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justgottafinishthischapter · 6 years ago

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Building A Character: Creating a Personality

Coming up with a character in and of itself is easy. Let’s use for example a tough chick who grew up on the streets and steals, kills, and spies to make ends meat. So I’ve created an ends justifies the means, self-preserving, and probably loner rogue archetype. So congrats, I’ve made a character. What she lacks however, is a personality. She has no depth or anything interesting about her. For this exercise, I’ll be referring to her as Samantha Pole.

Something that works for me that might not work for others is that I tend to form base personalities and character arcs from characters I’m reminded of when I think of the character I’m creating. With regard to Sam, characters like Raven from Teen Titans and Emma Swan from Once Upon a Time are great models for her character because both are closed-off loaners who have a hard time letting people in. This is helpful for me personally as a way of recognizing traits I see in this character in other similar characters. Then I can evaluate their characters and their arcs and see how the writers handled their characterization, and how I might have handled it differently. This might also be when I look at their character’s tropes on TV Tropes to see what might work for the character of Sam.

Now that we have a base template and outline of who Sam is, let’s start analyzing ways and methods to help give her depth. For me personally, it really helps me to sort my characters. Such sorting includes:

Myers-Briggs Test 4 Temperaments Hogwarts House Avatar Element Game of Thrones Play style Astrological Sign Sense of Humor

MYERS-BRIGGS TEST

The Myers-Briggs test divides people into 16 personality types in 4 fields of traits and dynamics. The first letter is either I (Introvert) or E (Extrovert). What this means is not whether they’re sociable. I myself can be very friendly and outgoing. However, at a big social gathering with lots of strangers, I feel uncomfortable and would rather stay close to someone I know. Thus, I am an Introvert. The second qualifiers are N (Intuitive) or S (Observant). Intuitive types think about the world in the abstract and what could be rather than what is. Observant types see the world for what it is and take the world more literally, focusing more on the present than daydreaming about what might be. The third category is T (Thinking) or F (Feeling). Do they act more on logic or emotion? Do they lead more with their head or their heart? Thinkers tend to plan ahead while Feelers tend to act first. Thinkers are more practical while Feelers are more empathetic. Finally, we reach J (Judging) vs P (Prospecting). Judging types are orderly, procedural, predictable, and well-structured. Prospecting types live on a whim doing whatever feels right in the moment and meeting challenges when they arise. So based on these traits, I would have to label Sam an ISTP type. She’s a loner so she’s not going to like large groups or put her trust in others. She’s in a bleak and realistic situation, so she’s probably not going to have her head in the clouds if she wants to survive. Being a thief and sneak is going to require some forethought, and being able to overrule emotion with logic. And because she’s probably always on the move, she can’t really let herself fall into routine. This may be her most balanced trait, as there would likely need to be a lot of judging in order to look out for herself, but I feel that due to the unpredictable state of her life, she can’t really rely on structure and order. So now that you’ve learned what your character’s Myers-Briggs personality is, it’s time to figure out what that means. But while there are plenty of websites that have tried to paint out exactly what each trait could mean, I personally found a lot of value in videos put out by IDRlabs on Youtube that all follow the format of ISTP in 5 minutes. They use cute little cartoon cut outs to explain in a dry but informative way how a personality type works best when problem solving, figuring something out, how they go about putting their trust in others if they do at all, etc. I recently sorted one of my own characters as an INFJ, and their video helped me figure out when he’d seek the advice of others and when he would seclude himself to try and work through problems on his own, which I found to be very useful.

FOUR TEMPERAMENTS

The four Temperaments or the Four Humors is a construct straight out of Ancient Greece, and was even still upheld in Medieval Europe. It was believed that these personality types were actually caused by contents of the body, and that letting out certain fluids would change one’s temperament. Those being Choleric (Yellow Bile) Sanguine (blood) Melancholic (Black Bile) and Phlegmatic (Phlegm). Cholerics are aggressive leaders who charge into danger, but can be bossy dictators. Sanguines are jolly and cheerful, if not a little immature. Melancholics are reflective artists, but can be aloof and worrisome. Phlegmatic are calm and level-headed mediators, but can be shy and meek. Fun fact, in Medieval medicine, women were always supposed to be Phlegmatic, and being too much of the other three meant she must have been unbalanced and it was time to call the doctor to come bleed her or pull out some bile so that she could return to normal. TV Tropes has a page listing all the different associated traits, and some do overlap so it��s a good idea to arrange these into a graph. It’s also worth noting that unlike other personality tests, this one is not so much about just picking one. Everyone has all 4 types inside of them, it’s more a question of how these traits rank in order of relevancy to one’s personality. For Sam, I would say that she’s primarily Choleric with that aggressive drive to survive, followed by a stoic and reflective Melancholic, a compassionate Phlegmatic, and then at the bottom a jovial Sanguine.

HOGWARTS HOUSE

Everyone already knows this one, I don’t really need to explain it. But if you’re not sure where a character would be sorted, Mawrti on Youtube made videos for Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff that sort multiple fandom characters into houses and have much longer lists of character traits to really help you get a feel for where your character belongs. While I don’t agree with every sorting myself, I still think it’s a useful guide. For Sam, I’d say she’s a Slytherin. She doesn’t have time to let emotion cloud her actions, and she does what she feels is necessary in the name of self-preservation. It doesn’t mean she’s heartless, it just means she knows when to set emotion aside and do what needs to be done. Slytherins understand that sometimes completing the goal is more important than sparing someone’s feelings.

AVATAR ELEMENT

Water is the element of change. It is the element of adaptability and balances offense with defense, able to turn one into the other. Water follows the path of least resistance, spreading in every direction until it finds the shortest and quickest route to the sea. The people of the Water Tribe use wolf symbolism frequently in their culture, as they are focused on the benefit of the group rather than the individual which is crucial for surviving in their arctic home. Earth is the element of substance and defiance. Its people are determined, stubborn, and unyielding. Their spirit and will is as solid as the very earth they bend. Earth benders are hard to rattle, and when something goes wrong, they’ll dust themselves off and push forward. Rather than avoiding obstacles, they ride it out and overcome. Fire is the element of Will. Firebending is the act of taking ones desires and willing them into affect. Firebenders are passionate, ambitious, and merciless in pursuit of goals. They have the foresight to envision what they want to achieve and the drive to make it happen. Air is the element of freedom. The Air Nomads value peace, harmony, and oneness with nature. They are pacifistic, valuing spirituality and mediating tensions between the other three elements. But they can also be too detached, avoiding problems and running away from responsibilities rather than dealing with them. Sam is tricky because she has the drive to survive and accomplish this goal of a Firebender, the resilience and fortitude of an Earthbender, and the adaptability of a Waterbender. However, I would ultimately rule that she is a Firebender, as she is most heavily characterized by her will to live and overcome by any means necessary.

ZODIAC SIGN

There are multiple websites dedicated to this stuff, so I won’t really bother to go into it here. But something I personally enjoy doing is combining Zodiacs with alchemy ideas to decide someone’s “Core Element” as I like to call it. What I mean is that each Zodiac basically comes with 3 elements. Each Zodiac itself is tied to Water, Earth, Fire, or Air. Each season is tied to an element as well. Spring is Air, Summer is Fire, Autumn is Earth, and Winter is Water, at least in Medieval alchemy. And each zodiac is aligned with a celestial body, each of which is also tied to an element. Combine this with the 4 Temperaments: Phlegmatic (Water), Melancholic (Earth), Choleric (Fire), and Sanguine (Air); and with Harry Potter Houses: Slytherin (Water), Hufflepuff (Earth), Gryffindor (Fire), and Ravenclaw (Air); and the Avatar element you gave them and the element that appears the most frequently across the board is their true “Core Element”. For Sam, I would say that she is a Scorpio. Scorpio is a Water sign starting in November. Sept, Oct, and Nov are the three Autumnal months, so she’s seasonally Earth. Neptune and Pluto sort of both rule Scorpio. Neptune is Water aligned and Pluto is Earth aligned. She’s Choleric, a Slytherin, and a Firebender. Her final element tally would come to: Water (3), Earth (2), and Fire (2). Thus her core element is Water.

GAME OF THRONES PLAY STYLE

Each of the houses in Game of Thrones tend to play the game differently. House Stark are the honorable rule-followers. They keep their oaths, and are very traditional. They bow to the way things are, and tend to die because of this honor. They only start to thrive when they break this honor system and play the game like the rest of Westeros. Their words Winter Is Coming implies a readiness to face hard times, and a determination to survive as a group. A single wolf hunting alone in Winter is far less likely to survive. House Lannister is about upward mobility and maintaining their place. They are cunning and manipulative, able to play the chess game to put themselves into positions of power and influence. But that can also be a corrupting force. Their words Hear Me Roar speak to their ferocity, and their sigil of the lion showcases that with them, Family is about the survival of the pride. But that word pride is also a major flaw of the house, and their pride is one of their biggest detriments. House Tyrell strikes a balance between the two. Like the Starks, House Tyrell is unified with a genuine familial love for one another, like branches of a tree that all share the same roots. Like House Lannister, the Tyrells know when it its time for sweet honeyed words, and when it is time to wrap a thorny vine around their enemy’s throat. Their words of Growing Strong implies that they tend the garden of their schemes and they reap what they sow. They have an eye for the long game and the patience of a gardener to bring that plan to blossom. The exact counter is House Grayjoy, who take what others have made for their own. They are as hard as iron and as cold as the salty sea. They are raiders who take what they must to survive. Their words We Do Not Sow speaks to this willingness to take what is not theirs by right and reflects the pirate and viking origins they get their historical basis from. House Targaryen is the near extinct house of Daenerys, characterized by Machiavellian strategy, cunning, and a merciless iron fist to opposition of authority. While Danny fights for just causes, yelling and burning is a primary method of dealing with her problems, and her stubborn pride causes her to be unreasonable and arogant at times, especially when she was the Queen of Meereen. House Baratheon are really better soldiers than politicians. They make better walls than scholars, and have a temper about them. It is only Renly, who lacks many of the Baratheon traits, who is a genuinely fitting politician. Their words Ours is the Fury speaks to their aggression and wartime tactics. Their sigil of the deer is fitting not only as the king of the forest, but that deer fight a lot among themselves during mating season. Frankly, I don’t know the playstyles of House Martell, Tully, or Arryn. They’re smaller houses in the narrative of the show. If you want to know more, check out their house symbolism videos on Youtube. As far as Sam goes, I think she’s a Grayjoy. Not necessarily looking to claim the Iron Throne, just working to keep herself alive no matter who she has to hurt to do so.

SENSE OF HUMOR

Everyone has some sense of humor. Some have more than one. But the kinds of things they find funny says a lot about the kind of person they are.

Sarcasm (snide remarks, usually pessimistic. Think Daria.)

Irreverent (nothing is sacred, anything can be made fun of. Think Family Guy)

Toilet/Low-Brow humor (bathroom and sex jokes, think Teen Titans Go!)

Gross-out Humor (comedy from making people cringe at the disgusting nature of what they’re seeing.)

Slapstick (physical comedy, laughing at pain. Think Three Stooges)

Satire (parodying and mocking other things, often centered on a theme or running gag. Think South Park.)

Social Commentary (An exaggerated or satirical jab at real world issues facing the modern world at the time the product was made.)

Dry Humor (often pairs with Sarcasm, it’s a witty remark that’s often either a veiled, subtle, or clever jab at someone or something. Think Olenna and Tyrion in Game of Thrones.)

Dark Comedy (humor that comes from joking about a dark subject matter, or making light of a serious topic. can overlap with self-deprecating humor and aggressive comedy.)

Wholesome (jokes that don’t make fun of or belittle anything to make the joke. Think knock-knock jokes.)

Vaudevillian (comedy that often comes in the form of routines or running gags. Coyote and Roadrunner, Bugs and Elmer, and Tom & Jerry are all examples of Vaudeville style comedy routines.)

Self-Deprecating (comedy at one’s own expense.)

Pranks/ Deprecating (comedy at someone else’s expense)

Aggressive (comedy aimed at telling jokes that would upset certain types of people, often with little regard for how they’d respond. Think Ron White or Lewis Black.)

Sight Gag (comedy that is found in facial expressions, costumes, etc. Looney Tunes is a master of expressive sight gags, and Monty Python is no stranger to costume gags.)

Situational (comedy that comes from telling real life events where something funny happened. Think Gabriel Iglesias.)

Pop Culture Reference (jokes that acknowledge other works. Often overlaps with parody or in-universe play-on-word. Think Bojack Horseman.)

Torture Porn/Butt Monkey (comedy focused around torturing and kicking around a single person repeatedly, even when they didn’t do anything to prompt just comeuppance. Think Jerry Smith on Rick & Morty or Squidward in later seasons of Spongebob Squarepants.)

Conversing with the Camera (fourth wall breaking jokes that recognize the media that the story is set in. Ed Edd ‘n’ Eddy and Chowder both used this type of joke a lot.)

Once you’ve completed this step and have a solid idea of your character’s personality, it’ll be time to move on to motivations and character traits, but that’s for a later post.

#writing #writing advice #writing tips #author #writeblr #writer problems #writer tips #writer advice #do it write #write #writer #characterization #character building

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confrontthefamiliar · 4 years ago

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the complicated reasons I am in Istanbul

I’m traveling around Europe with my boyfriend. It’s sort of romantic and sort of crazy. I guess that’s why I did it. Plus the USA was giving me really bad vibes. I got tired of trying to get different sides to see different sides’ points. I just wanted everyone to get along, to have a good time, maybe even have good manners. I thought Europe would be a nice respite and I hoped Europe might rub off on me some more.

I used my $686,000,000,000 annual military budget-endowed American passport to get on a flight to Istanbul last Thursday to escape it all and also because I remembered fighting the good fight means following your heart and swimming through contradictions. I also love looking at America from outer space, country-wise. Instead of violent, it just looks sort of obscene; childish. The chaotic roar becomes a trickle I no longer have to constantly tune into. I wish everyone had the means to do this but I also know every human being is powerful enough to get anything she wants if she listens long enough to her own heart. Or at least I understand the power behind a mindset. Hearing and seeing divisive hate speech across groups of people I love along with witnessing my own violence had me wanting and craving a nation-less existence (cue seagulls laughing at me over the Marmara Sea). How escapist, how crazy- but it can’t be any more escapist or crazy than watching television, right? The world runs differently in other countries. I am not going to stay in one where I have to sit on a fence, looking over at the right and empathizing, then looking over at the left and empathizing. Because I believe in everything and everyone and it’s exhausting to live that way in the USA. I can’t keep digging for common ground.

When I first got here I could only experience negative emotions. I hate cities, I hate my boyfriend, I hate the heat. It’s like I had to purge the negativity of the USA in a political detox. After day 5 I am in love with Istanbul and everyone in it (boyfriend included): the heaving cups of pomegranate juice I drink, pretending it’s my own period blood; the rose petal candy and rosewater I eat and spray, feeling ethereal, delicate; the call to pray five times a day reminding me a good god is always around somewhere. This is a good place to believe in it all: where ninety percent of the population prays five times a day and calls each other brother and friend, where nobody cares to die because everyone is prepared to meet their maker. That’s how I want to live anyways.

I’m excited for our first weekend trip to try to find a couple surf spots on the Black Sea. According to locals and other travelers, we have an eighty percent chance of getting lost. To me, that is freedom. While I want to believe in everything, I also know that I know nothing. Conviction is a killer and I suppose that is why getting lost makes me feel free. The truth may set you free but the search can imprison.

I have always had a difficult relationship with leadership; contradictory, antagonistic, messy. I do not know how to lead myself and yet I am fiercely independent. I personally reject any sort of groupthink whether it’s prestige or protest. I am very anti-authoritarian and have had problems with most of my bosses. Crowds make me nervous, and cities make me crazy. I followed a boyfriend to college and I followed a boyfriend to Turkey.

I grew up believing I was imprisoned, essentially, and that my life was ticking away. It sure was but my parents only wanted to make sure I made it through adolescence intact. Nowadays I don’t blame them but when I was a teenager I was hysterical about my lack of freedom. Now I can consider that if my parents hadn’t imprisoned me, I probably would have ended up roadkill a long time ago.

Whenever my dad dropped me off at school he would say, “Be a leader!” As a kid I thought it was embarrassing but now I just think it’s American. However, in effect, I think I resented leadership from a young age and began plotting the best approach towards becoming a barnacle for the rest of my life.

Here I am in Istanbul with my boyfriend that I followed where I develop strong bouts of anxiety when he leads me around the city without explaining his every turn or decision. I want him to narrate his thought process to me so that I know what is going on. I don’t want to be led nor guided, I want to be part of the process each step of the way so that we are going places together and he isn’t just taking me there.

I am also simultaneously getting ready to break up with him and imagining having a family with him but when I try to explain this sentiment to him he doesn’t really take me seriously. I don’t really take myself seriously and I’m probably just testing the waters; forever insecure, measuring, calculating, weighing, as barnacles are apt to do. I’d never be able to break up if he just asked me point blank anyways. Nor decide to get pregnant. I sort of hope he’ll just leave me in Turkey. However I do want to make it to Spain where I can surf and speak Spanish. So I’ll probably end up going to Budapest with him anyways where I can get into Spain next in the Schengen zone. I’ll buy some beautiful Turkish rugs, jewelry, lamps, art, and then make a life in a bungalow on one of the Islas Canarias where I can surf and kite and teach English. Maybe Cristian will join me or maybe not. He’s reading this and it’s fine because he broke up with me once last spring so I still have some leeway. We even had a chat today about the only good time we’ve had together in Turkey thus far being when we were in the hotel sauna. A one year and counting millennial relationship is as real, transparent, and as true as a 30-year-old boomer marriage.

It is a thrill to be here, it really is, but I am also guilty and depressed for living life on my own terms and not being a part of a group actively caring about other groups. Yesterday I met a Turkish man whose father died from covid at 59, his first time in a hospital. Today I met an Albanian man who, because of covid, was stranded on a cruise ship for three months where a man killed himself from quarantining. I could just as easily be either types of people but I think I’d rather be and contribute to the first.

I could easily blame my father for “controlling” my life as a child but I should just take accountability for my own American personality. Live free or die, they said. I hope my ancestors are happy if they’re really out there watching me roam around all these years, even now during the time of Covid, black lives matter, the 2020 election, and Jeffrey Epstein. I both hope and scorn the chance that they may be out there, singling me out as kindred rebel spirit. Or maybe I’m just another hot shot with a superiority complex. Spineless. A barnacle.

#istanbul #travel #usa #america #covid #covid chronicles

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deerheadlights · 5 years ago

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This picture has nothing to do with Chapter 8, but whatever

Marduniya was led to a room with little cloisters of straw pallets. “Bed,” the man said, in an exaggerated slow drawl like Marduniya was a lack-wit. Some blue tattooed men were already sleeping in some palettes. So much for being a guest. When Tydeus the Theban had told him his story, and that he would take him back to Persia in exchange for help and connections, he had believed him. More fool you, everyone knows Yauna… or Hellenes are liars. According to all he had heard of Athens and the like, lying was their principal occupation.

He had to escape, but right now he was so tired, between his fever, the ship capsizing, and his anxiety during the voyage to Rhodes he was exhausted. Persians just weren’t meant for boats.

He tried to get to sleep but his thoughts kept going to before the battle. On the estate by the Caspian sea his father had managed, he had lived with his brothers and sisters. The war seemed like an exciting diversion, there was no thought in his mind that it could ever threaten his home. Looking at the army amassed in Zadrakarta and knowing one 7 times larger would be meeting by the gulf, he had felt invincible. But now that the Western half of the empire was undefended, who knew what would happen? Egypt would fold in a second, they were always rebelling, and Babylon… from there it was a straight shot to Elam, Anshan and Varkana, the heart of the Persian empire! His father was dead, he had no idea what had happened to his brothers, his mother and sisters could be completely undefended with a horde of Yauna heading their way! He tossed and turned on the pallet, it was uncomfortable anyway. He wished he had his short sword and bow, but that Tydeus had probably taken them with the rest of his things. He thought with irritation to him giving away the gold plaques from his spare tunic to those fisherpeople. They had told the story of the first song, a poet chastising the hunter who killed a crane in the middle of its mating dance. All alone they didn’t mean anything… just like him.

He awoke to the sound of a stick hitting a wall, and then hitting him. Someone was shouting what he could only assume was “Get up! Get up!” and various other unsavory things. He got up as quickly as he could. After the past few days, his trousers were stiff and uncomfortable from salt and sweat, but he’d be damned if he walked around bare-legged like some sort of prostitute like these people.

All the other men started to leave like they knew where they were going, so Marduniya decided to play along. Please don’t be quarry work… But to his surprise, these large men quickly engaged themselves in scrubbing a floor. When he took too long staring, the same man who had brought him to the bed yesterday clipped him on the head with the stick. He pointed at the floor and shouted in Greek. Somebody had spewed all down a staircase that led to an ornate door. Marduniya didn’t need to be told twice, he got down and tried his best to look busy. He tried to hail his companions in Persian, Babylonian and Phoenician, but they didn’t acknowledge him.

A descendant of the tribe of Arsama, brought down to scrubbing vomit off floors, maybe the Greeks are right and the gods enjoy laughing at our expense. The wise god Ahura Mazda was supposedly above such things. Since the other men didn’t acknowledge him, he moved closer to the door where there was more room to sprawl out. Getting all the gunk out of the tiny rivulets of grout between the mosaic tiles was going to be a nightmare.

As he was wringing out his rag he heard a groan come from within that sounded… familiar. He snuck a glance at the others. They seemed thoroughly absorbed in their wretched task. Slowly he got up, and cracked the door. It was the girl, Alkyone! With embarrassment, he remembered the first time they had spoken. He was in the throes of a fever dream, and had thought she was some sort of yazata. What had happened, was she sick? A beam of light came through the door and hit her face, causing her to open her eyes. She said something in Greek, but he recognized his name.

“Yes, Marduniya. Clean the floors.” He said in Greek, recalling what the foreman had commanded. She squinted at him in confusion. Then she said slowly, in some passable Persian, “Marduniya… Marduniya I think it was bad coming here! The people… they made my wine bad.” They had poisoned her? Drugged her? That would explain the vomit.

He heard the foreman’s shouting behind him. Great, now I’m really dead. He ran into the room yelling, but to Marduniya’s surprise Alkyone yelled back, clutching her head. It must really be pounding. The man looked chastened. She said something else in a low whisper. Unfortunately, Marduniya had not spent enough time in Ionia before to learn any Greek, but he could hear the tone of orders with a little sweetness laid over them in any language. He went out the door and motioned for Marduniya to leave as well. Alkyone rubbed her eyes, “I said you are my…” she cast her hand about trying to think of the word and looked uncomfortable, “slave. So you don’t clean the floors.” The foreman looked on in irritation. Can’t speak Persian either? Good to know. Even if he was her slave, staying in her bedroom would have been inappropriate, he wasn’t a eunuch after all. “My Thanks, get well.” he told her before walking out. If what she said was true, that these people weren’t on their side after all… well at least he had someone else who wanted to escape.

---

Glaukos led Xanthe towards the stable on the side street. The horse was unperturbed at the bustle on the street, unlike Glaukos. Vendors with all sorts of food and goods lined the alleyways, he passed by one hawking fried octopus on a stick. At home that had been a rare treat. No, this is Tydeus’s money, I’m not spending it on trifles! Though if they had information then maybe…

He reached the stable with his self discipline intact. A groom looked up from currying a gray horse. “Have you got the boarding fee?” “Tydeus didn’t say anything about a boarding fee, he’s a guest of the master of the house.” “Well he must have not mentioned it because it’s so obvious. A quarter of a Daric should be sufficient.” A quarter of a Daric! That was almost enough to buy a horse, depending on the quality. A peal of high pitched laughter broke out behind him. “Ajax! You never told me you had taken up common robbery!” Glaukos turned around and immediately averted his eyes. A beautiful woman was standing behind him, her bleached blonde hair arranged in a tendriled bun and lavender chiton draped artfully with two large gold pins. She had been alone. In his own village, no woman that age, obviously married already, would go out without a headcovering, let alone by herself into the night. “I was going to let myself get haggled down, Antiope, don’t be such a marm.”

“I was just worrying about your hide, if Euphenes knew you were making his guests pay to board their horses he would rip you a new one.”

She turned to Glaukos. “New in town? Or are you dinner entertainment, like me?” Was she a flute girl? No, they usually travelled with their master. Maybe she was one of those Athenian hetairas. Glaukos had heard about women, sometimes slaves who earned their freedom by being dinner companions who played instruments and their wits. If she is, then she can’t be too offended by me looking at her bare head. “Um, no despoina, just a [shiled carrier name].” “Despoina! Now that’s a laugh.” Her hazel eyes seemed to sparkle in the stables firelight. “Who would your master be, in that case? Nevermind, you can just point him out for me.” The rings on her fingers bit into Glaukos’s skin as she pulled him through the side entrance. Even through the side entrance, the house looked spectacular to him, the stucco walls in the hallway had the labors of Hercules painted upon them, and the floor was a dark and light checked mosaic pattern. He had seen from the outside that it was a two story house, a kind of luxury not available in his village. “Where are you from, Glaukos?” she asked him.

“From the bay by Olympos on Karpathos.” “Is that by Rhodes? I’ve heard there’s some good swordfish from there.”

“Yes, in the spring sometimes we can get some swordfish, mostly my family goes after bream, they’re wider so you can get some better fish cakes out of them, my father always says.” Oh gods, why are you telling her your father’s fishing tips, what is wrong with you?

“Oh really? I must take you along to advise me, I just adore fish cakes.”

They stepped past the threshold into the andron. The symposium was about to start, a flute girl was testing the reed, a boy with a tambourine gave it a few practice jingles. A slave poured some water into the wine container, a beautiful amphora with a Scythian shooting birds painted on it. Glaukos saw Tydeus and gave him an awkward grin. He stared back expressionless. Crap.

“Antiope! I was worried you weren’t going to make it!” A man with the physique of one of the sculptures outside the house lounged on a kline. You could see all of his muscles and more through his oiled white chiton. Though he was talking with Tydeus like an old friend and had a matching beard, he seemed years younger. “So sorry, I was just conversing with Tydeus son of Medon’s charming boy here about fish cakes.” She flashed a white smile.

“Oh, well, if he can charm the brilliant Antiope, then by all means let him stay, right Tydeus?” The host, Euphenes’s dark eyes had a glint in them. Tydeus gave a tight smile.

“Of course, I wouldn’t want to presume upon your hospitality…”

“Nonsense, the free conversation of the symposium is my greatest joy in these troubled times, and what better way to share it than with young men with a different perspective.” Euphenes gestured to a kline and Glaukos laid down awkwardly. At home, they had just eaten sitting down, since they didn’t have any slaves to serve at their leisure. He prayed he wouldn’t spill anything on himself. More guests began to arrive, both severe, older men with dark beards and younger clean shaven ones.

“I’m glad these troubled times haven’t decreased the size of your parties.” Tydeus said dryly. “Alas, the list of people who can attend has shrunk. I truly miss Podaleirus’s wit and presence. A drink to his memory.” Glaukos saw Tydeus’s face twist for a moment, but he drank deep for the toast.

“In fact, let’s all toast to friends who aren’t here.” The buzz of conversation in the room died down as they all took a toast. He noticed that Antiope had greeted most of the guests, and was now sharing the kline with Euphenes.

“So, Tydeus, you said you saw most of the battle first hand.”

“Yes, it was a river battle like his last skirmish with Memnon of Rhodes. He pinned the Great King between the mountains and the coast so he couldn’t spread his troops and surround him, then he punched a hole through there left wing while his own left held, and all his horse boys scythed straight for the center going for the king. I saw someone go down in that golden chariot, then all hell broke loose.”

“Yes, I got the news that the King is alive, but Alexander has captured his household...and Iphicrates”

“His household?”

“Yes, the noble Persians like to bring their wives and children along instead of just getting camp women like everyone else. Honestly, sometimes you can talk to one and they seem almost normal, and then they pull out something like that that makes you remember why we have the term barbarians!”

“Well in that case it seems Ionia is all but free then, what better ransom for the King’s mother, wife and children could Alexander demand? Imagine, the aims of the Persian wars, finally realized!” a younger man exclaimed. Glaukos found himself in the group voicing their approval. “Zeus Soter, I cannot think of a worse thing than that Macedonian tyrant claiming to have freed Asia.” An older man besides Euphenes groused.

“Wouldn’t it be worse if Ionia was not freed at all?” Glaukos said, annoyed at the timidity in his voice.

“No, because now their grain prices will be fluctuating like the waves in autumn, while my warehouse is sitting bare!” Glaukos was shocked, he’d never thought about something like grain prices driving politics.

“That and the disgusting hypocrisy of it all! Patting Athens and Sparta on the head, telling them Macedon is the real saviour of the Hellenes! All while keeping men like my son in their regiments as hostages.”

“Yes Phokas, we know all about your son.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“Not much we can do, if what Tydeus says is true. Unless you have an idea, friend?” Euphenes turned to him.

“I captured a noble Persian, hoping he would have some family that could help. Looks like most of it was killed in the battle, and that the civil situation in Persia is worse than we’d feared.”

“What’s bad for Persia could be good for us. He can’t stretch his army out forever, if he goes deeper into Persia, then we’ll only have to deal with Antipater and the garrison. And who knows, maybe he’ll bite off more than he can chew and die in some ditch in Bactria?”

Euphenes sighed, “So as usual, our prescribed course is patience and waiting. Well at least I have you all to while away the time with.”

From there the symposium became a true drinking party. They played [throw the lees] and Glaukos missed spectacularly. Probably because he had had too much to drink, but he’d never had such sweet wine. As the party was ending, everyone started to rise shakily from their klines, and Glaukos followed suite. “Where are you off to?” asked their host, “You and Tydeus will be staying here in my home of course! I insist.” Glaukos stammered his thanks.

Euphenes walked up to him and spoke in a lower tone, “I am so glad that Tydeus has found someone else, he has been so torn up after Podaleirus died…” Wait, does he mean it that way? He’d heard in Crete two men would love each other like man and wife, and also some places like the mainland, but never in his village. “Um, I don’t really know what you mean…”

“Oh, sorry, I just thought a handsome boy like you…”

“I’m just, uh, assisting him.” “Of course.” He gave Glaukos a condescending smile. It crossed his mind that maybe running off with a man he knew nothing about hadn’t been the best plan. I really hope that’s not what he was thinking about when he said yes to me…

Later, they were laying in the same room in the dark, Tydeus on the bed and Glaukos on a palette he had discreetly moved to the furthest corner of the room. “So, did you hear anything interesting?”

“Just what you heard. Though I didn’t think that people would be so concerned about grain prices…”

“Grain makes the wheels of the world run. You can’t eat gold after all.”

“I did notice, that you looked angry when that man suggested we just wait and let Alexander the Macedonian take Persia.”

“These Athenians care about the welfare of their city, but I don’t have a city to care about anymore. They just want Alexander far away, but I want him close, so I can see an end to him.”

“... Is it true, that all the Thebans were sold as slaves?”

“Yes, but Alkyone and I fled… her father was one of the Boeotarchs, the leaders of Thebes and their rebellion. So Alexander couldn’t afford to have someone like Alkyone alive, because if someone married her he would have the legitimacy to take up the cause again, you see?”

“Uh… sort of. But even if he did that, maybe we should wait until he frees Ionia? So at least something good can come from the bad?”

Tydeus snorted “I don’t give a fuck about Ionia.”

Glaukos hadn’t heard him talk like that before. “Well I do! It seems like you nobles only care about yourselves and your storehouses.”

There was a long pause. “My father was born a slave, you know.” Glaukos didn’t say anything. He had known only one slave in his life, the village’s head man owned him, but he just helped out on his farm, and hadn’t seemed too different from Glaukos and his family.

“He was freed before I was born, but he was a farm slave. Normally a man like me and the aristos in that room would never even speak, but when I was young, Podaleirus, Alkyone’s father, got injured while hunting and they took him to our cottage outside of the walls of Thebes for help. He was only there for one night but he said we were guest friends now. I never expected to see him again, but after he had recovered he came to visit. From there we became friends, and he would take me around town.” Glaukos felt some discomfort at having such a personal tale revealed to him, but curiosity won out and he said nothing.

“We raced a lot. When the Olympic games were called, we both went for an event. It was around that time the Sacred Band was formed, and we were chosen since we had won our events. Those were the glory days of Thebes, fighting under Epamonidas, defeating the Spartans! At his side, I became someone important, not just the son of a freed slave.” There was a pause again.

“Podaleirus gave me everything, just because I’d given him my cloak to lay on when he hurt himself hunting boar as a boy. And the Macedonians killed him, speared him in the back. How can I call myself a man if I don’t get revenge for him? How would the furies ever leave me?” he sighed.

“It’s true, I’m selfish. I just want to kill Alexander for ruining my life and then go crawl in a hole somewhere. That’s what you’ve signed up for. If you want to go back to Karpathos, I’ll drop you off on the way to Rhodes.”

Glaukos stared at the ceiling in the dark. How could this man make an epic quest for vengeance sound so depressing? “So you didn’t take me along because you wanted… um… Euphenes said…”

“Did he suggest something to you? For someone who claims to have the blood of the Alcimonids he sure is classless. No!”

“Oh in that case… will you teach me to fight? Then I’ll stay on.”

“You really didn’t understand my story did you… but yes I’ll teach you if that what you want.”

#333 bc #alkyone

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carmenlire · 5 years ago

Text

Green Light

read on ao3

The room is spinning but it’s nice, the way Magnus can feel the bass in his chest and see the neon lights even when he closes his eyes.

He feels weightless and it’s everything that he’d been hoping for when he’d left the house a few hours ago, desperate for escape.

Goddamn Camille, he thinks with a shudder of revulsion– and the tiniest twinge of regret. He’d broken up with her this morning after Ragnor had shown him photo evidence of her with another man, yet again.

She hadn’t even denied anything, just given a little unrepentant shrug. There was a challenge lurking in her cool eyes and Magnus couldn’t help but wonder how many times he was going to let her play him for a fool.

Abruptly over it all, he’d ended things in no uncertain terms, right outside of Bowman Hall where they both had Introduction to Anthropology Tuesday and Thursday mornings.

With a wry grimace, Magnus wonders just how awkward class is going to be next week when they inevitably run into each other– because Magnus’s life has never been what anyone would call convenient.

Shaking his head, Magnus deliberately empties his mind. Tonight was about forgetting Camille, not simmering in dread at the prospect of dealing with her again.

He makes his way to the bar. He’s a little unsteady on his feet and it’s been ages since he let himself indulge so much. It was his senior year and with graduation just a few months away, Magnus was inundated with term papers and group projects and trying to decide what his next step should be once he had his diploma in hand.

His father has been urging him to follow in his footsteps and while the thought doesn’t fill him with a spark of longing, it’s not the worst idea Magnus has ever considered.

Sighing a little, Magnus wonders just how hungover hes going to be tomorrow. His father had insisted that he gain some hands-on experience at the company this semester, test the waters and get his feet wet in a way that Magnus had managed to avoid so far.

Tomorrow morning, Magnus was joining his father for a meeting with, ostensibly, a business rival. The two companies have been brokering an uneasy peace the past year or so, though, and Magnus was being brought on board as a trial run. He’d be working with his counterpart to compromise a business agreement between the two companies. It would involve long hours with his counterpart– the heir to the illustrious Lightwood Enterprises.

One Alexander Lightwood.

Mouth turning down into a sneer for a moment, Magnus clears his expression and gets the bartender’s attention, ordering four shots of Fireball. As he watches the bartender reach for glasses, Magnus reflects glumly that he’d never met the man but his reputation definitely left something to be desired.

Magnus doesn’t know how much of what he’s heard is just from the source– there was certainly no love lost between the Lightwoods and Asmodeus– but based on what he’s heard from friends at Columbia, Alec was snobbish and cold and entirely unpleasant.

A proverbial stick in the mud, Magnus thinks and for the dozenth time, resigns himself to spending an inordinate amount of time with Lightwood until graduation in May. Alexander was set to start training to take over from his parents in June, right after graduation, and this was his own sort of test to check his merit as eventual CEO of one of the biggest tech firms in the city.

The Lightwoods were well known in New York and had been since the turn of the century. Old money, they were major players in the area and their dispositions were known to be so polite as to verge on icy. Like any other family with too much tradition hanging around their necks, they looked down at anyone who didn’t fit their extremely narrow view of acceptable upbringing. Magnus couldn’t count the number of times Asmodeus had told him about dealing with Maryse, the matriarch, and her chilly, supercilious attitude.

Magnus figures the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.

That’s not until tomorrow morning, though, and Magnus has much better things to do with his last night of freedom before he becomes Bane Industries latest errand boy, albeit with a nice corner office a floor below his father’s. Determined to enjoy the next few hours, Magnus hands his credit card over to the bartender to open a tab and moves to collect the shots. In his mind, just the tiniest bit muddled with top shelf vodka, Magnus doesn’t have a care in the world about getting the glasses to his friends at their table in the corner.

This isn’t his first rodeo, after all, and he’s all that’s grace and elegance even when three sheets to the wind.

It’s just his luck, then, when he carefully gathers the shots of fireball and turns, just for his shoulder to collide with someone else’s. It’s a near thing but he doesn’t drop them, instead managing to hang on through sheer willpower until he can turn back towards the bar and set the down, a little clumsily.

The glasses almost topple but Magnus doesn’t care, can’t even hear the clatter of glass against wood through the wall of music.

Distantly, he marvels that he can hear anything at all, all of his attention suddenly landing on the Adonis standing in front of him sheepishly.

Raising his voice to be heard over the music, the most striking man Magnus has seen in ages reaches a hand out to clap against his shoulder in apology.

“Sorry,” he says and his voice, pitched low even in the din of the nightclub, curls around Magnus’s chest and squeezes. “You okay?”

Magnus waves him off before leaning forward. “Oh, I’ve never been better, darling.”

The man’s hand sweeps down until it’s wrapped around Magnus’s arm and he shifts closer. Magnus’s breath catches at the proximity and if he’s not mistaken– and he never is, not about these sorts of things– then he’s not the only one affected by the distance or lack thereof.

He blames the alcohol for the unforgivably blatant way he shudders as the man ducks in, mouth touching the shell of his ear as he murmurs, “I should’ve been watching where I was going. That was a close call, wasn’t it?”

Grinning, Magnus pulls back to see bright eyes watching him. He studies the five o’clock shadow grazing the stranger’s jaw and barely represses another shudder of want. Absently, he wonders if he’s just found his distraction for the night, one last opportunity to throw caution to the wind until he has to shift gears tomorrow morning and focus on family expectations and avoiding Camille and making the last few months of college count in all the most terrifying ways before graduation comes and he’s officially thrust into the world.

“Not close enough,” he replies and he’s treated to an irresistible grin. Without thinking too much about it, Magnus takes one of the shot glasses and hands it to the man with an arch look.

A challenge. An offer.

The man accepts it with his own raised brow and Magnus picks up a second shot glass. The two of them toast and Magnus actually laughs out loud when the man winks at him before they throw it back.

The burn is welcome and the cinnamon warms his throat. Magnus wonders hazily what it would taste like on the stranger’s tongue.

Laying a hand on the man’s shoulder, Magnus leans in and just barely feels more than hears a sharp intake of breath. He smiles a little to himself as he says, “What’s your name, pretty boy?”

“Alec,” is the easy answer and Magnus nods a little. The name fits even if it wasn’t what he was expecting. He’d been hoping for something a little more lascivious but it will do as well as any other.

At least he’s not a Chad, Magnus thinks with a little internal shrug.

He offers his own name but worries that it gets caught in the bass drop of the current song. In any case, Alec doesn’t ask him to repeat it and Magnus has better things to do than introduce himself a second time.

They take the second round of shots and Magnus doesn’t even spare a thought for his friends who are probably still waiting at their table in the corner. Ragnor will just say something under his breath when they catch lunch tomorrow and he sees Catarina on the dance floor with a brunette across the room.

That gives him an idea and Magnus takes Alec’s hands, stepping back towards the crowd of people dancing, fueled by alcohol and who knows what else.

Alec follows after him without hesitation and Magnus allows his eyes to dip down to his neck, down the where a scant sliver of chest is visible in the v of his unbuttoned shirt.

It’s nothing like Magnus’s– whose navel is almost exposed– but it’s enough to tease, to make Magnus want to lean in and place a kiss along the hollow of his throat, across the hint of exposed collarbone.

They dance and Magnus lets the music wrap around him and settle in his chest. It drowns everything else out and he focuses on the way Alec’s hands land on his hips, guiding him back against him– offering but not insisting– and heat is a low simmer in his gut at the wall of heat behind him, at the way he feels the ghost of Alec’s breath against his neck as he leans down and lays his lips against his pulse.

He loses time after that. They dance and Magnus is a little surprised at just how good Alec is at it. He grants him more access and shudders when one of Alec’s hands moves to his front, slipping inside his barely buttoned shirt to graze against bare skin.

There are more shots– Alec’s round this time– and Magnus realizes vodka tastes best when Alec’s the chaser.

Alec’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes a little hazy and Magnus figures he doesn’t look any better. He can’t focus on anything but the man in front of him and when he steps close into Alec’s space, until they’re sharing the same breath and he gets to watch the way Alec’s eyes darken, they way his mouth parts on a silent breath, Magnus wonders how he managed to hold out so long.

He feels Alec’s hand low on his back, urging him closer, while the other tilts his head up. Just the slightest bit, just enough so that Alec has clear and direct access to his mouth.

They kiss in the crowd of the club, drunk and unsteady, and Magnus’s muddled mind decides it’s the best goddamn kiss he’s ever had.

It starts lush and slow and so damn deep that Magnus feels his toes curl. Burying his hands in Alec’s hair, pulling just a little, Magnus’s grin breaks the kiss as he feels Alec groan into his mouth and pull him even closer, until the only thing separating them is the thin layers of their clothing.

When Alec pulls back, eyes blown wide, the iris just a thin hazel circle, and mouth swollen and bitten red, Magnus feels the tug of desire crash into him.

When his tongue darts out and swipes over his full lower lip, Magnus’s eyes trail the action and he feels time slow down, all of his thoughts focused on how he can get Alec impossibly closer.

His sharp intake of breath is drowned out by the music and when Alec leans close and asks, “Want to take this someplace a little quieter,” Magnus doesn’t even hesitate.

He takes Alec’s hand and they stumble through the club, landing outside and taking a greedy gulp of fresh, cool air that does nothing to stop the heat that’s been building since they ran into each other.

Alec hails a cab but it’s Magnus who reels off his address as they fall into the backseat, laughter turning to gasps that would no doubt embarrass the hell out of them in the daylight.

Magnus doesn’t care, though, that they’re acting so brazen, that the cab driver definitely knows what’s going to happen as soon as they fall through the front door of his apartment.

It’s hard to care about anything except the scorching heat of Alec’s hands and the way he can draw such delicious little moans from the man next to him.

The rest of the night promises to be everything Magnus needs and so much more.

—

Magnus groans and buries his head in his pillow.

Fuck, he thinks. That’s the last time I drink vodka.

He knows it’s a lie as he says it but it still makes him feel better.

There’s a brief, silent respite where Magnus wonders what the hell had woken him up before he hears the pounding of his front door.

It’s in direct counterpoint to his raging goddamn headache.

Swearing a blue streak, Magnus swipes his pillow out from under his head just to cover himself with in it a desperate attempt to drown out the noise. That or suffocate himself, which might be preferable given how shitty he feels in the morning light.

In the next instant, though, he’s throwing the pillow to the floor and tossing the covers off of him as he looks around the room wildly.

He doesn’t see any remnants of the night before– no clothes on the floor that don’t belong to him and no boy on the other side of the bed.

While a piece of him thinks it’s a shame– he can’t help but wonder how Alec would look the morning after– most of him is exceedingly grateful.

Magnus doesn’t register that the knocking has stopped and so he’s stunned– and not a little indignant– when his father swings his bedroom door open.

Biting out a, “What the hell,” Magnus scrambles to cover up his very naked body.

Asmodeus merely peers out the window, looking for all the world like the world’s most put-upon father.

“I don’t know what you did last night and I don’t want to know,” he starts pleasantly. “All I care about is that we have a meeting at the office in–” he looks at his watch, blank faced, “–one hour and it will take at least half that to get there.”

He leans on his cane heavily as he turns so that he’s facing Magnus. He loves his dad– he does– but no one can make him grit his teeth quite so hard as the man standing in front of him, imperious and calm no matter the situation.

A part of him wonders idly how long he has before he cracks a tooth in sheer annoyance.

Magnus places a foot on the rug next to his bed and moves to get up, hoping that will be enough of a hint for his father to leave and give him space to get ready– with an eye on the clock, Magnus sees that he’ll need to literally run if he wants to do both his hair and makeup– but Asmodeus just stands there and studies him like he’s a particularly dull-witted beetle under his microscope.

“Need I remind you that the company is throwing their full support towards this business deal? That I am personally handing over responsibility of this deal to you, my protege and eventual successor?”

“No, father,” Magnus rolls his eyes. “I’m well aware how important it is that I seal the deal with the Lightwoods by summer.”

Asmodeus doesn’t say anything for a moment, just keeps watching him impassively before nodding once. Magnus sees the smallest smile tilt the corner of his father’s mouth before Asmodeus relaxes a little and moves to leave.

“You are my pride and joy, Magnus, and I know college is a wonderful opportunity to explore all sorts of debauchery. I only hope that when the time comes, you are able to keep your eye on the prize.”

“Father, I’m in the top five percent of my class and I’m graduating summa cum laude in May. I think I’m fine.”

Asmodeus sniffs. “Just keep in mind what I said, son. I haven’t worked for thirty years just for my legacy to wash away on a wave of vodka.”

“Don’t worry,“ Magnus says sardonically. He glares across the room. "Lightwood will never know that you woke me up with twenty seven minutes to spare.”

“The eldest Lightwood is the pinnacle of familial duty,” Asmodeus says thoughtfully, tapping his cane with his thumb. “You’d do well to pay attention to today’s meeting. It wouldn’t kill you to emulate him a little, would it?”

Sighing, Magnus runs a hand through his hair. “From what you’ve told me– and what I’ve heard from friends– Alexander Lightwood’s wound so tight that it’s a wonder how he gets out of bed in the morning. You know what they say about all work and no play.”

“That it makes a parent proud?”

“No,” Magnus laughs. He sees Asmodeus smile widen imperceptibly as he shakes his head at his antics. “They say they’re dead bores and I might play hard but we both know I’m doing just fine.”

“Whatever you say, dear,” Asmodeus retorts. “I expect you in the car by 7:30 sharp.”

“Then will you please get out so I can get up without traumatizing us both,” Magnus asks pleasantly.

He hears his father muffle a laugh before he’s turning on his heel and leaving without a backwards glance.

Magnus dashes out of bed and jumps in the shower. No matter how much he might like to linger under the hot spray, he’s out five minutes later. He downs two aspirin and a glass of water before brushing his teeth and the next twenty minutes are spent furiously blow drying and styling his hair and applying makeup.

He barely gives a thought to his outfit– heresy on any other day– and ends up going with a black and red blazer with black button down and slim cut dress pants.

Sliding into the back of the town car with ninety seconds to spare, Magnus takes a deep breath as Asmodeus hands him a coffee without looking up from his morning newspaper.

Taking it with a grateful look, Magnus sighs into the latte as he brings it up to his mouth.

It takes half an hour in New York rush hour traffic to get to to Bane Industries Headquarters and the two of them of gliding in the front doors a cool fifteen minutes before the meeting is set to start.

The elevator to Asmodeus’s office, where this first meeting will take place, moves quickly and Magnus and Asmodeus go over their notes one last time on the way up, reviewing everything they’ve been talking about over the past several months.

Both companies were tech giants and had been bitter rivals for years before a tentative peace had been brokered last year. Magnus isn’t exactly sure what had caused the change in their dynamic. All he knows is that this is his first test, his chance to prove that he’s up to taking over from Asmodeus once he retires.

He’s still not quite sure if he wants to take over but he gives a little shrug as he reviews his notes one last time. All that matters is proving he can.

The secretary announces the Lightwoods arrival through the intercom– Maryse and Alexander– and Magnus straightens as he turns toward the door and shifts his expression into something pleasant.

He wonders how much of a dud his partner’s going to be for the next three months and just how painful his company will be.

Swinging the office door open, the secretary ushers in the two Lightwoods and Asmodeus moves forward, cane in hand, to greet their visitors.

“Maryse,” he starts smoothly. “I hope traffic wasn’t too terrible this morning.”

Magnus watches as the founder and CEO of Lightwood Enterprises smiles tightly and reaches out to shake hands with his father.

“Asmodeus. It was a pain in the ass as usual but we’re on time so that’s all that matters.”

Raising a brow at her reply, Magnus keeps the impassive smile on his face as she turns her stare to him. “And this is Magnus, I assume?”

“It is,” Asmodeus confirms. “My only son and heir.”

Maryse reaches out a hand and Magnus shakes it, a little surprised at the brisk firmness. “Mrs. Lightwood.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet the man who will be working so closely with Alec. You’re top of your class at NYU, right?”

“If all goes according to plan, I’ll be graduating with a 4.0 this spring.”

Nodding, Maryse merely replies, “Good,” before gesturing behind her. “This is my son, Alec. He’ll be your partner for this deal. I have every faith that the two of you will do us proud.”

Magnus flips his gaze from Maryse– whose only mildly terrifying considering who his own father is– only for his breathing to stop altogether once he sees the man who’d been standing quietly behind her.

His gaze meets Alec’s and Magnus can’t help but remember last night– the shots, the dancing, the trail of beard burn he’d noticed on his thighs in the shower– and he sees the way Alec’s own eyes widen, the way he swallows hard as he mechanically reaches out a hand for Magnus to shake.

Mind spinning with a rapid reassessment of Alexander Lightwood and just who he’d be joined at the hip with for the rest of the semester, Magnus grins and can’t help himself– he winks at Alec as he slides his hand into a grip he remembers well from mere hours ago.

“A pleasure to meet you, darling. This should be fun.”

He’s not really surprised but he is disappointed when Alec just scowls. “It will certainly be interesting,” he says after clearing his throat.

Magnus swears he feels Alec’s thumb sweep across his as he pulls his hand back.

The next two hours are mind-numbingly dull. Magnus pays attention through sheer force of will, though most of his focus is on Alec.

There’s just something about the man that has Magnus working overtime to figure him out. Catching himself staring at Alec, who shoots him a narrow-eyed glare as Asmodeus talks about expected investment returns, Magnus shakes his head a little and stands up, going over to the coffee machine on the sideboard.

Back turned to the room, Magnus slowly pours cream into his coffee before raising the mug to his mouth and taking a lingering sip.

As Alec joins in the conversation, Magnus tilts his head and smiles to himself.

All of a sudden, this deal doesn’t seem like a death sentence. No, as Magnus looks over his shoulder and his gaze crashes against Alec’s, he’s decidedly excited for what the next few months promise.

He always did like a challenge.

#yup we're starting a new fic!#and i have literally no outline so who knows what's gonna happen!!#my writing #malec fic #malec wedding #green light

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demeaiko · 6 years ago

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Dating tips for the signs(my real life experience) 😅

Aries♈: Continue to be creative 🎨and spontaneous as possible 🤗, just try not to be insensitive to everyone else emotions/ only focused on your emotions 😏 everyone else feels as well Aries also Just think of the end result to most situations is arguing with that person going to change anything Aries or Benefit you? Always ask that as I'm an Aries rising I definitely understand as I am always ready with a come back that is almost never taken the right way lol 🔥

Taurus♉: 🙄 I'm sorry but I would skip this whole sign completely when it comes to relationships from personal experience😑, but the good thing is if Taurus likes you they will swipe them visas 🤑, but they're good at showing affection and usually attractive, but can get really possessive and don't try and be possessive over them as they try and be possessive over you 🙄... If that makes sense lol

Geminis♊: You guys get a lot of hate but let's dead that now 😉. Geminis are FUN especially 8th house Gemini. But Gemini is pretty fun they love to acquire a lot of associates, they can definitely be two-faced sometimes 😒 and are very inconsistent🤯 with they're relationships (same as they're opposite sign Sagittarius) but they make up for it on dates trust me very fun and intelligent people (well most of them I've run into)

Cancers♋: Omg 😅 the funny thing is my best friends are cancers oddly lol anyways cancers are a 50/50 sign when it comes to dating. Cancers are very keen on an emotional connection more so then Pisces and equally as much as Scorpio from my experience. If you do not have an emotional connection with one they become very picky down to your clothes and how you pronounce words 😂, I lie to you not they are low-key Virgo ish when they are dating also have a good job or ambition, this sign is again picky af so have some means of security for this sign whether that be a job, emotional security or sadly money 🤷🏾‍♂️.

Leos♌: First I must say LEOS ARE BOMB AF IN BED 😍 LOL. Now that that's out of the way, Leo's are really good people to date, they usually have nice things or strive to obtain quality material. They can definitely be good lovers and providers, the problems arise when they feel like they need to be the center of everything or that they're egos aren't being stroked 🙄 they can also be players too don't get me wrong they can be loyal... But if you guys aren't official and sometimes even when you are they will still play the field because it excites them 🙄 Leo's low-key ain't shit but we can't get enough of em especially in bed 🙈

Virgos♍: First off let me say something most people don't know about Virgos... They are probably the biggest cheaters/ players in the zodiac and that's because 99% of people don't meet their big expectations 😏, they expect the perfect partner because they strive for perfection and when you fall short even the slightest bit they look at that as inadequacy most of the time 😞. Now they are on the contrary very good partners as well very self-sacrificing the right individual (that other 1%) and devoted they love very hard but critic you even harder as well they see work like love and in order to get that unconditional loving you have to fight for it 💪🏾with some style/ finesse to it as well since Leo is there subconscious 💅🏾💁🏾‍♀️

Libras♎ ok so this is one sign that is good in relationships 💑 just not very authentic in my opinion. They will change and sort of morph to what you want and not in a Pisces or Gemini way. They look at you and see your hobbies and your mannerism, and interest ( oh you like to play football oh I do as well🙄 they know damn well they've never played or enjoyed the sport) they change into that person disregarding who they truly are in the experience, I like Libras because they do this amazing and are very attractive usually, but it feels to me Libra sells themselves out just to get what they want which is sort of in a deceptive manner (Scorpios). Speaking of Scorpio...

Scorpios: ok quick disclaimer I'm a hoe (Sagittarius 8th house) 🙃 but I've never fw a Scorpio on a sexual or even in an emotional level way, I've only had friends which I can only speak on that😏. lol Scorpios are very deep people they like to get to the bottom of things like if they feel they're partner is cheating this sign will find out🕵🏾‍♂️, unless your Pisces they seem to wiggle their foggy ass 🌁out of anything lol Real shit but a Scorpio most likely won't tell you they found out they want you to feel what you did to them so they will sleep with your best friend (SZAs weekend song which she's a Scorpio)or sibling and maybe some more shit like put estrogen pills in your food or something idk something to add to the "sting" lol don't few these individuals if you don't have pure intentions 😏 they seem to be amazing people in relationships when you or they have pure intentions there isn't anything your hiding from them so they can feel secure this is a sign that needs to feel an emotional connection with your past and your struggles sometimes.

Sagittarius ♐: Omg 😂 I laugh because Sagittarius is a sign that would be amazing in relationships if we didn't seek freedom so much and that pertains to any area in a Sags life 😣, usually they want to do what they want to do so be mindful of that😌, also people don't know but Saggitarius is low-key emotional af😭 they like to feel happy and optimistic but we all know life, and they're happiness and faith/optimism are constantly being tested and tempered especially by everyday tasks like work 😅. NOW this is one of the fun signs to be with as this person will take you anywhere, a Saggitarius wants a companion for everything so if you and a Saggitarius interest Click together and they invite you everywhere with them they REALLY LIKE YOU!

Capricorns♑: I have a love-hate thing with Capricorn as they are the achievers 😎, the ambitious ones with the dark ass eyes and soft skin 😍lol idk if it's me but Capricorns all have extremely soft skin and That goes for Capricorn moons as well. They usually face a lot of challenges early on 😣in life so this is the Uber cautious sign that is built-up on security and practical things like if your a neat freak or you buy them things or even give them money this sign will be happy with that😌. They look at you more so as a add-on in there life whether it be a significant add-on or a little accessory and are possessive about it not in a Scorpio or Taurus way more so in a "you have a responsibility to be by my side and take care of blah blah blah 🙄" more so make you accountable for what you contribute to theytheire.

Aquarius's♒: I like Aquarius they're very open about they're relationships they want to add an authentic stamp on their relationship 😝, this is the sign that will be almost completely different in any of they're relationships as they want to be creative and don't like to bring stale ways of relating and acting in they're relationships if they've done it in a past relationship they most likely will approach the same thing completely different in there new relationship 🤸 for instance I like that one of my Aquarius friends would do this with her boyfriend and that if they go thru disagreements they would compliment each other in the argument to try and defuse it as best as possible 💕and I think that is an amazing way to make your significant another feel secure and also feel like they're able to get what they want to say out. Now the dark side is this sign can literally turn there emotions off like a switch one minute there crying with you helping you get thru your emotional problems the next day they could act like they don't give a fuck 😏 they don't like to go thru repeated experiences so if your coming to them with the same old sad story they really don't care after that 1 encounter. ❄️

Pisces ♓: I'm currently in a relationship with a Pisces 💙 for a while even though our suns square each other but I'm very understanding of Pisces and what their intentions are so it helps lol. But I've had the best sex with Pisces especially a Pisces Mars 😍 anyways lol this sign is a shapeshifter in the bed people like they realize your fantasy's and such and exploit it like am in bed lol 🙈 Enough of that but these are very very caring people they see your flaws and areas you lack and instead of being critical about it (Virgo) they support and make you more comfortable with who you truly are. This is one sign that loves unconditionally! Now the dark side with this is that these individuals can lack a lot of structure and a routine that can frustrate anyone!😡 They are not very punctual at all they would be late to there own funeral to be completely honest.😅 And they also can be very emotional not as intense as the other water signs in my opinion but they can be emotional in a very hidden way they don't like showing the vulnerable side as they see it as weak and they go thru life feeling like they could be stronger so just check in with them here and there😌 so your not feeling like your walking thru a thick fog of confusion.

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dothewrite · 6 years ago

Note

Scenario for akaashi and makki with a sarcastic s.o who likes to bicker with them about literally anything and it kinda gets on their nerves but its also extremely endearing? Thanks!!

I fully believe that Akaashi is fully capable of channeling a little shit whenever he wants to. Which is quite often, imho. Hope you like!

It’s a quiet day outside in theheady heat of mid-summer and the sun is muted graciously by the shroud of greyforms lounging above the mountain caps; the ground so warm from the morningsunshine that the raindrops almost hiss as they hit the concrete, one waveafter another.

They’re the only ones still outside.In a stroke of luck, the café they had discovered the day before yesterday hadremained open despite the warnings on the news channel the night before and thecorroborating showers, but most of the chairs for outside seating have beentucked away underneath massive square-shaped umbrellas to preserve the delicatewood from soaking through.

Akaashi can feel the baffled, andoccasionally disgruntled, gazes lingering on the back of his head from the wise,sensible patrons who had opted to sit indoors in such weather. It’s a grumpy,good-natured sort of gaze, gazes from people who can’t really be bothered to beparticularly critical when there’s warm coffee tucked between their palms, afresh set of newspapers sprawled over the narrow tables, and a comforting humof steady rain against the tinted glass on an early afternoon.

He can taste the rainwater that’ssplashed into his own cup of black coffee, but it’s too bland of a taste forhim to consider buying another one and brave the grouchy looking owner who keptthe store. He takes a quick sip, and with a hand that brushes away the moistbangs that plaster to his forehead, he watches her lean forwards on the slattedtable, a yearning on her face almost as if to leap out into the dense showerand become one with the storm.

He keeps his phone tucked carefullyunderneath his jacket to keep it safe from stray droplets and lounges backagainst his stiff backrest, the scent of damp pine rubbing its tendrils into hisback.

“If you stick your head out somemore,” he cautions before taking another deep sip, “you’re going to look veryinteresting with only your face wet.”

He can see her shoulders shake oncewith a possibly befuddled laugh before she shrugs them.

“The dewy look might be in vogue.Think I’d look more interesting than you?”

He flicks his thumb up to move ontothe next BBC article. “Hard to say. I can be a very interesting man.”

She cranes her neck to give him aglance-over: a navy shirt, just like the one yesterday, and oh! Happycoincidence! The same one as the day before that too. His pants have changed,she’ll concede. Sometimes. On days when she hides the rest. His watch, the sameone he’d been wearing for the past four years—it being a graduation present isnot a viable excuse for lack of fashion—matched the small coloured twine aroundhis other wrist. She’d forgive that one though, considering she’d given it tohim as a matching anniversary present when they were young enough to rely onallowances for gifts. He hadn’t taken that one off either, ever. Not even forshowers, white-water rafting, nor torrential rainy days.

“Mhmm.”

They share a serene moment ofsilence before Akaashi puts away his phone and sighs, heavily, from the bottomof his old, weary heart. “I can hear you holding your breath all the way overhere. Go on, say it. What’s wrong with my outfit today?”

She shrugs again, this time muchmore dramatically. Empires could rise and fall on those bony little shoulderswith a drama that even Caesar would envy. “Nothing.”

“Is that so,” Akaashi says dryly. “Doesthat mean I can wear this again tomorrow without hearing another word fromyou?”

“It really depends on what sort ofwords,” she grins, and vaults a leg above the other to twist around just theright amount for Akaashi to catch her sharp profile against the drizzlingbackground. “If you’re filing a complaint, I can always replace those tricksywords with other ones you might find even less appropriate.”

“Yeah. And what exactly is wrongwith my shirt again?”

“Nothing,”she repeats emphatically, “if you’re on a tight budget and brought a single shirt on holiday with you toEurope.”

“I see. So, if it’s anywhere butEurope—”

“Then you can wear that same shirtall week at home with the exception of Sundays when you have practice?”

“Possibly.”

“Ah yes,” she says, throwing herhands up in exasperation. He’ll give it another few minutes before they startdrawing frenzied little diagrams in the air with her finger as a wand. “Let thescent of your armpits saturate into the corners of your shirt, and may itattract some unwitting females during mating season.”

Akaashi doesn’t give in to the urgeto lift his arm to double check his armpit. He is a much better man than that,and an even better one when he shouldn’t be. He leans back and settles down withthe comfortable knowledge that he’s washed this shirt quite thoroughly, and hisgo-to deodorant hasn’t failed him yet if she’s still willing to endure hispresence.

“You like how I smell,” he mentionswith a small smile, “but if you insist, I can always buy several more likethis. To reduce my, ah, scent.”

He is an expert indeed in keeping astraight face after many, many years of practice with exasperating fellowsaround him, and he lets it rest on his face with ease when she squints at him,brows stretching between a raise and a furrow, and her blunt fingernails diginto the armrests to keep her uncomfortable twist in place.

It does make her look rather poised,with crossed legs and a carefully positioned arch to her back. Akaashi keepshis eyes politely on her face, but his peripheral vision goes off, as they say,and swallows every inch that he can. He wonders if it’s part of why she oftenchooses to be so prickly about everything, even in good humour; if he took thatmuch care to look half as good when indignant about something, he’d probablyinstigate a lot more rows too.

For now, he thought, bringing hiscup to his lips, he was content with simply admiring.

“You’re insufferable,” she says,rolling her eyes.

Akaashi pretends to be stung. “Me?Do I smell that much?”

She grumbles something under herbreath, but she’s not quite taken her eyes off him just yet. He watchespatiently as she comes up with a different approach to the problem. After all,they have all afternoon, as long as they’re willing to shell out a few morecups of coffee.

“I smell fine, don’t I?” Akaashiprods. She really brings out the worst in him, and deep down he finds itendlessly entertaining. “Unless you want me to wear more cologne? Should Ichange my shampoo?”

“No.”

“Oh, that’s great,” he says, turninghis phone back on with his worst attempt at sounding enthused to date.

“It’s just…” she adds, and he hearsher chair grate against the coarse ground as she tugs it closer to him. “It’s always blue. And always a shirt. I know you wash your clothes, but youcan’t possibly expect that from anyone else.”

“Navy is a nice colour. What’s wrongwith blue?”

“It reminds me of the thing with thefriends on American television, but every day, all day.”

“Foster’s home for imaginaryfriends? He’s sky-blue.”

And muchless fit,he thinks, but he is a humble man, not prone to lapses in judgement, so thatcomment stays obediently in the back of his mind as he swirls the last dregs ofhis coffee around, watching the course grounds dance in a storm. The poker faceremains where it is, performing its role perfectly and any tells stay strictlyaround his lips in an unwilling upturn.

She’s far too busy rummaging aroundher mind for more analogies to properly notice, anyhow.

“Pictures,” she says triumphantlyafter a minute or two. Akaashi looks up from his sports news and gives this newattempt of hers another go. “Maybe I might be mistaken if you’re aiming for thetime-traveller look, but you’d look exactly the same in all the pictures wetake. New landmark? Same shirt. New city? Same shirt. New girlfriend? Sameshirt.”

“New girlfriend?” He repeats with aneyebrow raised. She meets his look defiantly, her angled chin daring him to firesomething back. “I wasn’t informed that I was in the market for a replacement.”

“Well perhaps you should read thebook, then.”

“Have you?” He asks incredulously.“Have you really finally gotten around to it?”

There’s definitely a small twitch toher mouth as her eyes narrow, twinkling a bit at the corner. “Wikipedia is thenew SparkNotes. My point still stands, time-traveller.”

Akaashi thinks about it for a while,tapping his fingers against his chin. “It’s not such a bad concept, really.”

“Your mum would be disappointed withthose photos. You know it.”

“But you’re so very good at makingme look attractive.” He rolls his eyes ever so slightly. Not enough to get himinto trouble, but enough so that it’ll stop pushing at his eyelids for freedom.“Or is it all just me? Or maybe, is it alljust this shirt?”

“Okay, let’s test that.” she thrustsher arm out at him and beckons imperiously with two fingers. Her eyes flash asif daring him to do otherwise. “Hand over that shirt, I’ll try it on Tetsu thenext time I see him.”

“As if he needs any help.” Akaashidoes a full-on roll with his eyes this time, with a smidgen less amusement. Hedoesn’t want to think about it—as much as he loves his irritating as all hellfriend—least of all in his own shirt, stolen unrightfully, and with her all over Kuroo. Alright, maybe shemight not be, but the imagery is very much unappreciated all the same.

He swallows the rest of his cooledand watery coffee in a single gulp and rests it on the damp table with morefocus than intended.

“Just my shirt? Does nothing elsebother you more than my fashion this morning?”

She gazes at him with an inscrutableexpression whilst Akaashi refuses to avoid her eyes, unyielding as hechallenges her in silence for something else to nag about, another tiny littleproblem that seems almost impossibly insignificant underneath the madness thatis drinking hot coffee on an equally hot and equally soggy noon. A slightbreeze, however, has begun to blow somewhere between their bickering, grazingalong the soft weeds that frame the banks of the Danube they face, and the rainhas quietened into a gentler morning shower. It would be walkable, albeit onlytowards their temporary home considering they’d be soaked to the boneafterwards, and Akaashi almost considers asking her. Almost.

He waits to see if she’s gotanything more to say that’s smart, snappy, and altogether exhausting onoccasions.

She’s still staring at him with aspectrum of emotions flickering in her eyes when she speaks again, words tingedwith a beleaguered sigh.

“If I think about it, then maybe thiscoffee. It doesn’t taste so good with rain. There’s this weird salty taste toit, but salt doesn’t evaporate, so it’s possibly entirely in my head.”

“A lot of things might entirely bein your head,” Akaashi replies, and he takes the side eye she shoots him withcomposure and grace. “Like how I’ve only got one shirt, ever.”

“You wore it yesterday. And the daybefore.”

“The washing machine is broken,love,” he reminds her patiently. “Our host hasn’t responded to me yet.”

“Alright, maybe not navy, but they’reall shirts,” she insists. She twirlsher empty cup around her fingers, seemingly unaware of how precariously it sitson her fingertips, and Akaashi can’t quite recall when she’d managed to finishit earlier than he. “I’m not saying you’re a boring person—” she shoots him alook heavy with meaning, “—but dressing to reflect that wouldn’t be a bad idea.On the contrary, in fact.”

They had been brainstorming in therain for activities they could head for to replace their outdoorsy excursion toseveral palaces that day, but Akaashi thinks he’s got the right idea in mind.Never say that he’s an inattentive, inconsiderate partner. A shade petty whenpiqued, perhaps, but that all pales in the various hues of sarcasm she paintswith when unoccupied.

Still, there is the way her nosescrunches up when she frowns, and the brisk way she rests her weight on herarms that has her stretched out into fine lines and soft edges that Akaashikeeps safely to himself whenever he watches her as inconspicuously as he canmanage. It just about makes it worth it, he wagers, tossing his new idea back andforth in his mind, to listen to her furrow her brows verbally again.

“Thrilling, you say.” He murmurs. Hereyes follow with suspicion as he slides his phone into his jacket pocket, zippingit up all the way for protection. “Are you sure this isn’t just a ploy to getme to take off my clothes?”

“Not in public,” she says calmly,but the twinkle in her eye has returned, and a reluctant smile eked out of her.“Honestly, as if I’d share.”

His cheeks, despite their longfamiliarity, still flare up against his will and Akaashi tries his best to coolit down with a hand as discreetly as possible. Her smile only deepens, and hehas to clear his throat to prevent his poker face from cracking.

He pushes back on his chair andstands up, abandoning his seat to the elements. When she doesn’t follow, heleans in with a brow elegantly raised and a teasing smile tickling the edges ofhis lips.

“Let’s go home.”

She looks at him as if he’s gone offhis rocker. “The weather,” she says slowly, pointing up at the grey skies, “wedidn’t bring an umbrella.”

Akaashi shrugs a shoulder. “That’sthe point.”

“You’llget sick.”

“Not if we run,” he begins to counton his fingers, “not if we take a shower, not if we turn on the heating, andnot if I make you a cup of hot chocolate after.”

Her eyes are almost sparkling, andAkaashi finds it a hopeless battle against falling right into them. “So, you’vehad the time to come up with this whilst listening to me all this time?”

“I can be a very interesting man,”he repeats sagely, and easily dodges the smack she aims at his arm. “Trust me.”He offers a hand to her, palm up, and a soft smile awaiting her answer.

Multitudes dance along the edge ofher lips, and Akaashi watches every single one as they drizzle past the precipicesof her cheeks and along the faint laugh lines blooming from her eyes. He doesn’tmind for as long as his arm doesn’t ache, and he could stand underneath a beigecafé umbrella with the splashes of rain drenching their trouser hems for amonth if it meant that she would be able to turn that diamond edged glint towardshim and place her palm in his.

She does, after a small shake of herhead, and it takes only a minute or two. He laces her fingers together,slightly clammy from the wet, and draws her up against him. He can feel herwarmth seep through his dreaded navy shirt, and when he tugs her closer, herhair frizzy from the weather tickles where he’s left the last two buttonsundone.

“You wanted thrilling, remember?” Hebreathes lowly into her hair, and without another warning, he jerks the both ofthem out into the pouring rain. She lets out a startled yelp, but Akaashibarely flinches as he turns towards the street and pulls her along with him ina steady jog.

He swears he’s about two timesslower than his usual morning jogs, taking her lack of exercise into account,but he’s still surprised when halfway there she begins to drag his arm back, clothesand hair utterly soaked and sluiced against her face with breathing as ifsomeone had punched her in the gut.

Akaashi pauses, feeling the rain nowconcentrating on his shoulders, and leans against the railing along the riverbank.

“Need a rest?”

“You—” she gestures vaguely in hisdirection, “—yes. Stop—looking so—”

“Composed?” He offers calmly. “Healthy?Not dangerously unfit?”

“Thankyou, Keiji. We all know how you feel about my cardio.”

“Non-existent?”

Finally catching her breath, shegives him a good glare. “Yes. That.”

Feeling slightly in better humour, Akaashilets his free arm fall and reaches out for hers. “I didn’t want you to get sick,but you love the rain.”

“What I said at the start,” she beginswith a snort, but seeing his confidence slowly melt into a thin layer ofconcern, she leans into him, ignoring his jolt of surprise. “It’s too late now,so let’s not worry about it. I brought medicine.”

“So did I.”

“Well, then.” She’s a good footshorter than him, but with a good firm tug, Akaashi allows himself to be pulleddown enough for a warm kiss on his cheek. “Let’s do a power walk back instead.”

The image popping unbidden into hishead makes him bark out a startled laugh, and he lets his smile stretch out aswidely as hers does, all trembling and chilly and feeling his toes curl fromthe warmth that seems to pulsate from where their hands are joined.

When she throws her head back to whipher hair back from her eyes, there’s a moment where steals his breath away; hisbeautiful little storm witch. She lets her head fall forwards again and thatmoment passes, the only thing that lingers is an absent beat in his veins and aturbulent grin that reaches her eyes.

“I could piggyback you, you know,”Akaashi says when they resume at a brisk stroll, both completely drenched andhis shirt pulling at his skin with each stretch. “I’d probably still be able torun faster than you with your feet.”

She sniffs. “I’m declining that onprinciple, you ass.”

Confident that nobody else will be ableto spot him in the midst of the downpour, Akaashi laughs as quietly as he can,and lets the smile stretch as wide as it wants all the way back.

He did have something else plannedfor the rest of the day; he wasn’t lying by any means. It just so happened thatit would come later at night, when the rain would die down, ready for astreet-lit shopping venture for the very thing that she sniped so much about.

That is, he’d tell her, after they’dtaken a shower, turned on the heating, and each with a mug of hot cocoa intheir hands.

Neither of them was in a particularhurry to do any of those things when their door finally closed behind them.Akaashi had slotted her against the back of it immediately, letting his fingerstrail their way slowly up the rises and dips of her sides. Their lights wereforgotten, the only sound in the apartment a cacophony of the storm outside,their dripping hair and heavy breaths ghosting against each other’s mouths. He leanedin, languidly tasting the rain along her skin.

Despite her unfocused gaze and breathhot against the crook of his neck, she managed a warm laugh, and reached outwith determined fingers to remove that dreaded navy shirt.

#akaashi keiji #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #sfw #female original character #i writes the haikyuu

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rewrite-the-night-court · 6 years ago

Text

What I’d change about TOG

So, I saw another blog dedicated to fixing the problematic/uninteresting things about the ACOTAR series. Personally, I have been mentally doing the whole “if I had to remake this, I’d probably do it more like that” thing for years, and I’ve now decided to start a blog dedicated to it, but mostly to the series (and by extension, author) that initially made me start thinking about what I’d change: Throne of Glass.

Now, this is a LONG post dedicated to what I’d change about the first book in the TOG series. I mean no harm to SJM (which is why this is in the main tag, though I can remove it if it’s inappropriate to put this post there), this is just my take on how I think the books could have turned out differently.

If you disagree, feel free to do so; if you’re even so interested as to have a (civil) discussion with me, I’d love to talk to you! My inbox is always open!

It might be an incoherent mess, it might have more than a few plot holes, but I hope you enjoy the read anyways.

I’ll start with my feelings on the book in general. I actually took me a while to finish reading the entire thing. I bought the book because I really like the concept of a badass assassin struggling for her freedom by competing in deadly challenges, especially with some political/court intrigue and magic thrown into the mix. It seemed right up my alley. I did, however, put it down about 3/4ths in, because I did not feel like the book delivered what it promised, but rather that it trivialized the Tests and focused completely on the (very standard) love triangle.

My second “problem” with the book was Celaena herself. There were things I liked about her: For example, it was amazing to see a YA-protagonist not even admit, but even liking that she was good-looking and being confident in herself and her skills (YA sorely lacks female protagonists like that). Other things bothered me, in a way that eventually overshadowed the aspects of her character that I liked. I just kept thinking: “The world’s most feared assassin at 17?” It seems a little unlikely, not matter if she trained since she was 8 or not.

Those aspects of her character ties up to my problem with her as a character: She’s too powerful. I understand the appeal of a female power fantasy, especially for young girls. It’s badly needed in a sea of media in which women are portrayed as weak, or assets to male protagonists, without being given much, if any character development themselves. However, putting the world’s most feared assassin in a competition for her freedom... against other assassins? The stakes are close to zero. Not once was I worried about her victory, or safety, for that matter.

I saw someone rant about this on reddit, once, and they suggested one simple change. I’ll run along with their idea, as I feel it would change the books in a way that could be very engaging.

What if Lillian Gordaina the jewel thief was the 17 year old protagonist, and not just Celaena’s alias?

I imagine the book would start with Lillian having been caught stealing some jewelry, probably from a very rich merchant who have strong ties to perhaps the most powerful merchant’s guild in the land. Her father begs for the merchant not to do anything, reasoning that Lillian is still a child and meant no harm, but for some reason, the merchant is furious. In fact, he is so furious that he doesn’t want to settle for regular punishment, he’ll make sure she faces something even worse than just a fine.

When word arrive that Lillian is to partake in a contest and compete not only for her freedom, but for a position as the king’s champion, her family is shocked. What in the world would Lillian have to do there? She stole some jewelry, for Gods’ sake! As rumors start to circulate about the land’s most feared thieves, most skilled assassins, and most brutal warriors are to take part, Lillian’s parents attempt to spirit her away. She is caught, however, and is taken to the castle anyways.

Also in this version there isn’t an actual castle of glass. While it’s very Aesthetic™, it wouldn’t suit the story as of right now. From an actual architectural standpoint, it also makes very little sense.

When she gets there, it quickly becomes clear that she’s mostly there as a filler contestant. There’s about ten or so people there who seem actual candidates, from what Lillian can gather without there having been an official introduction round, but the ten are in turn actually terrible criminals with no qualms about murder. The king, partly because of his cruel streak, partly because he’s not actually that dumb, knows it’ll be more intimidating to say you chose your champion after having the most brutal criminals in the land slaughter each other for the honor of serving their king. Lillian bands together with a couple of other candidates who’re more on the weak side. The three of them know that they’ll probably die, but decide to try and help each other survive either way.

Still, Lillian is a noble woman, who, up until now, has been leading a pretty sheltered life. The fact that she might die terrifies her, and she has a breakdown about it in her room. Her servants and the guard posted outside of her room (she only has one, as she isn’t a very big threat to anyone) feel bad for her. Enter Chaol, who in this story starts out as just a regular guard. He offers to tutor her, if he is given permission to do so. Lillian accepts, knowing she has no chance against her opponents but hoping the lessons will soothe her a little bit.

Chaol, who isn’t even given permission to see the king, ends up meeting Dorian face to face by coincidence. Dorian gives him permission to train Lillian during the evenings (for whatever reason, I haven’t figured out all of the character motivations yet).

The following morning, there is a court gathering. Some of the competitors (mostly women) are invited. At the gathering, Lillian ends up standing out; she is rather pretty and she knows how to enhance her beauty by dressing well, gaining a lot of attention for it. She speaks to Kaltain and Nehemia, surprising them both by knowing the Eyllwe tongue. The three of them chat a little in Eyllwe, before Lillian knows who Nehemia really is. Kaltain, who is used to the ways of court, warns Lillian about standing out once she reveals that she is a competitor. Lillian, now suddenly aware of all the eyes glued to her, makes a hasty (but discreet) exit.

She does not know her way around the castle, and ends up stumbling into a secret passage. Terrified of where they might take her, she tries her best to find a way out again, but she is lost and doesn’t know where she is going. Instead, she stumbles into a room she has never seen before, where she finds a woman whose feet are shackled to the floor.

Lillian learns that this woman is Celaena Sardothien, after some conversation. Celaena seems to be less interested in Lillian and the competition that she is in her garden; in her room, she has a small collection of pots from which various plants are growing. The two come to a sort of understanding, and before Lillian leaves (she’s afraid of being caught in there), Celaena says that she’ll offer Lillian advice and help in exchange for favors and asks Lillian to consider.

The next day is mostly dedicated to training. Insert some Witty Banter™ and flirting here. Lillian and Chaol do get along very well. It’s clear (at least to the reader) that they’re both interested in each other. Lillian, without mentioning Celaena, asks Chaol if he thinks it’s right of her to do things that might be bad in order to survive this ordeal. When he says that yes, he thinks she deserves to survive, she decides to go along with Celaena’s request.

She goes back again that night, as quietly and carefully as she can. Celaena reveals that the King intends for her to compete to be his champion. She also reveals that she, too, is only there as canon fodder. The story is much more interesting if the king’s champion defeated the strongest assassin in the land, after all. She goes on to tell Lillian that physically, there is no way either of them are strongest. Celaena worries that the final test will be a fight to the death between her and whoever the king will pick, a match she’ll have no chance of winning after a year in Endovier. She isn’t worried about Lillian’s fate: Doing dirty work like this is about competence, first and foremost, with “dirty” being the keyword. They’re criminals, the bad guys, the scum of society; the king doesn't need or want them to play by the rules. Celaena believes this can help Lillian survive.

The next day, the first test takes place. It’s a race to capture the flag, strapped to the top of a large tower. Lillian freaks out, as there’s no way she can climb that tower. With her squad of underdogs, she recalls Celaena’s words about not playing fair, and realizes that the winner of the contest is the one that delivers the flag to the judge first. Through some quick scheming, the three manage to get the flag after Celaena brought it down, and one of them (not Lillian, though, she chooses not to pick up the flag when she has her shot) ends up being the one to win.

Chaol trains with her again that evening. One of his superiors find them, and while Chaol isn’t not allowed to train her, he gets in hot water as he is dragged away by the other guard. Lillian heads up to her room, only to be woken in the middle of the night by screaming and angry yelling, before there’s desperate pounding on her door. She knows she’s safer if she stays in her room, Celaena’s voice echoing in her head, so she doesn’t open it, feeling like a coward. Eventually, she falls asleep, still shaking beneath the covers.

The next day, it is revealed that one of the actual good competitors killed the friend of Lillian who won the first test, as well as a few guards before Chaol managed to grapple him from the back. The chaos that erupted was partially because the guards realized they had no idea where the king was. It truly dawns on Lillian that her life is in danger. Finding a quiet corner to break down, Kaltain and Nehemia finds and comforts her. Lillian confesses that she blames herself for the murder of her friend, since she helped her win. Nehemia tells her that it’s nothing she could have done about it, and that she herself has had similar feelings. As the youngest royal child of her country, she wielded little political power, and was unable to do anything when Adarlan invaded. She feels guilt for being useless.

She heads up to Celaena that evening, partially to seek validation for not trying to help (Lillian doesn’t outright admit it to herself, but she knows). It’s never discussed as she sees Celaena’s bruised face. The king visited her last night, angry at her for losing the flag to Lillian’s friend. She seems more upset that he ruined all of her flowers, especially taking care to rip the rarest of them apart with his own hands. A strange and very rare plant, rarely found outside what Celaena calls “her homeland.” Lillian can’t decide whether Celaena genuinely cares more about that flower than herself, or if she is redirecting her attention to something else so as to not think about the king, but either way Lillian decides not to pressure Celaena into talking. Celaena eventually asks Lillian if she could secure her a meeting with Nehemia, having heard that they were spotted together at court.

The next test comes a few days later. Lillian tries fading into the background along with her remaining ally. It’s a simple archery test. Lillian can’t figure out how she would play dirty in such a scenario, and ends up coming in dead last. Chaos finds her afterwards, asks her if she is alright, and informs her that he can’t train her anymore; because of him catching the murderer, his superior was impressed and gave him the reins for the investigations. This might be his chance to climb the ladder.

Nehemia has, with the help of Kaltain, gotten much better at speaking the language of Adarlan. Kaltain and Lillian, for some reason, manage to get Celaena an audience with her. Nehemia seems shaken when she comes out, and when asked by Kaltain what has her so shaken, Nehemia tells them that Celaena is planning on becoming “the next king’s champion,” to which Kaltain corrects her gently (“The king’s next champion, my dear”). Nehemia doesn't react to it at all, in contrast to her usual fondness for learning, but simply leaves, still pale and stiff. Lillian sneaks in, demanding to know what Celaena said that upset Nehemia so. Celaena doesn't answer, instead suggesting that since Chaol now is rising in rank, Lillian would do well to get “friendlier” with him. Lillian storms off.

The third test takes place, and Lillian somehow wins. Fearing for her life, she seeks out Chaol, again thinking of Celaena’s words. It disgusts her that while yes, she likes Chaol, she did seek him out for the sole purpose of gaining both his affection and protection. He managed to find out how the competitor escaped from his chambers (or something), and got promoted.

I’m getting a bit lazy now, but things happen and Celaena requests an audience with Dorian this time. Lillian goes through Chaos to get to Dorian. Dorian, unlike Nehemia, doesn’t seem as shaken after his audience with Celaena. After a little digging, Lillian finds out that Dorian was the one who proposed the idea of Celaena being a competitor in the first place, as well as the one who agreed to get her a little garden (it was the only thing she requested). He hasn’t gone back to see her since, apparently being a little intimidated by her.

The king has grown mad/angry with more and more of the contestants. Lillian, who actually won a test, barely mangled to escape from his ire. After a fourth test, in which Lillian purposefully fails and Celaena wins a second time, Chaol realizes that Lillian has been using him and ends their friendship. It is afterwards discovered that a second competitor escaped during the fourth test, resulting in something close to a “lockdown” in the castle.

When the king is found dead in his chamber, panic erupts. Chaol, once again, finds and captures the escaped competitor–alive, this time. Lillian asks for permission to see them, and it turns out to be her friend (whom she drifted apart from during the competition, as she became more focused on herself and not dying). They swear that they didn’t kill the king, and Lillian knows they didn’t. Celaena’s lessons about playing dirty rings through her head and it’s no doubt about who killed the king. Lillian deduces that it might have been some kind of poison that led the king to his death, thinking of Celaena’s garden and how the king destroyed it himself in order to make her suffer. Fearing her wrath, however, Lillian doesn’t say anything, instead wishing to confront Celaena afterwards.

Upon confronting Celaena the next day, she is unwilling to say anything about anything. Lillian figures some things out on her own, e.g. that Celaena always planned to escape, killing the guards with the poison she could get from the plants and whatever else she could get her hands on. For some reason, Celaena changed course, seeing an opportunity to get some actual power and using Lillian as a pawn in a much larger scheme (Lillian probs already had her suspicions about this, though she did as Celaena asked, considering it in the long run seemed to be a mutually beneficial relationship). As Lillian is there, Dorian shows up with Chaol and another guard. Chaol is furious as he sees Celaena and Lillian together, but Dorian tells him to stand back and that he while seeing her there right now was a surprise, it was as good as time as any to reveal that he knew that Celaena was going to have his father murdered, and that 1. he looked the other way, therefore indirectly helping, or 2. the poison never worked and Dorian did it himself (depending on whichever would make Dorian not completely unlikable, it’s meant to have been a moral dilemma for him).

More things happen, Dorian is crowned and gets engaged, Nehemia stays as a representative for her country and an ally of Celaena, yada yada yada. There’s drama here towards the end, especially between Dorian soon-to-be-king and Celaena I-got-you-to-where-you-are-now-you-owe-me. Again, this would be a bit more nuanced than if I wasn't just roughly outlining the concept.

Finally, Dorian declares that the competitors are pardoned. Lillian prepares to go back to her family as Celaena calls on her again. They don’t meet in Celaena’s chambers, but somewhere else, where a certain white-haired merchant is waiting alongside Celaena. He reveals his true name to be Rowan and that he was working with Celaena all along (he didn’t actually give a shit about that ring). Through some Quality Banter™ and intriguing and mysterious wording, Celaena reveals that Lillian is, in fact, the lost princess Aelin Galathynius and that if she wants to live, she has to go with Rowan right away. Lillian, for some reason, answers yes almost immediately, wondering to herself whether she said yes for survival’s sake or something else. (Dun dun dun do I sense a sequel in the distance?)

And that’s it. I hope you enjoyed my word-vomit of an outline folks.

#throne of glass #sjm #sarah j maas #tog #anti tog #anti sjm #sjm critical #I spent p long on this please give it attention

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the-nature-of-the-art-beast · 6 years ago

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Winter’s Wisdom

“Another long line on another wet-cold day, and here I stand in it like every other day, month and year. In the winter of my life, I thought I’d have so much more. But you can’t have ‘so much more’ when you sloth through opportunities, greet new beginnings with apprehension and anxiety; and then there’s the path of least resistance, huh, the path of least challenge, least accomplishment and reward. It’s a lethargic journey to mediocrity, if you’re lucky; if not it’ll land you in another long line on another wet-cold day for whatever they’re serving at the Ministry,” Marty Williams repeated this monologue often.

January in South Texas means a mild winter as compared to anything above Interstate 10, but that doesn’t mean that it’s not cold. In fact, with the added humidity and gulf winds, winters on the Corpus Christi Bay can be downright bone chilling. Luckily, however, those bone chillers are interrupted by spring-like weather. During the winter months, South Texas experiences an influx of homeless who escape from colder climates.

Marty stood in line to eat whatever the Food Ministry had that day. Most of the time, it was really good food. Every once in a while a person who doesn’t know how to boil water takes a stab at cooking for the homeless of Corpus Christi and that just makes being homeless that much more of a suck parade. Marty thought people should have to audition before they cook. One time there was a load of jalapeno cheese cornbread someone made that was raw in the middle. Marty remembered thinking, “Do they not know about the toothpick test? But whatever, we’re just homeless and we’ll eat anything, right?”

He could hear some excited chatter from the front of the line and when he rounded the corner and saw the buffet that was set up, he could hardly believe his eyes and his mouth started to water; fried chicken, mashed potatoes and “Oh Lord,” Marty thought, “friend okra?” He could hardly contain his excitement, “Holy Lord!” He exclaimed. Others in the line echoed his excitement.

Marty is a lean figure of a man of about 5’6” with cornflower blue eyes, balding head with whisps of fine brown hair in a horseshoe pattern. He wore whatever he could get from the Goodwill with his voucher. Once a reporter and editor for a Central Texas newspaper, he found himself floundering in the literary world where he so longed to be. His dream, his ultimate was to edit great books and write even greater books. But his journalism career consisted of covering the local old biddy art league and church happenings. Not exactly exciting stuff but it was a living.

Sometimes he thought back on that opportunity. How could he have handled it better? If he had stuck with the old biddies and the church happenings, could he have moved up in the paper? Couldn’t he have found himself interviewing truly interesting people? Maybe, he could have if he had the passion to make writing his love instead of his vocation. Lack of passion was the consistent in his life. He saw no point in being passionate about anything. His only goal was to be loved and respected. He wanted others to have passion for his work, but if he didn’t, why would they?

He was persistent in criticizing himself and his lack of passion but he would not follow through on the recommendations he gave himself. Every time he resolved not this time! Not again! He found himself there again, this time. So he stopped swimming upstream. He began to just stop everything. Sooner than what he thought, he ended up homeless. Then he lost his vehicle and his storage unit and then he just meandered about looking in garbage cans and doing what he could to earn a few bucks here and there to get a meal or better yet, a bottle of wine.

Marty found a seat across from Mermaid Kate. Kate La Fe told people she was a mermaid and people often gave her little seashells as presents. She began attaching them to her clothing and she would rattle and click when she walked. She was an artist and married to a wealthy banker but her love of drink separated her from her banker husband. While he did love her, he just couldn’t take her drinking any more. He gave her an ultimatum and she chose her freedom over his insistence that she attend rehab.

For a while, after their split-up, he paid for a small apartment for her, so she wasn’t completely homeless. He wouldn’t give her money to spend because he knew where it would be spent. She started taking in people to live in the apartment in exchange for booze or money. Soon, management would find out and they’d kick her out. This happened time and time again. Finally, her ex-husband said that was enough. He cut off all ties. It was hard for him to do but until she could admit her problems and get help for them, he’d have nothing to do with her. So, Mermaid Kate moved on. She had a little place in the alley behind a local contemporary art gallery.

The artists would feel bad for her and sometimes, when the weather was awful, one of them would take her in but once she got into their liquor cabinet, that’s when relationships would get strained. One artist who took her in more than the others, Garret Blakmon, was always good to her. Kate, even with all her issues, is a stunning woman. But Garret didn’t drink so Kate didn’t like staying with him all too often. It had to be seriously bad weather for her to take him up on his offer.

Kate’s face was fringed with long salt and pepper hair, her hazel eyes watched every move Marty made. It wasn’t that she was afraid of him; it was just that she found him interesting in an odd sort of way. She liked him. She thought they would make a cute couple. Marty put some of his mashed potatoes on a piece of chicken meat and then added the okra with the crispy skin as a tiny hat, like a little amuse bouche. When they got good food served to them, Marty made what Mermaid Kate called, “Tasty sculptures.”

She followed his lead and made her own tasty sculptures. They sat talking and arranging their food as they ate. Soon though, the manager of the kitchen said they would have to hurry. People aren’t allowed to stay longer than 30 minutes because the space is so limited. Mermaid Kate began putting her food up for later. She’d save it for later, right now there was a half-full bottle of rose she found on one of the beaches for which she hungered.

She asked Marty to walk with her down to the gallery. She liked having the attention of men. It suited her. When she didn’t get attention she would full-on pout. Marty said he had to get to the library before it closed and it was fixing to close for the day very soon.

“Marty,” she said in her coy flirty voice. “The library will be there tomorrow. Come on.”

#creative writing #homeless #Texas #Winter's Wisdom #winter #wisdom #marty #mermaid #kate #la fe #williams #Laurette Escobar #tasty sculptures #tasty #sculpture #artists #writers #serial

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ravenmorganleigh · 7 years ago

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Saturday 2 December 2017 10.42 ESTLast modified on Saturday 2 December 2017 11.02 EST

Millions of Americans are wrestling with the impossibility of a traditional middle-class existence. In homes across the country, kitchen tables are strewn with unpaid bills. Lights burn late into the night. The same calculations get performed again and again, through exhaustion and sometimes tears.

Wages minus grocery receipts. Minus medical bills. Minus credit card debt. Minus utility fees. Minus student loan and car payments. Minus the biggest expense of all: rent.

In the widening gap between credits and debits hangs a question: which bits of this life are you willing to give up, so you can keep on living?

During three years of research for my book, Nomadland: Surviving America in The Twenty-First Century, I spent time with hundreds of people who had arrived at the same answer. They gave up traditional housing and moved into “wheel estate”: RVs, travel trailers, vans, pickup campers, even a salvaged Prius and other sedans. For many, sacrificing some material comforts had allowed them to survive, while reclaiming a small measure of freedom and autonomy. But that didn’t mean life on the road was easy.

My first encounter with one group of the new nomads came in 2013, at the Desert Rose RV park in Fernley, Nevada. It was populated by members of the “precariat”: temporary laborers doing short-term jobs in exchange for low wages. Its citizens were full-time wanderers who dwelled in RVs and other vehicles, though at least one guy had only a tent to live in. Many were in their 60s and 70s, approaching or well into traditional retirement age. Most could not afford to stop working – or pay the rent.

Since 2009, the year after the housing crash, groups of such workers had migrated each fall to the mobile home parks surrounding Fernley. Most had traveled hundreds of miles – and undergone the routine indignities of criminal background checks and pee-in-a-cup drug tests – for the chance to earn $11.50 an hour plus overtime at temporary warehouse jobs. They planned to stay through early winter, despite the fact that most of their homes on wheels weren’t designed to support life in subzero temperatures.

Their employer was Amazon.

Amazon recruited these workers as part of a program it calls CamperForce: a labor unit made up of nomads who work as seasonal employees at several of its warehouses, which the company calls “fulfillment centers”.

Along with thousands of traditional temps, they’re hired to meet the heavy shipping demands of “peak season” – the consumer bonanza that spans the three to four months before Christmas.

While other employers also seek out this nomadic workforce – the available jobs range from campground maintenance to selling Christmas trees and running amusement park rides – Amazon has been the most aggressive recruiter. “

Jeff Bezos has predicted that, by the year 2020, one out of every four work-campers – the RV- and vehicle-dwellers who travel the country for temporary work – in the United States will have worked for Amazon,” read one slide in a presentation for new hires.

The ranks of American itinerants started to boom after the housing collapse and have kept growing--

Amazon doesn’t disclose precise staffing numbers to the press, but when I casually asked a CamperForce manager at an Amazon recruiting booth in Arizona about the size of the program, her estimate was some 1,400 workers.

The workers’ shifts last 10 hours or longer, during which some walk more than 15 miles on concrete floors, stooping, squatting, reaching, and climbing stairs as they scan, sort, and box merchandise. When the holiday rush ends, Amazon no longer needs CamperForce and terminates the program’s workers. They drive away in what managers cheerfully call a “taillight parade”.

The first member of CamperForce I corresponded with at great length, over a period of months, was a man I’ll call Don Wheeler. Don had spent the last two years of his main career as a software executive, traveling to Hong Kong, Paris, Sydney and Tel Aviv.

Retiring in 2002 meant he could finally stay in one place: the 1930s’ Spanish colonial revival house he shared with his wife in Berkeley, California. It also gave him time to indulge a lifelong obsession with fast cars. He bought a red-and-white Mini Cooper S and souped it up to 210 horsepower, practicing until he was named third overall in the US Touring Car Championship pro series.

The fast times didn’t last.

When I started exchanging emails with Don, he was 69, divorced, and staying at the Desert Rose RV park near the warehouse in Fernley. His wife had gotten to keep the house. The 2008 market crash had vaporized his savings. He had been forced to sell the Mini Cooper. In his old life, he’d spent about $100,000 a year. In his new one, he learned to get by on as little as $75 a week.

By the end of the 2013 holiday season, Don anticipated he’d be working at the Amazon warehouse five nights a week until just before dawn, on overtime shifts lasting 12 hours, with 30 minutes off for lunch and two 15-minute breaks. He’d spend most of the time on his feet, receiving and scanning inbound freight. “It’s hard work, but the money’s good,” he explained.

Don told me that he was part of a growing phenomenon. He and most of the CamperForce – along with a broader spectrum of itinerant laborers – called themselves “workampers”. Though I’d already stumbled across that word, I’d never heard anyone define it with as much flair as Don. He wrote in a Facebook direct message to me:

Workampers are modern mobile travelers who take temporary jobs around the US in exchange for a free campsite – usually including power, water and sewer connections – and perhaps a stipend. You may think that workamping is a modern phenomenon, but we come from a long, long tradition.

We followed the Roman legions, sharpening swords and repairing armor. We roamed the new cities of America, fixing clocks and machines, repairing cookware, building stone walls for a penny a foot and all the hard cider we could drink.

We followed the emigration west in our wagons with our tools and skills, sharpening knives, fixing anything that was broken, helping clear the land, roof the cabin, plow the fields and bring in the harvest for a meal and pocket money, then moving on to the next job.

Our forebears are the tinkers. We have upgraded the tinker’s wagon to a comfortable motor coach or fifth-wheel trailer.

Mostly retired now, we have added to our repertoire the skills of a lifetime in business. We can help run your shop, handle the front or back of the house, drive your trucks and forklifts, pick and pack your goods for shipment, fix your machines, coddle your computers and networks, work your beet harvest, landscape your grounds or clean your bathrooms.

We are the techno-tinkers.

Other workampers I spoke with had their own ways of describing themselves. Many said they were “retired”, even if they anticipated working well into their 70s or 80s. Others called themselves “travelers”, “nomads”, “rubber tramps”, or, wryly, “gypsies”.

Outside observers gave them other nicknames, from “the Okies of the Great Recession” to “American refugees”, “the affluent homeless”, even “modern-day fruit tramps”.

There’s no clear count of how many people live nomadically in America. Full-time travelers are a demographer’s nightmare. Statistically they blend in with the rest of the population, since the law requires them to maintain fixed – in other words, fake – addresses.

Despite a lack of hard numbers, anecdotal evidence suggests the ranks of American itinerants started to boom after the housing collapse and have kept growing.

The cause of the unmanageable household math that drives some people to become nomads is no secret.

Federal minimum wage is stalled at $7.25 an hour. The cost of shelter continues to climb. There are now only a dozen counties and one metro area where a full-time minimum-wage worker can afford a one-bedroom apartment at fair market rent.

At the same time, the top 1% now makes 81 times more than those in the bottom half do, when you compare average earnings. For American adults on the lower half of the income ladder – some 117 million of them – earnings haven’t changed since the 1970s.

This is not a wage gap – it’s a chasm.

The most widely accepted measure for calculating income inequality is a century-old formula called the Gini coefficient. What it reveals is startling. Today the United States has the most unequal society of all developed nations. America’s level of inequality is comparable to that of Russia, China, Argentina and the war-torn Democratic Republic of the Congo.

And a bad as that economic situation is now, it’s likely to get worse. That makes me wonder: what further contortions of the social order will appear in years to come? How many people will get crushed by the system? How many will find a way to escape it?

Despite mounting pressures – including a nationwide crackdown on vehicle-dwelling – America’s modern-day nomads show great resilience. But how much of that toughness should our culture require for basic membership? And when do all the impossible choices start to tear people – a society – apart? The growing ranks of folks living on the road suggest the answer might be: much sooner than we think.

Excerpted from Nomadland: Surviving America in the Twenty-First Century by Jessica Bruder. © 2017 by Jessica Bruder. Used with permission of the publisher, W.W. Norton & Company, Inc. All rights reserved.

#us news #income inequality #us income inequality #society #inequality

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junker-town · 5 years ago

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The real reason you should be mad about the USWNT’s 13-0 win

More concerning than celebrations are the broader circumstances that made a 13-0 score possible. That blame goes all the way up to FIFA.

REIMS, France — The floodlights of the Stade Auguste-Delaune in Reims stab sharply into the sky, four enormous pylons tapering to needle points at each corner of the stadium. It was a dramatic backdrop to the last group stage game to kick off in France, the reigning World Cup champions, the United States, against Group F minnows Thailand. No one expected a close scoreline.

But few predicted it would go so far off the rails, either, as the US racked up 13 goals in 90 minutes. The damage was spread across seven goalscorers, five of the goals by Alex Morgan, with tournament debut goals by Sam Mewis, Rose Lavelle, Lindsey Horan, and Mal Pugh. And every time the ball went in the net, the Americans came together and cheered, their goal celebrations ranging from pedestrian arm raises to Megan Rapinoe’s 720-to-sliding-leg-kick in front of the USWNT bench.

RAPINOE JOINS THE PARTY! 9-0 USA! Come for the @mpinoe goal, stay for the celebration pic.twitter.com/DhF7Th17qj

— FOX Soccer (@FOXSoccer) June 11, 2019

Fans and media everywhere had opinions about how the USWNT chose to celebrate. One set suggest that the players were being tasteless in the context of Thailand’s much more modest resources. Others said these players had every right to celebrate a World Cup goal no matter the opponent — that the celebrations weren’t about Thailand at all, but about their own internal team mindset, part of a psychological bubble to maintain focus. And then there was a third set that wondered why the USWNT, after showing they were capable of such a dominant performance, still hasn’t been getting paid like the men, who haven’t exactly wowed on the world stage of late.

The US players went to the Thai players immediately after the final whistle, drawing them aside to give them words of encouragement. Alex Morgan told fellow Cal-Berkeley player Miranda Nild that it was only Game 1 of the World Cup, and encouraged her to look ahead for more chances to showcase herself. Carli Lloyd told Thai goalkeeper Sukanya Chor Charoenying that she had some good saves, and to hold her head high and keep fighting. Yet the Americans were unapologetic in the post-game mixed zone and press conference, explaining that they didn’t want to condescend to Thailand by playing down a level, or to step out of their score-at-all-costs tournament mentality for the sake of their opponents.

“There’s some teams here that since last World Cup have only played a handful of games ... It’s embarrassing.” - Megan Rapinoe on women’s national teams lacking support

But no matter how you feel about USWNT’s blowout win — and the players certainly made their stance known — there can be no criticism of the team without asking why a score like 13-0 in a World Cup game is possible in the first place. All of the discussion of the “right” way to beat an overmatched opponent ignores the fact that if circumstances were more equitable, and both teams could say they had the necessary resources and support to compete on a world stage, then the blowout might not have happened.

And in that sense, ire for Tuesday’s result should be aimed elsewhere: at national organizations, continental federations, and FIFA for not doing more for the women they represent.

Part of the problem is the World Cup’s expansion to 24 teams in 2015. The Asian Football Confederation got five slots in the tournament that year, and Thailand qualified as the fifth team, slipping into the spot that many assumed would be taken by a more competitive North Korean team. But North Korea was banned from the 2015 World Cup because several of its players testing positive for steroids in 2011. They then failed to get out of the qualifying stages for 2019.

With any tournament expansion, newcomers understandably tend to struggle, having never dealt with the speed and pressure of the World Cup. The solution to poor competitiveness isn’t fewer teams, however. In fact, more teams might contribute to the solution in the long run, as Alex Morgan explained after the game.

“I hope that we expand to 32 and keep it at that number,” Morgan said. “I think that will incentivize federations to put more financial efforts into their women’s program and I hope we continue to see the development of women’s programs within their respective federations around the world.”

But simply appearing at the World Cup isn’t enough to keep federations interested in women’s teams. The have to receive tangible rewards, like more money and bigger slices of that financial pie. FIFA has to offer better compensation to clubs so that players have more freedom to train with their national teams, and more prize money overall.

Morgan gave a curt, sarcastic shrug when asked whether more prize money could be part of the incentivization of women’s soccer. “Can’t hurt,” she said, her previous criticism of the gap in prize money for men and women lingering in her tone. Later, in her press conference, she reiterated that she wants FIFA to put more pressure on federations to develop their women’s teams.

Megan Rapinoe agreed that FIFA could do more, like telling federations that their women’s teams must meet certain standards.

“I’m sure that they can mandate that in some way,” Rapinoe said. “It’s like, you don’t get money for anything else until you give more money to the women and make sure it’s fully staffed. I think there’s some teams here that since last World Cup have only played a handful of games, or only the qualifiers. It’s embarrassing, not only for the federations — obviously it’s embarrassing for the federations — but for FIFA as well. You just mandate it. They mandate all kinds of things.”

A mandate could protect developing teams from federations looking for any excuse to cut support for women, which is why pointing at 13 goals as an argument why the US women deserve equal pay is a non-starter. It raises the sort of questions that federations can use to suppress funding — i.e., would the Thailand WNT then not deserve any investment for such a poor showing? Tying equitable treatment to always having to perform at the highest possible level creates an impossible scenario. As the women underperform, the federation has an excuse to stop supporting them, when in fact a bad team is a signal that the federation needs to invest more, whether it’s money or time.

There are massive institutional inequalities within soccer that are beyond the purview of the 22 players on the field and have to be addressed globally, and thus through FIFA. The Football Association of Thailand does not have the same budget or resources as US Soccer — just look at the Thailand men’s team, currently ranked 114th in the world, and its domestic league, which is a mess. So even if they were to equitably share resources between women’s and men’s teams, that would only get them so far.

And it’s worth noting that the Thailand WNT is fortunate to have a strong benefactor and general manager in businesswoman Nualphan Lamsam, CEO of Muang Thai Insurance. But wealthy though Lamsam may be, and for as much as she has contributed to making Thailand a World Cup team, even she likely finds it hard to go dollar for dollar with an entire national organization dedicated to the development of a sport (and the sale of tickets, sponsorships, and merchandise) for millions of players.

It’s not just money; the attitudes towards women in soccer in Thailand aren’t globally competitive either. In this Jere Longman article for the New York Times, Nild described a coaching atmosphere that treats the women as dainty and assumes that they require significant emotional handholding, an extension of existing social attitudes towards women in sports.

In all of these areas, FIFA could provide more of a guiding hand. FIFA does have women’s development programs, which include coaching courses and a female leadership program as part of its 2015-2018 women’s football development. But introducing a couple of new women at the executive level every couple of years isn’t enough.

When Morgan criticized FIFA’s paltry increase in women’s prize money, she also pointed out that the issues she was talking about were the same issues her USWNT predecessors talked about 20 years ago. Change is often slow, but it doesn’t have to be. People with power can decide that change can and should happen, and then do the legwork to implement that new vision.

FIFA doesn’t need to wait for social attitudes to change, or for players to somehow demonstrate on their own that they’re ready for more. It shouldn’t take another 20 years for the Thailands of women’s soccer to have fit, tactically aware teams that can, at the very least, not get blown out of the water by double digits.

It’d be nice if 20 years from now we could be talking about something else.

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elizabethrobertajones · 8 years ago

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I was wondering if you were thinking that Mick's conversation with Wally was meant to evoke Dean and Cas' conversation in 4x22 at all? There are, of course key differences, but it seems there's an underlying theme of not taking the easy way out if it results in a lack of freedom. (Also, visually having just re-watched the scene with Mick and Wally, I noticed that Wally didn't eat the burger that Mick bought him, which feels sort of like a callback to 4x22 too.)

Well I hadn��t been thinking it until now but now I am and that’s a great parallel :P (I was comparing it to Metatron in 9x18, giving Cas the pitch - since Mick was framing the story with a typewriter and talking directly into the camera it was definitely borrowing from this episode and I guess establishing Mick as the author avatar in the way Metatron represented Carver - I had said I’d been wondering when Dabb would personify himself especially in relation to writing… which I guess is a meta I should save for another post :P)

Anyway! For this parallel it’s definitely got the thematic stances paralleled, of a hunter sticking up for freedom and a drone of a sketchy organisation on the other side. Cas is convinced by Dean and officially and finally switches sides forever (and we also saw it coming from a mile off, ever since he said he had doubts back in 4x07)… But on this side of things, it’s completely flipped over.

Mick has been discussed as a dark Cas mirror before… I guess this would be swapping it around that while Dean gave Cas the speech in 4x22, this is more characteristic of Zach’s chats with Dean instead… Though when it’s a dark Cas mirror it can still be about him, just, like, this is the absolute antithesis of who Cas is these days and that’s what we should be looking at?

There’s been a LOT of emphasis on paralleling who is a good soldier and stuff… Mick would probably like to think he isn’t one of the drones doing field work, but since all the BMoL so far represent the anti-freedom point of view because they’re all working for this organisation running around like drones as the angels once did and we don’t have a Cas character in there yet, one who has been clearly shown to have doubts, I think Mick does count as one of the brainwashed soldiers if you have to make the parallel, even if he doesn’t want to get his hands dirty. (Wow that was a long sentence, sorry.) He’s out there running around talking to people anyway, not staying safe at home in a library or whatever. I think this also makes Mick a dark Cas mirror because he is buying into the ideology and seemingly happy with his current lot in life, which Cas apparently never was.

And Wally was an archetypal American hunter who probably stood in for every conversation Mick had up until that point rather than montaging him failing to make the pitch to dozens of hunters we just get this example conversation. And of course Wally also represents the Winchesters and more specifically Dean because Dean isn’t a typical hunter (12x06 showed how he’s still a sort of outsider in that group and that’s a theme that goes back as far as, like, season 2, when they began fleshing out the idea of a real community of these guys for the first time) but he’s much closer than Sam would be to the Generic Hunter Type.

So we have a good allegory for Dean talking to a complete worst case dark Cas mirror, with shades of antagonists like Metatron and Zach to him (who are terrible angles who’ve served to contrast Cas to and show how great he is :P)…

I guess the key line from 4x22 would be

CASTIELWhat is so worth saving? I see nothing but pain here. I see inside you. I see your guilt, your anger, confusion. In paradise, all is forgiven. You’ll be at peace. Even with Sam.

which is a similar suggestion Dean gets a lot in season 5 - I think from Pamela and the whore of babylon both talk to him about the peace afterwards, in 2 consecutive episodes right before he gives up and goes to be Michael’s vessel. So it’s the same line basically as the sales pitch for what Heaven is trying to achieve (I think Zach says it a few times too)… Very similar to the “world without monsters” speech. I think the stuff Pamela says in 5x16 is actually closest because of the emphasis on everyone being locked up in Heaven in these passive little memory-dream bubbles completely under control -

PAMELA: You don’t believe me.

DEAN: No, I do, it’s just, you know. Spending eternity trapped in your own little universe while the angels run the show, that’s lonely. You know. That’s not Nirvana. That’s the Matrix.

PAMELA: I don’t know. Attic’s still better than the basement.

DEAN: Yeah, but (he holds his hand out) you know this place feels real, but it’s Memorex. Real is down there.

PAMELA: Yeah, well, close enough. Look, Dean, I’m happy. I’m at peace.

DEAN: What? Are you trying to sell me a time share? I mean, what’s with the pitch?

PAMELA: (chuckling) I know that Michael wants to take you out for a test drive.

DEAN: (interrupting) Pamela…

PAMELA: Just saying. What happens if you play ball with them? Worst case.

DEAN: A lot of people die.

PAMELA: And then they come here. Is that really so bad? Look. Maybe… you don’t have to fight it so hard. That’s all I’m trying to say.

but yeah, that’s all just expanding on the philosophy of what Dean and Cas were arguing about there.

I guess Wally being able to tell Mick to shove it has less riding on it, but it also does nothing to change Mick’s mind. But now Mary has been taken in by it, she’s a Winchester who is now going to have an arc where she is being controlled, so though Mick has given her the pitch and she’s gone along with it (so now totally flipping 4x22 because it would be Dean being like “yeah okay you have a point” after Cas says that) we go further down this route (because of course the immediate stakes are much lower with no Lucifer rising in the next half hour to bother them :P)… Kind of out into uncharted waters when it comes to this exact parallel then because obviously Cas got past his brainwashing again and rebelled properly, while Mick is just feeling victorious that control’s won right now, but there have been other times the main characters have accepted being controlled for the greater good (Sam in season 4 for one) so it’ll be interesting to see where this goes for Mary. I suppose the victory in 4x22 for Cas and freedom is waiting for Mary because by reflecting it like this, it’s now on Mary to reject the control instead? Idk. :P Drawing random conclusions here while sounding out the ideas.

#Asks #12x09 #season 12 spoilers #parallels #4x22 #5x16 #< dabb #lol #Mary F Winchester #superbritish

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qwloapp · 7 years ago

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Excellent Advice On How To Repair Your Car

There is nothing similar to the freedom of owning your own car.You have the country as you please. This does mean that it could break down at inconvenient times and leave you stranded somewhere. The following tips will assist you get back on the road.

Ask any questions you have. Focus particularly on the issue that you have; make sure to inquire about what you can do to prevent similar problems in the future. If you prevent issues from happening, you can save money on repairs.

TIP! Always keep and eye on the radiator to make sure that it is full. Let the car run briefly, shut the engine, then open the hood.

This certification means the technician has passed a test and has over 2 years of experience under his or her belt. This ensures that you will have a capable person working on your car.

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Ask any questions about your car when you bring it in for repairs. Preventing vehicle issues can save you a lot of saving money annually.

You should make sure to have a spare tire and jack with you all the time. Modern cars come equipped with them already. You don’t need to be stuck somewhere you don’t know and need to pay a lot for towing. It’s far more convenient and less costly to take care of it yourself.

TIP! You should have a do-it-yourself repair kit in your car at all times. Basic tools that should be included are tire changing tools.

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Find out how much a mechanic charges for the repair, including labor, before you hand over your keys. A lot of places will put rates in the fine print and so you need to read over any paperwork carefully. How will you be billed? A lot of places will give you an estimate of how long this will take that they were given by various manufacturers. Some minor repairs might be considered as an all day job by some manufacturers.

TIP! Think about snapping some photos of your car prior to taking it to the auto body shop. Most shops won’t damage your vehicle, but you never know.

If a certain cost confuses you, have it cleared up with the mechanic before he or she makes the repairs. You don’t want to be surprised with a huge bill to pay.

Before you go somewhere to take care of your automobile problems, learn what you can about car-part classifications. The classification of parts include new, rebuild and reconditioned, and salvage. New parts are just that: new. Re-manufactured, rebuilt and reconditioned happen to be parts that have been restored to a decent working condition. Salvage parts are used.

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Test drive your vehicle after repairs before paying for its repairs.

Bleed your brakes after fixing them. After this, pump your brake fluid. Make sure to watch out for leaks. If your car passes these tests, you can take it on a road that has minimal traffic. Start slow in order to ensure that your repairs were successful.

TIP! If your car is brand new and having problems, get in touch with the manufacturer. It’s possible there’s been a recall on that car, and you might not be the only one having the problem.

Make sure that you are receiving OEM parts. These parts are original manufacturer parts. While generic parts may be cheaper, they are not held to the same quality standards. What is a deal now could be an expensive option later.

Sometimes it can be rather costly to pay the dealer mechanics, but this can be your absolute best option. Your dealer’s mechanics are usually specialists in your car’s model. They have the right tools to quickly diagnose your problem, and know how to troubleshoot the more common ones. They have participated in regular training as well.

TIP! Always get your car repair estimate in writing. Getting the estimate in writing can help you if ever you have to complain about the mechanic.

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Knowledge of your car’s parts is key to recognizing issues. If you feel you are lacking in this department, think about signing up for a car repair class. While you may not wish to pay for a class, becoming educated on the basics of cars can save you lots of money later since you’ll know how cars work. It will be easier for you to catch problems before they get out of hand.

TIP! Tell your mechanic that he cannot go over a certain dollar amount to repair your car unless he gets your authorization first. If you drop your car off to be assessed for services, don’t give the repair shop carte blanche to make the repairs.

Tool Kit

What sort of sounds is your car making? Noises really detail what problems may lie within. When you are able to tell a mechanic about the sound your car is making, they can find the problem easier, saving you money.

TIP! Never allow your car to be worked on without a written estimate. The written estimate will serve as proof if something goes awry.

Assemble an auto repair tool kit to keep in the trunk of your trunk. Your tool kit should have equipment to change a tire. You need to purchase a lug wrench and a jack if you don’t already have them. You should probably get a Phillips and flat head screwdriver and several types of wrenches.

Don’t put water in the compartment for windshield wiper fluid. The washer system works with a certain type of fluid, and water can easily damage the washer. Make sure to regularly check and fill your windshield wiper compartment. Just don’t use water to fill it.

TIP! When washing the car, remove the mats and beat them a few times with the water hose. They can be torn by tiny rocks or dirt.

If you are having car trouble, that doesn’t mean you need to spent a ton of money in order to get it fixed. Quite often, you can fix basic issues by yourself. Put these tips to use to get your car diagnosed accurately and fixed.

Make sure you seek repairs from a manufacturer-authorized mechanic. Doing this means many of the issues will be covered since they’re under warranty. By getting with some other dealer you could end up voiding some or all of the warranty.

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