life, joy and wonder now, we will be living a truly anarchic critique of civilization that has nothing to do with any image of the “primitive”, but rather with our immediate need to no longer be domesticated, with our need to be unique, not tamed, controlled, defined identities. Then, we will find ways to grasp all that we can make our own and to destroy all that seeks to conquer us.

[darkobsidianquill]

Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness.

Chapter Nineteen.

Harry easily slipped into his new routine. Every day after lunch he would slip away to Voldemort's manor house and keep the Dark Lord 'company' while he performed his meditation exercise. Harry would read while he sat there; some days Voldemort would supply him with a specific book, but other days Harry would just read his text books or work on homework for some class.

He was spending almost all of his evenings with Ron and Hermione again, but he still tended to spend at least a half hour a day as he continued working on copying the book down in the chamber. By Wednesday night he had almost finished copying it. He left the chamber with only five more pages left to copy, and a hand cramp. He and Hermione were spending a lot of time in the evenings working on translating it, and their efforts had gained the curiosity of Ginny, who had started 'helping' them – which really meant that she was sitting at the table with them and asking questions that were slowing down their progress.

Ron was clearly very annoyed at their boring little side project and was spending more and more time with Seamus and Dean.

Thursday morning arrived and Harry had Transfiguration during first block and then a free period. Once the class had begun to clear out, Harry turned to Ron and Hermione and told them to go on ahead. When they looked at him with curious confusion, he told them he was going to speak with McGonagall about his classes for next year and they both understood quickly.

Harry stood up from his desk and packed away the last of his books just as the last of the other students left the room. Professor McGonagall looked up to see him still standing there and rose a single questioning eyebrow in his direction.

"Was there something you needed, Mr. Potter?" she asked.

"Actually, yes. I was hoping to speak with you about my elective courses and my options for next year."

She looked mildly surprised by this but quickly stood to her feet and began to walk towards the door to the class room. "Alright, Mr. Potter. Shall we continue this conversation in my office then?"

"That would be great," Harry said with a grin as he began to walk beside her and out of the classroom.

After a brief journey down the corridor, the two of them reached the deputy headmistress's office and sat down on opposite sides of her desk. Harry quickly began to explain to her what he was hoping to do with his classes for the following year.

"This is a very unusual request, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said after he had finished explaining everything.

"I really don't see why it's not done more often. I mean, how many people really know what they're going to be interested in later on in life, when they're only twelve years old? Besides, worse case scenario, I end up in the class with the third year's and take my Ancient Runes and Arithmancy OWLs in my seventh year."

McGonagall nodded her head slowly, but from the thin-lipped frown on her face, he could tell she wasn't convinced.

"I'm also thinking about looking into some private tutoring this summer in both subjects. At least the theory and all the reading. If I can pass competency tests in August, I was hoping that maybe I could get placed with the forth years."

"Private tutoring?" McGonagall echoed with surprise.

"Yes. I've already spoken with someone who is willing to help me. Do you think it would be possible to arrange for a test in both Ancient Runes and Arithmancy?"

"Well, I..." she began hesitantly before huffing a bit and then giving a somewhat resigned sigh. "I'll have to speak with Professors Septima and Babbling to see what they think of all of this. There will also be the issue of making sure that the classes work with your normal fifth year class schedule. There may be timing conflicts."

"If that does become an issue, perhaps I could apply to the Ministry for a time-turner?" Harry asked with big, innocent, puppy-dog eyes.

McGonagall narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him, which only made Harry grin.

Harry ducked his head and then took on a more serious expression. "All fun aside, Professor, I really am serious about this. It's important to me. I made a mistake at the end of second year. I chose the wrong classes. Pure and simple. And I chose them for the worst reasons."

"And what reasons would those be?"

"I chose them because everyone said they were easy. But now I realize that I'm just wasting a precious, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Arithmancy and Ancient Runes are really valuable subjects, and I'm really interested in learning both of them. Now that I've realized what a stupid mistake I've made, I'm trying to fix it. Surely it isn't too late?" he finished, with a pleading tone.

McGonagall gave another resigned sigh. "I will admit that I would normally tell you no in this situation. However the tremendous improvement in your classwork over the year, and the fact that your other professors have given similar reports during staff meetings leads me to give your request more consideration than I usually would."

Harry blinked. "Staff meetings?" The teachers had been talking about him in the staff meetings? Somehow this didn't exactly sit well with him.

"Yes, your classwork improvement over the last year has come up several times in our meetings. Even Professor Snape has had no choice but to admit that your work has improved," she said with the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.

Harry choked out a bit of a laugh that he tried to morph into a cough. "Is that so?" he asked innocently. "That must have been quite painful for him."

McGonagall snorted. She would deny it till her dying day, but Harry had heard it and he would never forget it. He had made McGonagall snort.

"Yes, well... Mr. Potter... Taking into consideration your improved worth ethics and study habits, and your sincere desire to learn the subjects, I will do my best to help you with this. I cannot guarantee anything, but I will try."

Harry gave her a huge smile and thanked her profusely before bidding her farewell and heading off to find Ron.

– –

By Thursday night Harry had finished copying the last few pages of the ancient elven book and returned to the common room to help Hermione with translating it. The book seemed to be made up of several ancient legends, and the further they translated, the more and more interesting they were becoming. However translating the texts was still extremely slow-going, and Harry found he rarely had the energy at the end of the days to dedicate a lot of his focus towards the task. In contrast, Hermione was becoming down-right dedicated to it, and Ginny was acting as her personal cheerleader.

During the last week, Harry hadn't felt nearly as strong a need or deep seeded desire to spend an hour each day practicing the dark arts as he once did. The anxious, antsy, tension that had eaten away at his mind each day up until he was finally able to get down into the chamber, had dulled significantly now that he was spending several hours a day in the company of the Dark Lord.

Harry had absolutely no explanation for why spending time with Voldemort every day would have any effect on that irrational itch he'd been experiencing for months now. Despite not having an explanation for it, the fact that it clearly had an effect was obvious. Harry decided that he needed to try speaking to Voldemort about it and see if the Dark Lord had any insight into the matter.

The more time he'd spent in the man's company, the more comfortable he felt with actually asking questions, so the idea of trying to explain his experience to Voldemort and asking the man's opinion wasn't nearly as scary or intimidating as it might have once been. But this would also mean openly broaching the subject of how he was affected so strangely by Voldemort's presence, and that still made him feel a little hesitant. Despite the fact that they had acknowledged that the two of them were interacting in a way that was probably a bit odd for both of them, they hadn't actuallydiscussed it.

Unless it was normal for the Dark Lord to spend large amounts of time with individual followers and pet their hair if they sat within reach.

But somehow Harry seriously doubted that was the case. It really didn't seem like the sort of thing Voldemort would normally do.

Saturday arrived and Harry portkeyed to the manor as soon as he was finished with lunch. Voldemort was already in his usual meditative position on the floor and Harry took up his usual spot a few feet away.

After an hour, and the most powerful spike in Voldemort's parselmagic that Harry had thus far sensed from the man, Voldemort stood, stretched and sat heavily in his chair. He read a couple muggle newspapers and then went through the Daily Prophet – Harry had learned that the house-elf, Mixey, was going out daily to acquire a copy of the magical paper for her master – Voldemort sighed, set the papers aside and stood up.

Harry turned and watched the man, curiously for a moment without saying anything. Voldemort took a few steps towards the door before turning back and looking at Harry expectantly.

"Coming?"

Harry blinked, but then quickly scrambled to his feet. He followed Voldemort as his long fast strides quickly took them down the stairs and through the corridors towards the ballroom where they had performed the resurrection ritual.

"So what are we doing?" Harry finally asked as he managed to make his strides match Voldemort's and walked beside him.

"I am going to begin teaching you a few important skills during your visits here. The first one is apparition."

Harry's foot caught on the rug and he almost stumbled in surprise at this, but he collected himself and caught back up.

"Apparition? You're going to teach me to apparate?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Potter. I'm going to teach you to apparate," Voldemort echoed while rolling his eyes.

"Can the Ministry detect that? As I understand it, you need a license to apparate, and you can't even take the test until you're seventeen."

"The Ministry cannot detect it from you because your trace is gone."

"Oh, well that's brilliant," Harry mused as a grin spread across his lips and the pair of them entered the ballroom.

Voldemort quickly began to explain the theory behind it, and then apparated from one side of the ballroom to the other, and back again, so that Harry could feel his magic during the act. Once he learned that Harry had never experienced apparition at all, he did a side-along apparition just to make sure Harry would know what to expect.

Harry spent the next two minutes crouching on the floor trying to make sure he didn't lose his lunch.

"I thought portkeying was bad..." Harry grumbled as he finally felt stable enough to stand up straight. "What is with all forms of magical transport being horrifically disorienting? I can't use a floo without falling on my ass, I've only just barely begun to land from portkey travel without stumbling, and now this. Ugh..."

Voldemort chuckled in amusement. "You'll get used to it."

"So... I'm curious, when you apparate, I hardly hear a sound from you. It's almost as quiet as a house-elf's pop. Everyone else I've seen apparate always makes a loud crack."

"Again, it just takes practice and power. I'm sure with some work you will also be more than capable of near-silent apparition. You certainly have the power reserves for it."

Harry nodded his head thoughtfully. "You know, I had another question I've been meaning to ask since we started this."

"Yes?" Voldemort said dryly with a sigh of impatience.

"We're apparating inside the manor, but I thought that the manor had anti-apparition wards all around it?"

"I am keyed into the wards, and I have keyed you in as well. So we will be able to apparate in and out of the manor, as well as aparate within it's boundaries. No one else will be capable of the same thing, however, unless I key them in as well."

Harry blinked. "You've keyed me into your apparition wards?"

Voldemort rose a single challenging eyebrow, and Harry ducked his head to try and conceal the huge grin that was spreading across his face.

"Are you're curiosities sufficiently satisfied now? I would appreciate getting on with the lesson."

Harry chuckled and smiled up at the man. "Yeah, I'm good. Let's get on with it."

Voldemort rolled his eyes at Harry, but quickly slipped into what Harry had deemed his 'teacher mode'. Harry didn't manage to apparate that evening, but Voldemort said he was convinced Harry would get it within a few more lessons with relative ease.

When the lesson had come to a close, Harry casually thanked Voldemort and said 'bye' before heading out to the time-turner room and then returning to Hogwarts.

– –

It was Sunday at lunch, and Harry, Hermione, and Ron were all sitting in the great hall eating. Or rather, Ron was eating, Hermione was working on translating some more passages from the ancient elven book, and Harry was thumbing through a book on occlumency he'd found down in Slytherin's study. He had disguised the book's cover to look like his charms text book, while also casting a mild notice-me-not charm on it, and so far, no one had noticed it.

"Harry, are you sure you copied this part down, right?" Hermione's voice cut into his focus suddenly and he looked up at her with a blank face.

"Hmm?"

Her face was buried in her copy of the bound notebook that he had given her, while the Old Aldric language book sat on the table beside her.

"This part here... I can't find this word anywhere... I almost think you may have copied it down wrong," she said with her brows furrowed as she continued to look back and forth between the two books intently.

"Hm... I suppose it's certainly possible. I've tried to recheck my work pretty thoroughly."

She huffed in frustration and set the notebook on the table with a thwap!, causing Ron's cup of pumpkin juice to wobble precariously for a moment. Hermione's eyes widened as she watched it in horror for a second before it became clear that it was not about to spill on the notebook. She sighed in relief before returning her attention to Harry.

"Are you sure you can't just bring me the original book?" she asked in a pleading voice.

Harry shook his head. "Nope. Sorry Hermione, but I'm not willing to remove it from the room where it's kept. It has to stay there."

She narrowed her eyes and gave him a hard look. "Could I just go to the room then?" she asked after a second in an innocent tone.

Harry gave her a hard look for a long moment. It had been a while since their last spat about Harry's mysterious secrets. He supposed he was due for another. "Sorry 'Mione. I'm not telling."

She huffed, folded her arms across her chest and scowled at him. For a long minute she fumed quietly. Harry assumed she was just going to let it go, but this time, she didn't. "Why!" she cried in a sudden explosion of pent up frustration.

"Why what?" Harry said, taken aback by the intensity of her burst.

"Why won't you tell me where it is you're going! What are you doing! Where are you going? Are you breaking a school rule? Are you leaving the grounds?"

"I'm not breaking any rules, and no, I am not leaving the grounds. Where I go is still within the school," Harry lied easily.

"Then why can't you tell me where it is! Why don't you trust me! You talk about us earning your trust back, but you know trust is a two-way street, Harry James Potter! If you keep pushing us away like this, how are we supposed to trust you!"

Harry had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He was getting fed up with making excuses to them and realized that he was going to have to give her something to hold her off a while. "Maybe I like having a secret place that only I can go to, and no one else can bother me at, did that ever occur to you?" Harry asked with a rather pointed look and raised eyebrows.

Hermione came up short, frowned, and looked legitimately hurt. "So you go there to get away from us, then?"

"I go there to get away from everyone, Hermione. You see, during first term, there was this thing where every bloody student in the school suddenly hated the very air I breathed, and all I wanted to do was get away from all the glares, snickers, and snide remarks. I found someplace that I could to to be alone and I got used to it. I found that I honestly enjoyed the alone time, and that it allowed me to think clearer and get more accomplished. So even after people decided to do another flip-flop and stopped hating my guts, the fact that I enjoyed the alone time didn't change. I got used to it.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I'm not actually hiding anything big? Maybe I just found a secret room in this big crazy castle filled with old forgotten secrets, and that room has some books in it, and I like to go there to read and get my work done? That's it. No big crazy conspiracy. No rule breaking, or devious ulterior motives. I did go there for my animagus practice, but now I just go there to be alone and read in peace."

Hermione still looked rather crushed at this point, and not as convinced as he was hoping, so Harry huffed an annoyed breath and pressed on.

"Maybe you aren't entirely clear on some of my personal history, Hermione, but before Hogwarts, I was always alone. I went to school, came home, did my chores, and then I got locked away in my cupboard and spent all my time alone in a dark little space with absolutely no company. When I got to Hogwarts I thought 'This is my chance to finally make friends without them being chased away by Dudley, and to try and be outgoing, and spend my time with people.' But it's always been forced for me. I've been forcing myself to be outgoing. Forcing myself to be social. I've realized that I'm not a naturally social person. It's just the way I grew up. I've come to realize that I enjoy being able to go someplace and just be alone. It's like I can breath again. I spend some time alone to recoup, and then I feel the ability to be around people again.

"And it's not like I'm not trying here. I mean, you have to acknowledge that I'm spending less time there then I used to! I've been with you guys every evening for the last two weeks! I'm even including you in this project with my book! So come on! Give me a break, will you?"

Ron and Hermione sat there, looking at him with rather stunned expressions for a long, thick minute before Hermione's jaw began to move a bit.

"They locked you in a cupboard?" she asked in a weak voice.

Harry blinked. "I've mentioned my cupboard before, haven't I?" he asked, mildly surprised and confused by her response. Hadn't he mentioned it before? He did suppose he had glazed over it a lot in the past. He didn't want their pity. Plus, he recalled having actually been rather ashamed of it. Like it was somehow his fault how his relatives had treated him. He no longer held those delusions though. It wasn't his fault at all. His shitty muggle relatives were just monstrous assholes. For them, it was all about fear of what they couldn't understand or control. Magic scared them, and Harry had personified it. Harry had realized that it was simply human nature to instantly try to destroy anything that scared or confused them. His relatives were scared and confused by him, so they tried to break him. And someday, he would repay them for their sacrifice and kindness. Harry remarked, sarcastically, internally.

"What kind of cupboard?" Hermione asked, her voice getting harder and a bit cold.

Harry sighed and let his head fall into his hand. "Uh... a boot cupboard, I guess. Under the stairs. They put a little cot in there for me. I lived there till I turned eleven and got my Hogwarts letter. The Dursley's panicked when they saw that my acceptance letter was addressed to 'Mr. H. Potter, The Cupboard under the Stairs'. They thought they were being watched and finally moved me into the extra bedroom."

"They had an extra bedroom, but they kept you in a cupboard!" Hermione all but shrieked.

Harry's eyes widened as he glanced around the great hall for a second before he glared back at her, hard.

"Would you keep it down!" he hissed angrily. Harry pulled out his wand and did a few quick movements with it while silently incanting the proper spell in his mind. The sounds of the great hall suddenly muffled into a distant buzzing noise, as the three of them were enclosed in a small privacy ward. "Look... how the hell did we even get on this? Weren't we arguing about me sneaking off to a secret room or something?"

"How could they do that!" Hermione said in a horrified, sad voice, apparently not listening to Harry. "They still treat you terribly, don't they? Oh, Merlin! The bars! The bars on your window!" She turned her gaze to Ron, who was suddenly looking rather pale. "Before second year when Ron and the twins rescued you... oh Harry! How could they treat you like that?"

"Yeah, well I've got a better question for you. How could Dumbledore leave me there as a baby and not once check up on me? Or better still – how can he know about it now and still make me go back? Says it's the only place I'm safe," Harry sneered sarcastically while rolling his eyes.

Hermione looked horrified. "He couldn't possibly know! Harry, you have to tell Professor Dumbledore! If he knew the truth, he would never make you go back!"

"He does know, Hermione," Harry said through clenched teeth. "He knows perfectly well, how they've treated me my whole life. My aunt has written him letters over the years, begging him to take me back and leave me with someone else. He knows how much they hate me. How much they wish to be rid of me. And I've told him how they treat me. That they don't feed me and that they work me like a bloody house elf each summer. He knows Hermione. Honestly, I thought you knew. Or at least, I thought you would have figured it out from all the clues."

"No..." Hermione said in a weak little whisper as she began shaking her head back and forth. "No... I never knew... Oh Merlin Harry... I'm sorry... I never realized... I..."

"Hermione," Harry said in a hard tone, "Just stop. There's nothing for you to apologize for –"

"Yes there is!" she insisted. "There is, Harry! I should have realized! I can't believe I was so stupid that I never listened! You have mentioned the cupboard before, but it was always in passing and you acted so dismissive about it that it never stuck. I wasn't listening. I should have... I should have..."

"Should have, what, Hermione? What could you have done?" Harry said, leaning back on his seat and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well I should have done something! Told a professor, or something!"

"I've told teachers. Back in primary school I tried telling people and it just got me in trouble. The only times my uncle has ever really hit me were after I told people at the school and they visited the Dursley's or called them. All the rest of my life they just neglected me. Dudders made a sport of beating the shit out of me, but I got pretty good at running from him and his friends, and he's let up since he found out I'm magical. And I've told Dumbledore about all of this and he doesn't give a damn. Telling McGonagall won't do any good because in the end – for some unfathomable reason – Dumbledore thinks hehas say over where I go for the bloody holidays. Well, fine. Whatever. Asking to go somewhere else won't work. So I just won't ask."

"But you can't go back there! They can't treat you like that! It's criminal!"

"Yeah, I'm aware of that now."

"Professor Dumbledore must just not realize how bad it is. Harry, you've got to just tell them!"

"No."

"But you don't want to go back to the Dursley's right?"

"Correct. And I'm not going to be going back."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but then stopped, coming up short with a confused look on her face. "Wait... what?"

"I'm not going back. But I'm not asking Dumbledore for permission first, either. In what way is it his business what I do over the summer? Legally, it isn't. If I get permission from the Dursley's to go somewhere else for the summer, that's all that matters because they are my legal guardians. Dumbledore has no say over my life while I'm not in school. So I'm going somewhere else, and I'm not telling him."

"What! But... where? Harry, that's dangerous! You're not thinking of running off with Sirius are you? That's just not safe! You saw how Sirius has to live, Harry –"

"I'm not going to stay with Sirius," Harry broke in.

"But where are you going then? What if someone comes after you! There was that Death Eater attack at the World Cup, and we all know that someone wants you dead, because they orchestrated this whole tournament thing. Harry, it's just not safe to run off without telling Dumbledore where you're going."

"If no one knows where I go, then no one can find me. That's why I'm not telling anyone. And I'm sorry, but that includes you two. If you don't know where I am, no one can force you to tell them. Nice and simple. And by the way, Hermione – if you run off to the headmaster before the end of the school year, and tell him that I'm planning to run off this summer, I swear I will never speak to you, ever again. Do you understand me? You can feel free to go off and tell him that I've been abused and neglected by my relatives and just see for yourself how seriously he takes it, but mention that I'm running off, and we're through. I will never trust you with a secret, ever again. Do you get it?"

Hermione jerked back as if she had just been slapped.

"Harry... I..."

"I want you to understand something here. I'm trusting you with this info. Do you see? You know the whole 'trust is a two way street' bit from a few minutes ago? Well, here I am, trusting you. I've just told you something that no one else knows, and I have no intention of telling anyone else. Ifyou tell someone else, then you're betraying my trust. You've already seriously betrayed my trust once this year Hermione, and in my game, it's two strikes and you're out, not three."

"Harry! Come on, give her a break!" Ron said, speaking up for the first time in ages. Up until this point, he had sat there with a shocked and utterly dumbfounded expression on his face.

"This goes for you too Ron. I don't see you running off to the Headmaster like I see Hermione doing it, but the warning goes for you too."

"Why do you think that I would run off and snitch!" Hermione asked indignantly.

"Because you would convince yourself that you were doing it to help me. To protect me. To keep me from making a mistake or something. You'd convince yourself that you were being a good friend by betraying me, but I will never see it like that. As far as I'm concerned, it's just betrayal."

Ron nodded his head a bit and looked thoughtful. "He's got you there, Hermione. You probably would run off and tell. It's just like the thing with the Firebolt, last year."

"Ron!" Hermione cried out. She looked back and forth between Ron and Harry with hurt in her eyes before she sunk a bit in her seat and looked down into her lap.

"I won't tell anyone," she said weakly. She paused for a moment and then appeared to make up her mind about something. "But I still want to try speaking to Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster about your relatives! I just can not believe that they would know about how they treat you, and still make you go back there!"

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. "Suit yourself."

Hermione sat there gnawing on her bottom lip with a look of deep concentration for a few minutes before she looked up at Harry with legitimate worry in her eyes. "You really can't tell us where you're going?"

"Nope," Harry said simply as he returned his focus to his book.

"But how do you know it'll be safe?"

"You can never know these things Hermione, but I do know I'll be safer there than I am at the Dursley's."

"But I thought that your relatives house had some super fancy wards or something?" Ron pitched in.

"The blood wards are worthless against everyone except for Voldemort himself," Harry began, and then silently added, and they're probably worthless against him now too, since he's got my blood in his veins... "I think Dumbledore threw up a whole bunch of wards on his own on top of them to keep out Death Eaters, but they only work so long as I'm in the actual house. If I leave the house to go to the park, or just down the street, then I'm out of their so-called 'perfect protection'. So to stay 'safe' I have to, literally, be a prisoner in my own home.

"And while the wards protect me from Death Eaters, they don't protect me from Vernon, or Dudley, or any of Dudder's shitty friends. I've had a lot more bruises and broken bones at the hands of those arses than I've ever had from Death Eaters. Personally? I'll take my chances with the Death Eaters."

Ron looked pale and Hermione seemed shocked to the brink of tears.

"Broken bones!" Hermione gasped. "Are you serious?"

Harry huffed and looked up from his book in annoyance. "Yes, Hermione. Broken bones. My left arm, and my right wrist, to be specific. Ages five and seven. Probably got some fractures over the years too, but they went untreated. Vernon was too cheap to let me see a proper doctor unless there was a bone practically protruding from the skin. I suspect I've got a bit of a magical healing factor because without it I doubt I'd still be alive with all the beatings Dudders and his buddies put me through. In any case, all the more reason for me to stay the bloody hell away from those people. I'm Not Going Back."

"Alright, Harry. I totally agree that you definitely should not ever have to go back to those horrible people, but are you sure that where you're going is really going to be safe?"

"Yes, Hermione. I really am sure. I mean, technically, I've got two different ideas in mind for what I could do this summer, but I'm definitely leaning more towards one than the other, and that option would actually put me behind wards even more powerful than the 'super fancy wards' that Dumbledore put on the Dursley's."

"No way!" Ron gaped.

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, well it's a new residence and the wards are being constructed right now, but it's some seriously high level security. For that matter, I'm not totally sure I'll even be able to receive owls there, because I'm pretty sure that he's adding anti-owl wards in the mix, but I'll make sure to send you guys letters so you know I'm still safe."

Hermione's jaw floundered, helplessly for a few minutes. "I... but... Harry, how did you... I mean... this place that you're going to go to, how did this all come about? How long have you been planning this!"

Harry could see the hurt in her eyes at realizing that he had once again been hiding something that she probably deemed as 'a big deal' from them.

Harry sighed, closed his book, and gave Ron and Hermione a long, hard look.

"Have you ever heard of legilimency?"

"Legililiwhuh?" Ron said. He turned and looked over to Hermione, expectantly but she just shrugged, helplessly.

"Wow, really?" Harry said, looking at Hermione with legitimate surprise. "You've never heard of it, Hermione? Really?"

"No! What is it?"

"It's a mind magic. Really high level magic and very few people can learn it. It lets you read other people's minds. You can sift through their memories and their thoughts, and they'll never even know that you're doing it, unless they know the counter magic called occlumency. The only thing that a legilimense needs to read your every private thought and memory, is eye contact."

"Blimey!" Ron whispered, looking horrified.

Hermione looked disgusted by this new information, but then she looked very thoughtful. "Harry..." she began hesitantly, looking up at him, "why are you telling us this?"

"I've been teaching myself occlumency, so no one can read my mind. Neither of you have that protection in place. If I had told either of you what I'd been up to, then certain people in the school, could have taken that knowledge from your heads without you ever even knowing it."

"Who! Are you saying that there's someone at Hogwarts who can perform legilimency?"

"I know of at least two people in the school who can," Harry said dismissively.

"Who?" Ron and Hermione asked in the same whispered hush.

"Snape and Dumbledore."

Hermione gasped.

"SNAPE!" Ron roared, looking a mixture of horror, anger, and disgust. "Snape can read our minds!" Ron paused, grimacing in thought for a moment before he gasped again. "But Snape's a Death Eater!"

"We don't know that Ron!" Hermione instantly reprimanded. "And it's Professor Snape!"

Harry then sat back and watched as the two of them began to bicker about Snape and what it could mean that he was able to read their minds, and all Harry wanted to do was point out that he hardly gave a damn about Snape, and was far more ticked about Dumbledore doing it.

Now that Harry knew the signs to look for, in retrospect, there were a number of instances where he had been sitting with the headmaster and he was sure the man had used legilimency on him. First year, second year, even third year. If Dumbledore had read his mind, in the instances when he suspected the man did, it would mean that Dumbledore knew about Harry and his friends investigating the stone, and that Dumbledore knew about Harry having found the diary, long before Ginny took it back... hell, Harry had known that the diary belonged to Tom Riddle, and if Dumbledore read his mind when he suspected the man had, he undoubtedly saw that.

It all just led more and more credence to his theories that Dumbledore wanted Harry to keep having run-ins with Voldemort, and Death Eaters, and near-death experiences. The real question, was why?

Harry refocused on Hermione and Ron, just as Ron was getting all red-faced with his own frustrated insistence that Snape was pure evil and couldn't be trusted, against Hermione's arguments that Dumbledore would never let the man teach if he hadn't earned the headmaster's trust. It was an old argument and Harry rolled his eyes.

"But anyway!" Harry said interrupting them. "The point is that if I tell you guys too much, then someone can pluck the knowledge out of your minds, even without you realizing that they've done it. If you two knew how I came across this place I plan to go, you could figure out what the place was. Anyone who knows legilimency could read your minds and pluck the knowledge right out of your heads and you couldn't do a thing about it. When people realize I haven't got back to the Dursley's like I'm supposed to, and they can't find me, you two are sure to be the first ones that they go to. Any clues I give you two are just going to be clues used by other people when they go trying to find me. The best way for me to stay safe is if no one knows where I am. And that means absolutely no one."

"But what if a Death Eater or someone out to get you finds out, and then none of us know where you are and can't come help?"

"You really really don't have to worry about it. I'm not a fool Hermione. You know – Constant Vigilance, and all that? I'm taking Moody's advice to heart. Remember him? Mr. 'You're-not-being-paranoid-if-people-are-really-out-to-get-you'? Trust me when I say that I'm taking loads of precautions."

Hermione heaved a heavy, defeated sigh and nodded hear head. "Alright, Harry. But please be careful! And you have to promise to write to us at least several times a week so we know you're alright."

Harry grimaced a little, realizing that that would be rather annoying, but it was a fairly simple step to secure their cooperation.

"Fine, but I'm probably going to by cycling owls. Hedwig is too obvious and easy to spot."

"Harry... you mentioned a 'he' earlier, so you're staying with someone specific?" Hermione began to ask hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"Well, I mean... how can you be sure you can trust this person? I understand that you can't tell us who it is or anything about him, but what do you know about him? What makes you think you can trust him?"

"I know a lot about him, actually. And I really, honestly do trust him. I trust him with my life. I know he can, and will make sure I'm safe. I'll be okay. Don't worry. I really have got this covered."

Hermione frowned sadly and her shoulders sagged somewhat but she nodded her head.

Harry went back to his reading, but paused as he realized that out of everything he had just said to his friends, it was the last statement he made that had the most truth to it.

He trusted Voldemort with his life. He'd already placed his life in the man's hands several times, in fact.

He trusted the most dangerous and deadly Dark Lord in half a millennium with his life, and he felt safer and more secure in that trust than he ever had in placing his trust in anyone else.

He cracked a smile and chuckled to himself at the insanity of it..

[superscola]

Heyyy welcome to my blog. Haha, if you're reading this, you're either one of my friends or friends of friends. Anyway, I appreciate you taking time reading this post. I'm Scola Ng from Hong Kong, and my passion is English writing, and hopefully one day I can make a living on writing.

Last year I came up with an idea of setting up a personal subscription public account of WeChat for blogging. Not because I want to be famous or rich (it's near impossible as the market has already been saturated). But because blogging gives me extra motivation to work on my writing. My thinking is that if I know someone out there is going to read my post, I have to write it with the best of my ability, which means I have to edit and rewrite the draft until I'm satisfied with my work. Unfortunately, I'm not eligible for opening one without a Chinese identity card, so I decided to start blogging in Zhihu, where I have spent a lot of time reading posts.

If you're still here, bear with me to read the rest of the article, and you'll know a little bit more about my determination of writing.

Little Background

I was born in Shenzhen, and when I was eight, I moved to live and study in Hong Kong. Probably because I always love reading, my parents and relatives thought I was smart growing up, but the reality is I wasn't. I had a lot of pressure in school as a result, and English was my weakness in school. I lacked the confidence to speak and write in English because I was afraid others would laugh at me mispronouncing.

I choked in the public examination, which caused the chance of studying at the local university. My parents, especially my mum, wasn't satisfied as she believed that I was the "university student material". I was blessed that they supported me to study in the UK, giving me the second chance to apply for university. I succeeded this time. My English was poor before studying abroad, with only 5.5 overall in IELTS but five months later my IELTS result jumped to 7.5 overall. (I will write about it in detail in my next post.)

Fast forward to graduation, I joined the police force right away as I regarded police was a challenging and diversified job. I didn't need to sit in front of a computer all day, I thought. How naïve I was. Now, almost five years of service in the force, I can't help but wonder if this is really my career for the rest of my life. Am I really suitable for this job? Why don't I find any joy or reward?

Why do I write?

I want to be a writer. Write stories and publish books, as well as anything that I can make a living based on writing. My major is not related to creative writing or any sort, but who tells you have to attend one to write. Write for passion instead.

I have always been a reader. Reading is part of my life. Last year, I thought to myself, why didn't I work on English writing and became the writers who I admire? Besides, I discovered my interest during the period of time when I prepared for Police Inspector Interview. Writing is fun and satisfactory – I realized it for the first time in my life. That's why I open this account in the first place, as my side project to improve my writing ability.

Why writing in English?

English is one of the official languages in Hong Kong, so it is essential to be able to write it in business and government. Almost all the documents, memos, reports, minutes are in English. Therefore, having excellent English writing maximize your chance of moving up the career ladder. My short-term goal is to become an inspector of any disciplined services in Hong Kong, which means I will write a lot if I get promoted. It is wise to practice now than later.

With the rise of globalization, China has played an essential growing role in international issues and has had close cooperation with global businesses. As you may already have noticed, a lot of Chinese people spend time learning English because they realize the importance of English in the labour market today. Being able to speak, write and communicate with foreigners is undoubtedly impress your boss and enhance your competitive edge. In my opinion, lots of people eager to practice English online and I hope my blog will serve as a significant source of knowledge in this area.

Why don't I read English news instead?

You should spend a lot of time reading news in English as they provide the most accurate and prevalent vocabularies or phrases in current issues. But they are too formal. Not conversational or personal like the blog I'm writing now. I believe it's equally important to read both formal and informal English materials.

News is the primary source where I learn stuff and enrich my life, but I also visit sites such as Reddit and Quora, to read how native speakers use English to interact with each other. It is drastically different than reading news. Same thing can apply to Chinese. For whatever reason, you may not be able to visit the sites, but WeChat / Zhihu is not only a messaging tool if you incorporate it into learning; it can provide an incredible platform for English learning. And that's why I try to do here. Writing on various topics in English offers you an alternative way to touch on a variety of issues.

I can't guarantee my writing is one hundred per cent of grammatically correct, but I'll try my best to do so. I welcome your feedback if you spot one and we can study together. In this way, we are both benefited from the discussion and deepen our understanding of the language we want to master.

What will you get from me?

I write in English only so you won't find any content in Chinese here. The logic is simple: there are already countless amount of Chinese public accounts available in WeChat. It is near impossible to stand out from the crowd.

English is a world language, and we all know the importance of it. In my account, you won't find any advertisement trying to sell you something, nor you will get any professional advice from me, for example, "how to invest in the stock market in 2020?' something like that as I'm not an expert. I'm simply a cop who is passionate about writing.

But you do get to read my opinions or analysis on NBA basketball, learning English, self-development, current issues, etc. You'll also read my book reviews and recommendations, phrases and quotes which I find inspiring. I plan to write a short story based on my real-life experience in police training, so I will upload drafts of crafts here from time to time and hopefully get your valuable feedback or comments about my story.

On the other hand, I expect initially the majority of the content would be related to my future interviews with the Correctional Services Department, Customs and Excise Department and Immigration. I'd prepare some common interview questions such as 'How have you prepared for the interview?' and 'How do you see yourself in five years' something like these. Plus, write about the things I'll learn from reading the department official websites, to deepen my understanding of the organization.

Finally, thank you for taking the time to read it. Feel free to leave a comment to interact with me. I'm eager to hear from you.

[spamzineglasgow]

PART ONE: Glitching the Collective Mind (Dan Power)

Figures 0.1, 0.2, 0.3, 0.4

“I am not a nihilist, but a mood of grim, jolly absurdism comes over me often, as it seems to come over many of my young peers. To visit millennial comedy… is to spend time in a dream world where ideas twist and suddenly vanish; where loops of self-referential quips warp and distort with each iteration, tweaked by another user embellishing on someone else’s joke, until nothing coherent is left…”

> This quote comes from ‘Why is millennial humor so weird?’, in which journalist Elizabeth Bruenig (2017) taps into the vein of gleeful absurdity which is emerging in online creative spaces. This insight seems to have struck a chord with creators and consumers of online content, as in response, the article itself has become widely memed. Above there are four examples of this, with each taking a meme that existed independently and reframing it with the ‘millennial humor’ headline. There is a degree of self-awareness to this reframing, as if the content creators have taken the label ‘weird’ as a challenge to rise to. The absurdity of the source material is heightened by recontextualising it as formal journalism. By prefacing this image with a frame that draws attention to the image’s weirdness, these anonymous content creators are wilfully resisting interpretation, revealing their intent to baffle, bemuse, or maybe even unnerve internet users.

> Bruenig observes a tendency in some memes to celebrate meaninglessness with comic sincerity. By responding to the article in the way they did, these content creators have proved Bruenig’s point. The theory is put into practice: a meme has entered circulation where the intention is to be deliberately and playful obscure, and where the individual memes are linked only by their deployment of the same frame. Importantly, for all the incoherence of the memes themselves, there is a coherence to the methods producing them.

> What sparks these acts of coordinated communal nonsense – are the motivations personal, political, or is it a celebration of weirdness for its own sake? By exploring the dark absurdism creeping into post-internet artwork, particularly in video content, this series seeks to examine the latent ideology underpinning the dark surrealism of internet humour, and how its rising popularity changes the ways we think about ourselves and our realities.

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“...that which was intended to enlighten the world in practice darkens it. The abundance of information and the plurality of worldviews now accessible to us through the internet are not producing a coherent consensus reality... It is on this contradiction that the idea of a new dark age turns: an age in which the value we have placed on knowledge is destroyed by the abundance of that valuable commodity, and in which we look about ourselves in search of new ways to understand the world.”

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In New Dark Age (2018), his examination of the internet’s infiltration of our daily lives, James Bridle only just stops short of declaring that the internet will be the death of humanity. As well as the environmental cost of constant streaming and downloading, Bridle argues that the internet poses an existential threat in a more epistemological sense, by attempting the impossible task of collating and networking humanity’s collective knowledge, history, and culture.

> This cataloguing is conducted through the use of databases, which media theorist Lev Manovich argues are becoming (if they aren’t already) the new dominant media (2010, p.70). The database is distinguished from a physical collection of items and information by its flexibility, and the user’s ability to manipulate the structure of the content by searching for key words. Here there is a paradox: because it is so meticulously structured, the experience of using a database is one apparently devoid of structure. Manovich notes that the database is “distinct from reading a narrative or watching a film or navigating an architectural site” since these experiences are all linear, and so are experienced by readers or viewers in the same way, with point b always following point a, and so on (p.65). In a database users navigate the information however they choose, in effect creating their own narratives, with no guarantee that any two users’ experience of a database may be the same.

> This same notion is put forward by Henry Jenkins in Convergence Culture (2006), where he says “each of us constructs our own personal mythology from bits and fragments of information extracted from the media flow and transformed into resources through which we make sense of our everyday lives”. The narratives we forge through our online experiences become part of our understanding of the world – and they seem to be creating more confusion than clarity. These narratives are arbitrarily structured, and may contain false information or information devoid of meaning. Also, thanks to the volume and speed of online messaging, language is evolving faster than it ever has before (Press Association, 2015). Information may be conveyed to us in unfamiliar terms, and so be open to misinterpretation.

> Internet users are bombarded with information, little of which has any meaningful or memorable content. Exposing people to a transparent mapped network of humanity’s knowledge, history, and culture has irrevocably warped our perception of ourselves, and our relationship to the world. As Bridle later notes, “the more obsessively we attempt to compute the world, the more unknowably complex it appears”. At best the database makes the sum of all the world’s content feel overwhelming, and at worst having it all laid out makes it feel mundane. Either way, the damage done is to expose internet users to too much information, and this can lead to an existential crisis.

> Spending too long online (or rather, too long outside of the real world) must saturate the mind. This oversaturation of meaning gives way to feelings of melancholic or manic absurdity, or as Bruenig puts it, a “creeping suspicion that the world just doesn’t make sense”. From this suspicion arises a new wave of disillusioned artists, who we will refer to as the post-internet surrealists. Unlike other meme creators (whose work arguably is surrealist in its Dada-like remixing of disparate elements), the post-internet surrealists are surrealists with intent, who respond to one another’s work, and whose videos consistently evoke alienation and absurd bemusement within digitally-rendered worlds. Videos such as BagelBoy’s pront (2017) engage with infinity as a source of existential confusion, and others like surreal entertainment’s What Kanye really showed Trump in the white house (2018) abstract real-life events to the point of absurdity (or make their inherent absurdity more apparent) by transporting them to a digital non-setting.

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Manovich argues that the database is a distinct cultural form, like a novel or film or building, in that it presents its own distinct model of how the world should be experienced. Unlike narrative, the database is non-linear. Unlike architectural structure, the database is non-spatial. It appears to us as information without structure and without context – in short, information divorced from the reality in which it takes meaning.

> This creates a tension, which grows stronger the more we rely on the online world to conduct business in the real one. It is resolved, or at least eased, by the digital world bleeding into the physical. The world becomes what Bridle calls ‘code/space’, which he defines as “the interweaving of computation with the built environment”. This term isn’t internet-specific, and covers anything which requires users to think computationally in order to interact, such as self-service checkouts, or traffic light buttons. However, its impact is most significantly felt in the prevalence of internet-connected devices such as the mobile phone, which turn the whole world into potential code/space.

> The internet is omnipresent. It is so vast in size that popular indicators of space and size fail to adequately describe it. It’s a hyper-object, to borrow a term from philosopher Timothy Morton, so large and far-reaching that it surpasses the boundaries of location, so and complex that it cannot be entirely comprehended at once.

> Morton is an ecologist, and develops his idea in relation to climate change. In the blog Ecology Without Nature, he describes the hyper-object global warming as being so “massively distributed in time and space” that we can consider it “nonlocal”, not existing wholly in any one place. He writes that when you experience rain you are “in some sense” experiencing climate, but “you are never directly experiencing global warming” (2010). Global warming is too big an object to meaningfully encounter, but to dismiss its existence on these grounds would be ridiculous. We may be unable to comprehend its existence entirely, but still we know it exists through the traces it leaves across the globe.

> Like global warming, the internet is a hyper-object, and the data we glean from it is just a fragment of the whole. When we consider the internet as one hyper-object, rather than a collection of individual data objects, then all internet-connected devices become components in a single global network, one global code/space.

> To meaningfully discuss the surrealism emerging online we will consider the internet not as a collection of individual texts, images and videos, but as one networked whole. Matthew Smith argues that, since digital media work by translating data into “universally exchangeable” bits, “all digital media are therefore identical in structure; like Campbell’s soup cans” (2007). The content of two memes may be worlds apart, but fundamentally they are both the same thing. Furthermore, if they both exist online, they are equally tiny composite parts of a larger total structure. This is not the same as, for example, claiming that all paintings in a gallery are part of the same work because they share a building. With physical objects, there is always the possibility of them leaving the gallery or entering a new one. This does not work digitally; you can’t have objects within the internet because the internet itself is an object of which digital artworks form a part.

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Briefly, we’ll consider a post-internet artwork which isn’t a meme. Crispin Best’s ‘pleaseliveforever’ is an eight-line poem which regenerates every few seconds under a new, randomly generated title (2017). By making the content arbitrary and fleeting, the poem draws attention to its medium, and flaunts its ability to do things pre-internet poetry never could. Musing on this, SPAM’s own Denise Bonetti asks “what is the poem, then? The structure? The algorithm?” (2019), and indeed, if the content of the poem is continually being remixed then the only constant by which we can define it is its invisible network of underlying code. Because it exists digitally, the poem’s structure and algorithm are indistinguishable – the algorithm is the structure. And it’s not a structure in its own right, but one small part embedded within the hypertext of the internet as a networked whole.

> The internet is a database of databases, one giant non-spatial structure too large to pigeonhole, but within which we can observe trends. It will be useful to conceptualise the internet as one giant work of art, a hyper-artwork with an uncountable number of authors and viewers. This artwork is mutable, and continually evolving. Since the internet is a network of information relating to the real world, it might be considered a reconstruction of reality. The internet then is a constantly changing map of the world, and if we consume its content on a daily basis, and if we never distance ourselves from its code/space, it throws our understanding of the world into a constant state of flux.

> This uncertainty, and the anxiety or absurdity arising from it, is key to understanding the work of the post-internet surrealists. BagelBoy’s icced (2017) might be set in the real world, but there’s no way to be certain. The plot is simply that a man goes to a store, buys a cola, then goes home to drink it, but through means of information saturation and a post-internet aesthetic these events are abstracted beyond relatability and almost beyond recognition. The film’s world is constructed out of PNG images, stock photos and text boxes – spoken words appear as text, characters glide across the screen at will, and at the end the film’s entire diegesis is hijacked by an advert. Either the video is deconstructing real-world events by moving them to a digital setting, or it’s physically depicting a virtual interaction (typing replaces speech online, people navigate between internet sites without physically moving, and adverts can materialise from anywhere at any moment with no prior warning). Like the explicitly surreal memes we’ll encounter in future instalments, icced presents an absurd but coherent depiction of code/space, a version of reality infused with internet logic.

> But before we examine these surreal memes in detail we’ll go briefly to the very beginnings of cinema, a period of experimentation and genre consolidation similar to that occurring in online spaces today. By examining the developments of early cinema and viral video in tandem, we’ll see that giving consumers the power to create and share their own work makes profit a less important factor in filmmaking, and that this fundamentally changes the kind of video content which gets produced and distributed.

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The prototype digital cinema emerging today may seem worlds apart from the first few years of cinema itself, but in fact the two share many common features. One scholar notes how “Both films of early cinema and online video clips are short films, mostly staying well under ten minutes in length” (Broeren, 2009). These short films were exhibited collectively in cinema’s early days (Gunning, 1990), keeping audiences supplied with a steady stream of novel content. Today they are exhibited side-by-side on databases like YouTube, where viewers can view as many as they desire in a single sitting, and sustain their own engagement by varying the content they consume at whim.

> In the early days of cinema, exhibitionists would often “re-edit” the films they purchased, and personalise their own exhibitions with offscreen supplements. This, too, occurs in online film. The media theorist Limor Shifman (2013) notes how “user-driven imitation and remix” as a mode of content production is integral to internet culture, and with video meme creators often accompanying their edits of other videos with captions, active comment sections, and links to other media, the off-screen supplements of old are today integrated into the on-screen experience.

> These similarities are not just superficial – they arise from the same factors. The birth of cinema saw large masses of people consuming and participating in the products of newly available commercial technologies, and the emergence of a distinct online cinema is, essentially, an accelerated replay of this process. Sharing in the same global code/space makes internet users a bigger potential audience than has ever previously existed, and the quantity and style of content produced by and for internet users is determined by the activity of this networked mass.

> Early cinema was concerned with newly-formed masses of people resulting from twentieth century modernity, not just for audiences but also as subject matter. According to Gunning (2004), the ‘local films’ of Mitchell and Kenyon would document crowds of people moving through public spaces, and when doing so they were tuned in to the growing public discourse around newly-visible congregations of people in developing urban areas. One particular style of film they produced, which we will take as out main focus, is the ‘factory gate’ film. These would document workers streaming out of a factory at the end of the day, almost universally consisting of single (occasionally sped up or spliced short) static long shots (LS) or extreme long shots (XLS). While the single take, duration and static camera are the result of practical limitations, the choice to employ LS or XLS is an artistic one. Greater distance allowed the frame to fill with a greater number of subjects, creating a visual cacophony and increasing the spectacle. The framing was often loose, meaning there were no focal points to direct attention. Viewer’s eyes would rapidly scan over the moving crowd, heightening any sense of the crowd being overwhelmingly large.

> As well as directly engaging with large masses of people, the demands of large audiences to see films made specifically for their local area meant Mitchell and Kenyon had to develop a way of turning out new films efficiently and affordably. In order to exploit the collective spending power of the masses, the form and content of these local pictures are wrapped around the desires of the masses to recognise themselves and their towns on-screen. The masses were not only the subject of the films, but also determined their mode of production, and by extension their formal properties.

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The factory gate picture is a genre, and films in this genre are produced by following the Mitchell and Kenyon template: set up a camera by a factory gate at closing time, framing the exit in LS to capture as many moving people as possible. Templatability allows for films to effectively be cloned, so it’s necessary in commercial filmmaking, allowing things to be produced and reproduced at more profitable rates. By following templates to easily reproduce a standardised kind of content, the early genre films of Mitchell and Kenyon reproduce similarly to online memes. Sean Rintel (2013) argues that “templatability lies at the heart of online memes”, and explains that “memetic process is a product of the human capability to separate ideas into two levels – content and structure – and then contextually manipulate that relationship”. A meme, fundamentally, is the deployment of a familiar template to reframe and alter our perception of otherwise familiar or unfamiliar content. It is almost mathematical in its generation of novel content, since there are as many potential remixes of movies and songs as there are unique combinations.

Figures 2.1 and 2.2

> Take these memes as an example. Their origin is the YouTube video Gordon Ramsay cannot locate the lamb sauce (2016), a remixed clip of gameshow Hell’s Kitchen (2005-) in which Gordon shouts at contestants who have not made lamb sauce in time. The video cuts out anything other than Gordon’s shouting, and accentuates the moment’s absurdity by elongating and pitch-shifting the word ‘sauce’.Figures 2.1 and 2.2 combine elements of the remix with existing meme formats (figures 2.3 and 2.4) by adding a picture of Gordon and key words ‘lamb sauce’ and ‘located’, either in reference to the video, or to other memes derived from it. These memes were created by reshaping the source material to fit another meme template.

> The prominence of the remix in post-internet art produces huge amounts content which can only be fully understood in relation to other content. Memes function like in-jokes, and in this way they are participatory. The collaboration and participation between an unknowable number of anonymous contributors is part of the enjoyment not just of post-internet surrealism, but of all memes. It’s like shouting into the abyss and waiting to see what echoes back. The communication is rapid and blind, and sublime.

> In commercial cinema templates are used to maximize profits, so it might seem contradictory that they have been embraced by meme makers. But, in online spaces, the use and misuse of templates is what makes the art form participatory. Just as the viewers of local films would attend screenings to see themselves projected, thus participating in the production of the product they consume, so internet users riff off each other’s jokes and meme formats as a way of contributing to the continual evolution of a meme they enjoy.

> It has been argued by film historian Charles Musser (1990) that “modern” cinema begins with the birth of the nickelodeon, the implication of this being that modern cinema is necessarily commercial, whereas pre-cinema films were not. This distinction might be crude, since films were being produced for profit before the nickelodeon came into fashion, but it’s a helpful distinction to make. What makes the form, content, and distribution of pre-cinema and post-internet film resemble each other so closely is the same thing that makes them dissimilar to industrial filmmaking: they’re not driven by profit, but by novelty for its own sake; they are not produced by companies of people, but by small teams or individual auteurs; they experiment with newly-accessible technologies to see what effects can be created; and importantly, since they do not rely upon the systems of capitalism to support their growth and distribution, these films can afford to scrutinise these systems rather than reinforce their ideology.

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> Today’s advances in affordable camera technology, internet access, and free video editing software have shifted the power of content creation away from industry and into the hands of consumers. Anyone with a smartphone can be an auteur, and anyone with a wifi password can become a distributor. Creating and sharing content is easier than it’s ever been before, and developments within the medium now occur at a rate too fast to thoroughly document. The continual crossing of templates and content items produces countless proliferations and variations of existing memes each day. These memes are characterised by hyper-intertextuality, each new remix a thread that further thickens the intertextual tapestry.

> In his seminal essay The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, Walter Benjamin (1982) observes that as reproduction of artworks becomes more common, artworks are increasingly “designed for reproducibility”. With the emergence of templatability and ease of creating and sharing content in online spaces, this process is now more efficient than ever.

> Any image or video online can be downloaded in seconds, and a number of user-friendly picture and video editing programmes come pre-installed on most commercial computers. Mechanical reproduction allowed for films to be copied with ease and re-shaped at will, spawning a number of variants which today is unknowable, since many will not have been preserved. Online however everything is preserved, and this coupled with more efficient and accessible methods of reproducing and adapting works means that videos can be adapted, and their adaptations adapted, at such great volume and speed that they can quickly bear no resemblance to their origins. Cataloguing all the varieties of meme is an unfeasibly large task, but by examining trends within meme-making we can observe how the nature of an artwork changes, becoming more amorphous and apparently meaningless, in an age of digital reproduction.

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Tune in later this week when we’ll be looking at ~ v a p o r w a v e ~, and navigating the maze of digital non-places and non-times which is rapidly becoming less distinguishable from the world we live in today.

Full list of works cited plus bonus discography are available here. 

This is part one of a three part series. Part two is available here and part three available here. 

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Text: Dan Power

Published 5/10/19