#my art has been getting much more shape-ee...

[cyberniix]

some doodles of them because im. loosing my mind

[3liza]

i get asked a lot if certain breast sizes or shapes are "normal" and let me tell you right now, the answer is basically always "yes"!

we only see one shape of breasts on tv (think C-D cup "HBO titties") and maybe two or three types in porn if you see porn, and maybe 3-4 types in contemporary and historical art. and this sucks because it makes everyone else feel like their boobs are weird. they're probably not weird.

because breasts are made mostly of fat, which is squishy and only partially influenced by muscle and skeletal attachments, they can be basically any size or shape, and they CHANGE more or less constantly throughout your life. they are sensitive to hormonal, environmental, body compositional and pressure-based influences. they will continue to change size and shape until you die. i have a mild collagen disorder which makes me stretchier than other people in some ways and my breasts will change shape visibly if i don't wear a bra for a day. some people's breasts are so dense they wouldnt move at all even if you kept them squished or pulled for many hours at a time. human fat and skin is SO malleable and variable and it's a big reason we're such an interesting-looking species.

this link is a little website with some pictures of SOME different shapes of breasts, and for as varied as it is, it's actually still very limited in scope. it's focused on helping people find bras that fit but you can ignore that part if you want and just get an idea of some different shapes boobs can be, in a non-porn and non-medical context. they can be even more shapes than this. this gallery is intentionally in b&w and has been contrast-balanced to make everyone about the same color but different breast shapes are strongly genetic and will pop up in different locales and lineages. your boobs will often resemble those of your relatives (but not always).

it takes a long time for breasts to reach their "adult" shape, and it happens closer to about age 25-27 for many people than 18-20. a lot of medical literature will repeat the claim that women are "physically mature" by the age of 15-18, and this just isn't really true. if you are on HRT, please keep in mind that the average cis woman can start experiencing hormonal puberty when she's 9-12, and major changes can keep occurring until she's 25 or older. I'm AFAB, and my boobs went through a final growth change when i was 27! and i started the first stages of puberty (way before my first period, which is called "menarche" [men-ARK-ee]) when i was about 9. that's not outside the bounds of normalcy at all, average age of first period is about 12.5 years, and puberty itself starts a few years before that.

some of the later Tanner stages are related to gravity as well as fat accumulation, and sometimes they require a certain period of time to "settle" the very high, pointy puberty breasts down into more adult breast shapes. this takes time. the timelines doctors give HRT patients about breast growth are really weird to me as someone who grew breasts myself. sometimes i see people on HRT get worried about their breast growth not being big enough or adult enough after only a couple years, when the average cis woman's breasts take much longer than that (remember: started age 9, finished age 27!!) to mature and settle, and i just want people to not worry too much. i post about this regularly because i want people to see it. I've heard from many trans women that their actual doctors told them that they would get most or all of their breast growth within 2-3 years. that's not true for everyone, possibly for most people.

and by the way, breasts are almost never perfectly symmetrical. they are sisters, not twins. most people have one breast that's visibly larger if you look closely, and often even if you don't look closely. many people have one breast that's even a cup size larger, or more. some people only grow one breast at all, and don't have fat tissue on the other side. sometimes you start with mostly-matched boobs but they become different over time. all these situations are "normal", in that they occur to many many people and are almost never related to health problems or functional concerns.

[colorguardsweetheartblurrsgirl]

I over exaggerated my guess based on habits I have in general of life. I tend to do more then needed "Overachiever" even though I have engrained in me that " Less is more."

So I exaggerated my guess.

For me it depends on the art. If I have several characters, each will have several layers from the face (I like to seperate eyes and hair. Outline... skin. Shadow. Lighting. Base colors. Etc. Etc. Also seperate hair sahdjng from shading in the hands, face/neck, clothes, etc... because I'm the type that if I make a mistake I dont want to mess up other stuff. So I'll have these separated (something learned experience). Depending on background I may have two or more layers solely dedicated to the background alone. Or it may be as simple as two to five... again it depends on details. I treat layers like reading and writing sheet music seperate each instrument and part. Combine similar areas into folders as often the Mezzo and First Soprano's share a line in a Choir that's SSAA, STB, SSTB,etc. Being a what kids who grew up similarly through the stations in my area called "Radio Baby" in all, music is how I often look at many aspects of life. So it's how I categorize. It literally helps me shape my life.

Please NOTE:

The Valentines Post I'm working on.

(Will likely post after Valentine's cause, The day after is my Moms Birthday. Valentines has always been a family affair for me cause moms birthday was right after (literally was born several minutes after Valentines day... so we treet both days as if her birthday) usually we celebrated both days cause love him, but my dad irritably likes working on her actual birthday cause the day after Valentines jn any job whether marketing sales in radio or working security is ALWASY a happening day, and hes a go getter... so much as it irritates my mother we wet aside both days for her. I often have to be available for both that way my mom has Someone available on her birthday... So expect now and jn the future Valentines posts to come early or later due to this fact. (Also same in March I'm the exact same when it comes to Saint Patties Day my Birthday... its ironic all family members were born a few minut ees s after some holiday its hilarious).

Only just this late figured I'd get this message I intended earlier, out now

I mean they say Its better Late then Never.😂🤣😅😅😅😅 so yeah, my Valentines art I started on late in the game kinda came up and surprised me how close we were days before literally and started on it. So it may be a few days if I don't get it done tonight.

(which as you saw I didn't manage, actually it's kinda due to several updates for things on my device laptop... I hope to either finish or get a majority of the work done on it tonight. Hopefully last nights updates are the last for a while in a good way as of 2/18/23. I also admit I think Thirsday after updates were done I actually turned my focus on updating a few aspects of teh other long time story I've mentioned on here... didnt mean to work as long as I did that day on it. So that was a mix of computer being slow and me putting focus on a doc while it was being finicky loosing pimento it).

Considering the subject matter though...

🤔🤔🤔🤔

My Valwntines intended art post bring used for an example... Well this one will have a simple background.... ssssoooooooooo....

Give or take each character may have anywhere from 3 layers to ten depending.... hmm...I guess based on that I could be more likely between 15-50 (most likely more like 15-30). But It has a chance to go up to 75 or 100. It depends on details. But I'm confident it's under 50 layers.

[gayregis]

As much as i hate twn it's been very interesting seeing the surge of interest around the witcher and seeing how people outside of poland/EE interpret it and what they focus on? Like I dont mean this in any negative way at all but in a "its fascinating how people's cultural background shapes how they look at foreign art and it's weird to be part of the original culture that produced it and not the alien culture consuming it like it is with american movies or something" like it's just Fascinating

it is interesting, i don't have much to add as an american, but i think this should be an open discussion. i think cultural background definitely shapes how one sees characters interact, reads lines that were said, etc...

in my experience, what i've appreciated is reading the books once just to get my first impressions, then going through it over the past couple of years with additions and translation notes from a variety of sources (polish mutuals and other eastern european people on here that post about the witcher, r/wiedzmin commentary, random wordpress blogs, etc) to get a better understanding of what's going on in certain contexts and understanding some of the cultural differences. because i believe translator notes do not just begin and end with "this is what this word means," but rather are needed to understand whole characters and scenes, because of a variety of aspects. for translation in the sense of translating words, the syntax and diction changes a lot from the polish to english official UK translation. of course, some change is inevitable because of the way that polish and english grammar works. but in some cases it's so severe that it changes how the prose sounds and in many cases changes how the characters come off. @karanfile has spoken about this, where in english geralt is pretty wordy, whereas in polish geralt is brisk and curt, and it makes them entirely different characters. 

here is also, of course, context surrounding cultural references, such as torque saying “goodnight” at the end of edge of the world, or the bounds of reason/limits of the possible with regards to villentretenmerth and sheepbagger. the witcher does draw on a variety of european mythology (and even extends as far as japanese mythology in season of storms), and many tales are utilized and inverted. but i think where an american audience will know sh’eenaz and duke agloval from hans christen andersen’s the little mermaid, we will be completely in the dark when it comes to princess adda, torque... i have seen many american and british reviews of the witcher praising it for its uniqueness and never-seen-before quality in including kinds of creatures from slavic mythology, and i can’t help but chuckle a bit because it’s not really a matter of uniqueness, just that the american and british audience are not familiar with the mythology! plus, since it loses that “familiarity” like these characters are living in a strange, inverted rendition of a story from your childhood, the message highlighted right on the page that “THIS IS A SERIES ABOUT INVERTING FANTASY TROPES” can be missed sometimes (though i also feel like it still remains obvious, with main characters who are blatant inversions of their tropes...)

another thing i have noticed (also spoke about this with karanfile and others in the discord) especially is how love and romance is interpreted by polish and american audiences. i was reading this wordpress article by sylwia of warsaw about the differences between how polish and american cultures concieve of friendship (i was thinking about how geralt calls dandelion his przyjaciel as his first introduction). (also here is another good article by her on the subject). a few things which came to my mind from reading this, and these thoughts are about broad cultures, not individuals!: 

americans generally seem to not recognize that “a friend” can mean someone very close. the word “friend” basically stands in for any kind of friendly relationship, you may spoken to someone once or have known them closely for 20 years, and both are your “friend.” it is also suggested usually that one’s friend is at odds with their boyfriend or girlfriend, i.e., it’s usually suggested that people will prioritize their boyfriend or girlfriend over their friend, nevermind how close either relationship might be to their friend (again, there’s only one real word for “friend”). there is also attitude against this, in a counter-culture manner, in which you get the “bros before hoes” type of sayings. this attitude i think affects how many americans see geralt and dandelion’s relationship - i.e., it is read that dandelion is just geralt’s “friend,” so he is not important to geralt, and that being “friends” doesn’t insinuate any closeness, and is “lesser” to romance. this i think also affects how many geraskiers from twn have changed the dynamic between geralt and jaskier in their fanon, because much “happy” or “ideal” geraskier content is of them calling each other pet names, doting on one another, being overly and overtly romantic. geralt and dandelion have never acted like this in either netflix or the books, and in the books where they are actually friends, they do not treat each other like this and there is nothing to suggest that if they had a romantic relationship that their dynamic would change to fit this idea of what romance is like.

similarly, dandelion’s floweriness and “hyper-romance” (i have no idea how else to phrase it) in the books has been interpreted by some american fans as being genuine, cute, sweet, romantic, and admirable -- when it’s pretty clear that the intention is to make him look foolish and absurd. when he flirts with women such as detchka in eternal flame (the landlord’s daughter), he whines some bullshit (UK translation, made even more flowery and out-of-place by david french, “Forest dryad! Sylph! Fairy! O, Divine creature, with eyes like azure lakes. Thou art as exquisite as the morn, and the shape of thine parted lips are enticeingly…”) geralt and dudu (in the form of dainty) cringe at his performance. and this is who dandelion is, he plays with love and acts embarassingly dramatic and forward about it. but to an american audience, this behavior comes off as sweet, romantic, dreamy, desirable... not utterly stupid like it’s intended to?

i also think about geralt and yennefer. this is barring actual qualms about the writing of their relationship itself, but i have also seen american fans say that they do not act like a couple because they are not constantly doting on one another. and of course, misinterpreting yennefer’s sarcasm about the house dream in time of contempt as a genuine response (i do believe she also longed for a home, but was simply teasing geralt for being so optimistic as to think that they could ever achieve something like that, as it seems improbable (especially to her, as she is older than him and has seen more of life)).

bringing it back to what you have said, anon, i think “romance” is something the american audience definitely bangs their fists on the table to demand, and focuses very closely on couple relationships. not that this isn’t the case in ANY other countries’ cultures, but from my experience, a tie in for deep, blinding romance it seems to be essential to american storytelling. this is unfortunate to me because i believe romance is only one element which makes the witcher strong.

this attitude is also highly reflected in netflix’s witcher series, as they did not show how geralt and jaskier are close friends, did not show how geralt is ciri’s father, and did show geralt and yennefer together, BUT with the caveat that they ruined their entire relationship and made geralt insanely dominant, merciless in rebuking and taking advantage of yennefer. romance is prioritized and it’s only a certain type of romance that is...?

i invite more discussion on this post, if anyone else has thoughts, reblog at will

[soupsnspoons]

everything behind your thena redesign thought process 🤲 hand it over

OKOKOKOKOKOK

first off, apologies if this ends up sounding messy and rambly, im very excited and im not gonna proof read this after sdjkgnbdsjk

second, i dont remember half the stuff that went on in my head since it was way too fast-paced to keep up with and again. it was 2am.

okay now on to the thoughts i *do* remember

here's original young thena's design for reference:

(sidenote, there apparently is no picture of her with her headphones where she doesnt look sad and/or traumatized so.)

do you see that bunny bag she has? the bunny bag that is never mentioned or alluded to anywhere in the game because its canonically just. something that has no significance to her character or story?

well *I* like bunnies, think more people should, and believe that athena loved bunnies AND SPACE like the awesome person she is so i shoved all that into her design!!!!!!

(ALSO if you would go to ashen’s blog and look for their art, youd see some pictures of their young athena design which SHES SO CUTE OH MY GOD and you might notice that the antennae look kinda like a certain animals ears)

since she doesnt really get much backstory other than things that surrounded gyaxa, it gives me total freedom to be the sole person deciding her canon state as a kid!!

so im saying right here right now, athena has/had a bunny and space obsession.

(and because i always have to tie my headcanons to myself in some way shape or form, i hc shes really good at rhythm games and her favorite game is bunny hop from rhythm heaven <33)

(she has bad taste in rhythm heaven games <33)

TIME TO TALK SPECIFICS

i wanted to show more of a difference between her 18 and 11yo selves without doing anything too drastic so i made her kid pallet more blue than yellow, the opposite of her lawyer fit

i also gave her pigtails so that she looks more child-like, and to give more of that bunny feeling

of course i had to keep her bangs the same!! she wouldnt look much like athena without those funky bangs

OH OH OH ALSO HER HEAD PUH-HOHN-EES

okokok so yknow how her headphones were made by metis?

well why not cater to her daughters interests and make them space bunny themed?

i like the idea more than i like the execution but it wasnt bad by any means jsdkhngjksd

her bracelet was nothing special, i just wanted her to have some accessory and wasnt feeling super creative at the time

yeah i know she has her whole moon necklace thing, but i dunno i just. didnt like it?

theres nothing wrong with it i just dont like it

anyway, her boots seem to be the last thing i can think of at the moment to talk about but is honestly the most boring part

theyre just boots that look like bunny feet, but theres a secret on the bottom...

THE BOTTOMS LOOK LIKE THIS

YES i stole this straight from Maxwell DeSoto do NOT ask who that is and YES i know that rabbits dont have paw pads but SHUT UP THIS IS MY REDESIGN I CAN DO WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT WITH THEM

ahem

anyway

might follow this up if i think of anything else, or for an update, or whatever

thanks for coming folks, youve been an amazing crowd.

(this is MUCH shorter than i thought it would be, youve been spared. for now.)

[magiaordinaria]

In Defense of Frida Kahlo

◊please see my note on these images at the end of the post, because yes, this is a form of imitation for the sake of expressing desire to belong.

Frida Kahlo has become a difficult subject, some would argue an easy target- which to me is tragic because she was a person with a life and with struggles and today she can no longer defend herself.  I personally think she doesn’t have to. I understand her as a historical figure that shaped Mexican history and the Mexican image. Lately I found myself understanding her on a different, more personal level when in October 2020 I came across an episode of the Nerdy Latinas Podcast, who were responding to a Tweet by an Indigenous Mexican woman accusing Frida of cultural appropriation.  My interest was piqued.  

“Frida was Mexican. How is it appropriation?” I thought.  

In the episode, Chismeando About Frida Kahlo, the hosts explore Frida’s background and a bit of her social context. I listened and I recommend you do too.  I gave a few comments to one of the hosts and was later invited to share my thoughts on the episode.*  Below is bit of background and my response to the episode follows after that.     

Prologue

When I initially listened to the episode my gut reaction was to become defensive, protective of Frida, despite not having had a single artifact of hers (my stance on purchasing her work or her image is a different story).  I began to explore those feelings, and once I talked myself through this gut reaction, I realized this is actually very much worth exploring.  It’s important to take into account the complexity of the social, personal, and historical context that Frida was experiencing and a part of.  

One of the things the Nerdy Latinas brought up was the fact that Mexican schools during Frida’s childhood emphasized that the indigenous cultures of Mexico were the true cultures of Mexico.  Frida, it is well-known, is half german and half Mexican. This conflict in identity was something that I deeply related to as a Mexican woman born in the US.  

They pointed out that there were indigenous women who spoke out about Frida’s use of their clothing at the time, but were ignored. In the same episode, they talk about how indigenous women who make these clothes live off the sale of their indigenous clothing- Which makes me think,  who is allowed to buy or not buy these clothes?  It reassured me that there is more to cultural appropriation than simply wearing or using things “not intended for you”.  Does intent matter? How are we verifying a person’s, in this case Frida Kahlo’s, intent? Short answer is, we can’t really.

 Later in the episode, they ask the question, why aren’t other dark-skinned Mexican women artists spoken about?  There are many indigenous artists that were overshadowed by Frida.  An important example they bring up is Maria Izquierdo (ees-kee-ehr-doh). She was a contemporary of Frida’s and a student of Diego Rivera.  She was doing well in her time and “showing promise” according to Diego himself. But when she spoke out against Frida’s feminist group Izquierdo lost a prestigious art commission to Diego Rivera and his male artist friends.  I consider this claim of overshadowing pretty unfair, because it’s not entirely up to Frida who gets seen or not. And if we’re being perfectly honest, Diego and his friends probably jumped at the opportunity to take it for themselves.

She is still, after the paint dries, a woman in a white man’s world.  

In my response, I come from a personal perspective with a lifetime of identity crises to fuel it.  I focus in on the question of whether Frida can be accused of appropriation as well the concept of appropriation itself.  

Is it fair to say that Frida had all the cards in her hands?

Is it productive to be upset over her perceived appropriation when there is so much today that is so blatantly grossly appropriated and mocked from my culture? 

My Response:

“I definitely think it’s worth exploring Frida’s Use of clothing. I think, understandably, it brought up a lot of personal feelings because it’s something that I personally grapple with; this idea that my appearance could constitute  grounds for appropriation.

...I think when Hispanic*** Americans learn about negative criticisms of Frida Kahlo they take the criticisms personally because that’s what they and myself included..., understood it looked like to be Mexican. 

And if she’s wrong about her use fo clothing, it can’t easily be understood as an homage or as uplifting or as an act of rebellion against the whitewashing of the Mexican culture, which i think is something that is important when you live outside of Mexico.  I think hispanic people--we just want to take care that our culture and our identity doesn’t get erased. so without the clothing that Frida wore the rest of us have only what we are calling the colonizer’s version of how to present ourselves as Mexicans. 

Additionally, I didn’t really find her mixed ethnicity all that significant because since Mexico’s inception as a hispanic country most if not all non indigenous Mexicans are mixed.  

our DNA is a map of people having been invaded, transcontinental travel in Europe, and slavery, 

so i never really understood Frida as a white woman, even though her father was german. I’m 48% indigenous, the rest is North African, European--and on top of that I’m born in the US. That’s all to say that Mexican is a complex ethnicity but it’s Mexican all the same.  I do see Frida as separate from indigenous and I’m also understanding that the way a person lives the culture is important.  Personally, I feel sometimes I can’t consider myself Mexican if I’m not living the cultural practices. I find it hard to justify, for example, celebrating Day of the Dead. In contrast, I feel a responsibility to connect with those aspects of my culture in order to feel like I belong somewhere, or I know who I am, what my point of view is, and what I could do in order to impart a positive view of my culture to the Americans watching me now.  

My thoughts are maybe Frida [thought so] too.  In a way, maybe that was her intention. This episode brings up the idea of a crisis of identity for Frida and I think because she was born in a time when Europeanism** was being criticized heavily her schooling was perhaps in reaction to that.  To give you a very popular example, the poem La Calavera Garbancera° most commonly known as La Calavera Catrina was written by Jose Guadalupe Posada around when Frida was born.  That icon we have today (La Catrina) was actually a symbol of derision for Mexicans adopting European values.  And I think when you’re taught certain ideals in the wider space in which you’re meant to integrate, it’s going to create a conflict between the way you’re raised and how you would like to see yourself in order to fell like you belong.  So a personal example would be me growing up in the US.  Saying the word Mexican was like saying a dirty word. For a very long time I was convinced that I should be ashamed of saying that.  I tried more and more to become what was considered American- which was synonymous with being “correct” and for that I have been called a coconut or whitewashed by the same people who would deride me for being so Hispanic. 

Today I want to undo all of that, 

and i find myself [thinking] if I buy from indigenous craftswomen a handwoven dress to wear and to show to my wider audience that “this is Mexico, this is what indigenous women can do and it’s beautiful,” I fear I’ll face the same criticisms as Frida when I genuinely find [the dresses/clothing] lovely to wear and I only want to support the craftswomen of Mexico.  So I don’t think appropriation happens when you buy indigenous crafts directly from indigenous men and women.  As an artist myself, I would think they’d want to sell as much as they could, sharing their pride in their work.  I think appropriation is buying from American corporations that are making money off of a diluted form of culture from oppressed people, stealing those complex designs expertly executed by thousands of years of knowledge and skill.  To buy these goods from white companies, from huge manufacturers is to really whitewash culture.  And on the flip side, I think it would be way worse for me to say, 

oh no I’m not buying from indigenous people because I’m not indigenous.  

But then turn around and buy something cheap from a huge manufacturer instead.  

I think there’s room in this conversation to believe that Frida felt some kind of genuine desire and made a genuine attempt to connect to the Mexican identity she was taught in school. 

 I think she made a choice to embody what she felt was fundamentally Mexican but to what end, I honestly can’t say.  Was it to bring awareness? was it to feel like she belonged? was it a statement? And that’s the thing we just can’t be sure.  

All of this is not to say she didn’t offend people, and in the process took the light away from indigenous women.  Or that this topic isn’t worth confronting.  I was confronted with the question, though, of how much of that is or was  her fault or her intention and how much of that is the time she lived in and her society’s discrimination.  I’m glad you guys brought up her social milieu because 

it matters a lot who were and are the voices speaking of her and approving her for public consumption. 

 I think Frida’s international travels and being on the cover of Paris’s vogue at the time, and the mystique she built around herself coupled with the fact that her skin color was internationally acceptable made her the icon that she is today around the world.  That much is true, but can it also be true she made an honest attempt to honor Mexican heritage in defiance of those popular racist attitudes? I think there’s room for that. 

 I don’t think it’s entirely fair to say Frida is guilty of appropriation not really today, especially because we have much more blatant and grossly offensive forms of appropriation happening in our time.  I’m sure I don’t need to go into that if you do a simple google search of “Mexican Costume” you can actually find white people dressing up as caricatured versions of Mexicans.  

So I think a more productive conversation regarding appropriation in our world and in our culture today would be how to teach our diaspora across the globe to value handmade crafts. sure it can be more expensive, but you’re not buying a single object, you’re buying hundreds of years of knowledge and tradition.  I would even argue that homemade is preferable to buying cheap, ready made stuff from corporations that have no regard for tradition or quality and who are actually drawing attention away from indigenous communities and diluting our cultures.”

Further Musings/Conclusion

I think that we are learning a valuable lesson in what is done is done, but what do we do now?  My main concern is that there is outrage over the women that Frida Kahlo “overshadowed”,

 but the simplest solution is to stop talking about these indigenous artists within the context–in the shadow– of Frida Kahlo.  

They should be spoken about in their own right.  If the dialogue about these women doesn’t revolve around or rely on Frida and her history, it would do these women justice.  They are out there and they can exist.  The problem is, how to talk about them without drawing comparisons to Frida? Should we avoid placing them in the same context? Questions for which I personally lack the answers right now.  

What I do know is that I think we should avoid turning this into a situation where we tear down one woman- 

who in the grand scheme of things accomplished a lot- in order to raise another.  No, no mijita, as my mom would say.  Eso no se hace, that’s not something we should do.  

This feels too much like a situation in which someone like Frida becomes the target of appropriation because it’s easier than confronting really tough situations like white companies selling “ceremonial grade” chocolate.  

Let’s tackle that sometime.

Personally, as you may have been able to tell,  I understand Frida from the perspective of a person caught in the middle of two worlds.  I don’t exactly feel like I belong in my American homeland nor in my familial, ancestral home of Mexico.  I am part of a community that feels a sense of disconnection from our roots and therefore, lack meaning; we lack a true sense of self.  But the more I interact with others like me, the more I create a community for myself, the more I understand that my place is where I want to be seen.  I think it’s possible that that’s what Frida chose.  

notes

◊This set of pictures is a type of homage centered around a very conscious  imitation.  I created these images back in September 2020 about a month before I learned of the Frida Kahlo tweet or the podcast episode.  They were created in an attempt to portray a desire to belong to the culture I come from.  Everything worn is a symbolic imitation in search of identity.  In contrast to the last set of images where I wear the braid headband again.  Here it is inspired by, rather than imitation; a carrying forward of traditions (like those seen here) into a more understandable form for myself.  The evolution of the outfit is taking me one step closer to figuring out what my place is and what my voice is within the greater scope of my Mexican heritage. 

*I recorded a few thoughts in audio format, sent it off to Short Latina and that was that.  To what extent my comments were included, I’m not sure, I haven’t had the chance to listen to their follow up episode.  Perhaps I was proven completely wrong! 

**Europeanism- I know it’s not a real word, but It felt right :P

***I imagine Frida is important to a lot of Latinx, but for the purposes of this argument, I specifically mean Mexicans and Mexican-Americans because of the specific ties to cultural attire.

°It’s actually called: Remate De Calaveras Alegres y Sandungueras; Las que hoy son empolvadas Garbanceras pararan en deforme calaveras

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #427

“don’t pray for me when you’re the one enslaved”

Your ex taps you on the shoulder and says, “I still love you.” You say? I wouldn't say anything, I'm pretty sure I'd just break down. Do you play video games? Not really anymore. :/ I probably would, though, if I had the appropriate consoles for games I want. You can only replay PS2 games but so many times before you're tired of them. Do you spend a lot of time with family? No, honestly. Is your house more than two stories tall? It only has one floor. Have you ever hit your significant other? Has he/she ever hit you? I'm not in a relationship, but I have most certainly never hit an s/o, and they've never hit me. I wouldn't tolerate that shit. What makes you an attractive person? (Talk about your personality too!) I'm not. What color is your hairbrush/comb? White. What snacks do you have available in your household atm? Hm. Just some fruity grain and oats bars, as well as cashew ones. We try to keep sweets out of the house. Has anyone recently told you that they like you, or find you attractive? No. Are you attracted to the last person you Facebook messaged? Holy fuck yes, she's drop-dead gorgeous. Do you care about anyone that doesn’t care about you? Ha, I'm sure. Was your last Facebook friend requests from a male or female? Some random middle-aged man, like who are you sir. Which one of your relatives is most likely to embarrass you? My dad. He can be so rude to people sometimes. When was the last time you ate a bar of chocolate? Not sure. It's been quite a while. Do you play any games on Facebook? No. What would you like to get a degree in? It'd be nice to get a degree in Arts, but yeah... I'm never going back to school. Do you wake up a lot in the middle of the night? Pretty much every night. Would you prefer to read a book, watch a movie or TV show, or play a video game? Play a video game. Do you usually get popcorn or soda at the movie theater? Almost without fail. You've got to, it's part of the experience. What genre of films do you like the best? Horror. How many bank accounts do you have? None, actually. Have you ever had the flu? No, thankfully. What is your goal for the next few months? To start getting in shape/losing weight. I seriously hope this gym routine works out. Have you ever had some kind of sleep-disorder? How did it affect your life? I have seveeeere sleep apnea. It's shocking, I never would've guessed it, though, so the diagnosis (I had a sleep study, so yes, it's legit) was an extreme surprise. I don't snore at all, nor do I like pass out in the middle of something, but I stop breathing A LOT. For a year or two (no, that is not an exaggeration), it caused consistent, horrible, and violent nightmares/terrors. It made sleep frightening to me, and I was never getting a truly restful sleep. Now, I have an APAP mask (like a less extreme version of a CPAP mask) that helps me greatly. I only very rarely am surprised by a more subtle nightmare now. Have you ever had food poisoning before? Describe the experience. No, thankfully. What are two things that you have no problem paying full price for? Quality tattoos, for one. And maybe uhhh... idk. We're the kind of family that buys off-brand foods and drinks all the time because it's cheaper, so I can't say that. Maybe health care? Like I wouldn't want service from a sketchy dentist or something. Funny, charming, cute, romantic, smart - choose only 2 for the opposite sex. Charming and romantic. Have you ever let somebody use you? Why did you do it? No. You can go back in time & change something in your mom’s past - what is it? That's hard for me to say. She doesn't seem to like talking about her past very much, because I know it's turbulent with her mother. I would say her being disowned, but I don't know how that *actually* affected her. Maybe it was for the better she wasn't under her mom's authority anymore. Do you know anybody who is around the exact same size as you? Who? I guess my mom, but she's actually smaller than me now. She's lost a lot of weight and is still going at it. Ever been to a haunted house? How scared were you? Not a house, but rather hay rides and those places you just walk through and experience different stuff. They don't scare me at all; I love 'em. Been on any websites today you wouldn’t want your parents to see? No. Which is worse: dusting or mopping? Ugh, mopping. I don't mind dusting. Would you marry somebody who was intensely religious? No. Did you pull a senior prank? No. That shit is so dumb. Did you graduate? High school, yes. Have you ever been unfaithful in a serious relationship? No, and I never would. What was the last song you listened to? I'm listening to Lauren Babic and Halocene's cover of "Bleed It Out" by Linkin Park right now. It's great. Are you one of those lucky people with 20/20 vision? Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeell no. Is fashion one of your interests? No. Do you think you’ll eventually find that special someone? Hell if I know. Do you care what people think? Way, way more than I should. Is acting something you enjoy? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I feel so stupid. What was the last thing you broke/sprained? I tore a ligament badly in my foot maybe a year and a half ago. I was SO sure it was broken. My mom had to help me walk everywhere, and even when she did, I'd be whimpering and seething. Have you ever fought with a friend because of their boyfriend/girlfriend? Because of yours? No. Has a stranger ever yelled at you for your language? No. Whose house, other than yours and your families', are you most comfortable at? If we're excluding all family, I suppose Sara's? Has any of your friends’ family ever yelled at you? Probably at some point as a kid. Did you ever play a sport as a little kid? Did you enjoy it? I played a lot. The only two I really didn't like were soccer and cheerleading. Did you ever watch the show Full House? Hell yeah, I loved it as a kid. Is there a celebrity you are just DETERMINED to marry? Ha ha y'all know I joke about it, but no, not legitimately. It's not like I know him personally at all, and I'm not chasing him to California either. Just let me dream still lmao. Have you ever burned someone’s picture? No, but I've actually heard it's truly therapeutic and not just for dramatic effect, so I wouldn't be opposed to doing so if you handed me a picture of him and a lighter. What’s the longest hike you’ve ever been on? I've never hiked before. Would you ever get a lip tattoo? Uh, no. Who is the first person of the opposite sex that pops into your head? Jason. Do your parents smoke cigarettes? My dad smokes like a chimney and is 100% going to end up with cancer because of it. You should hear his cough. Mom smoked for a very, very brief period before I was born. What does one of your T-shirts have written on it? "Equal in our bones" is on my favorite shirt. Name a pet you definitely wouldn’t want. Certain inverts people are wild enough to get, like giant African centipedes in particular. Would you prefer your partner smaller or taller? Can't say I care. do you enjoy going through old pictures? Sometimes. Other times, it's too painful. It also depends on the era of the pictures. Do you believe people when they say they don’t judge people? Ha, no. We all have natural first impressions and things like that that just... happen. What did you love the most about the town you grew up in? Nothing, really... besides just childhood memories that inevitably came. My hometown was dangerous. What’s a movie that you laughed the hardest during? I'm not sure. What’s a movie you cried the hardest during? I want to say Old Yeller, but I'm not sure. What’s your favorite restaurant? Olive Garden and The Cheesecake Factory. Is there a dessert you don’t like? Yeah; I don't like pie, strawberry shortcake, and I know there're others. Favorite album? Ozzy's Black Rain. It was my introduction to metal, so there's nostalgic value there, but I also just LOVE every single song. What’s a book that you read because everyone else was reading it? None. I don't read books for that reason. Underwater or outer space? Both kinda frighten me to a degree, but I find outer space to be way cooler. So many colorrrrrrs. Dogs or cats? Cats. Kittens or puppies? Ugh, both are so cute, but I gotta hand it to kittens. Bird watching or whale watching? Whale watching would blow me away. Whales are such magnificent, awe-inspiring animals. What is your spirit animal? Probably a deer. Skittish, shy, and quiet. What was your best subject in school? English. What was your worst subject in school? Math. What is one thing you wish you knew in high school? You and Jason aren't going to last, hunty. Who is your fashion icon? I don't have one. I wear what I want/what's comfortable. Diamonds or pearls? I think diamonds are a lot prettier. What color dress did you wear to prom? First one was maroon, last one was black. What’s your favorite plot-twist? Silent Hill: Shattered Memories. My jaw actually dropped. Honestly, are you jealous of someone right now? Yes. Honestly, what’s the worst thing you’ve done when you were mad? Said things I shouldn't. Honestly, ever made anyone cry when you were mad? Yes. Honestly, when was the last time you REALLY cried your heart out? Two weeks ago or something like that. Ever pop someone else’s pimple? OH MY GOD NO alskdfa;wekrwer; Do you need to return anyone’s phone call? No. Who are you closest to? My mom. Have you ever had a bad concert experience? No. Are you currently sad about anything? A number of things. Have you had any form of exercise today? No, but tomorrow is day #2 at the gym! Can you handle blood? Yeah, np. Has any place hired you underage for a job? No. Have you ever carried a concealed weapon? No sir=ee. Are you currently searching for a job? Not anymore, at least not actively. I was going to after TMS, but I'm just... still not ready. Right now, I'm focusing on the gym and getting healthy again, but if the seemingly perfect job comes along, I'm not opposed to taking it up. Does eating breakfast make you sick? No, I've got to have breakfast or else THEN I feel awful.

[artificialqueens]

2003 (1/2) (Vanique) - Ortega

a/n: VANIQUE MUST RIIIIIIISE!!!! ayo team, welcome to this. i pulled this ship from virtually nowhere when i was writing n19f and people seemed to like i as much as i did, so i wrote these two together for the fic challenge. i’ve split this fic into two halves, as they’re two very different vibes. this part follows Vanessa and Monique as they go through primary school and then start their first couple years at high school, so it’s definitely more platonic than anything else but it’s cute! also overall this was inspired by two songs, one being 2003 by Todrick and the other being I Choose You by Kiana Ledé which will be the title of the next part, so look out for that. i so so sosososo hope u enjoy, bc i highkey love this pairing a lot. lots of lo-ove, by-ee!

tw: implied child neglect and drug use

summary: Vanessa Mateo and Monique Heart start school in the year 2003. They love girlbands, superheroes and football, and they’re best friends forever. At least, that’s the plan.

***

The room smells of squeaky floors and play-dough. It’s not like anything she’s ever smelt before, but it’s weirdly comforting. She’s sat on a carpet patterned with all kinds of fruit. It doesn’t have pineapple (which is her favourite), but that’s okay. The walls are covered in colourful paper, an arts-and-crafts rainbow explosion. There’s words too, different curly and spiky shapes making letters. She knows one has a “V” in it because that comes at the start of her name and it looks the same, but she can’t read any of the writing yet. Some of the kids in nursery could already read and one of the boys could even write stories. Vanessa couldn’t. She still can’t, but that’s okay. She can write her name and say please and thank you in two different languages and she knows how to count up to 12 (she gets stuck after that, but she’ll learn the rest).

She looks around the carpet. There’s a girl nearby her with two huge black plaits and huge brown eyes to match. Her skin is dark, and Vanessa feels comforted by the fact she’s not alone in sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the Snow Whites and Cinderellas and Auroras and their matching porcelain-skinned Disney princes that are sitting on the carpet with her. She scratches her head, feeling the bow her Mama tied in dark her hair shift. She hopes she’s not made a mess of it. Then Mama would be mad.

Her teacher’s been talking for a while now. It seems like she’s been talking for two hours. Maybe she has been talking for two hours. Vanessa looks up at the clock, even though she doesn’t know how to tell the time yet so the information is less than useless to her. Bored, her eyes drift towards the girl she was looking at before. She’s wearing a white polo shirt and a red pinafore, and her white socks have got red bows on them. Vanessa is jealous. Her new jumper with the school logo is scratchy on the inside and she told her Mama that her leggings have a hole at the knee but they can’t get any new ones until she gets paid.

She bum-shuffles across to sit beside the girl, keeps her eyes trained on the teacher like a sniper as she leans in and whispers. “You look like a princess.”

The girl gives her a big smile. Vanessa knows she should say thank you, but maybe she doesn’t know as much about manners as Vanessa does. The girl whispers to her. “You look like Meg from Hercules.”

Vanessa smiles at her. She’s seen Hercules- it’s not her favourite, but she’s seen it- and Meg was her favourite character. “Thanks.”

“It’s okay,” she whispers. There’s a pause before she hisses to her again. “My name’s Monique, what’s yours?”

“I’m Vanessa,” she replies quietly. Vanessa picks at the hole in her leggings. It’s now about the size of a 1p coin. She knows about coins, at least. “Hey, you wanna play princesses at playtime?”

Monique nods excitedly, then whips her head around, scared. Vanessa looks up at her teacher. Her eyebrows are almost joined-up and there’s little lines on her forehead and her eyes have gone all hard. Vanessa knows this means she’s feeling cross.

“Vanessa, Monique! It’s rude to talk while someone else is talking. We don’t do that in school.”

Vanessa knows she should nod, but her stomach feels all fizzy and she finds herself frowning at her teacher instead. Monique says sorry. Maybe Vanessa should say sorry too. She decides she doesn’t want to.

“She’s been talking for about 5 hours. Maybe even 4 years,” Vanessa whispers to Monique again. Monique covers her mouth with her hands and lets out a tiny giggle. Their teacher gives them a suspicious look again and Monique shuffles away from Vanessa. Vanessa knows this means she doesn’t want to get into trouble. As soon as the teacher starts talking again, Vanessa hisses over to her.

“Monique!”

No answer. “Monique!”

Monique turns around a little bit to face her. “What?”

Vanessa cups her mouth with her hands so the girl can hear her. “Do you want to be best friends?”

Monique gives her another big smile. It makes Vanessa feel happy too. “Okay!”

She’s only been here for five hours, maybe even four years, and she’s already made a best friend. This school thing is easy.

***

It’s the two of them for life. Vanessa just knows it. They’re BFFAEAE (best friends forever and ever and ever). They get in trouble for chatting at school and their long-suffering teacher monitors them like a hawk. They’re banned from sitting near each other on the carpet because even when Vanessa tries to listen (even if it’s P.E., her favourite), she’ll think of something funny she just has to share with Monique, and of course Monique is incapable of laughing quietly so she lets out a screech that completely disrupts the whole lesson and earns them both five minutes off their reward time. Vanessa doesn’t even mind losing reward time. They sit at the same table while everyone else plays and they write out the class rules, but Vanessa doesn’t mind because it’s the only time they’ll ever be allowed to sit together in class.

In the playground and after school it’s a different story. In Reception they play princesses and animal rescue with their threadbare, well-loved stuffed animals they sneak into school in their schoolbags. By Year 1 they’re popstars learning dance routines and designing album covers and falling out because Monique wants to call their double-act The Strawberry Babies and Vanessa knows that obviously The Starlights is a far superior name. In the Summer between Year 1 and Year 2 Vanessa’s Mama takes them to the cinema to see Fantastic Four and so for the whole of Year 2 they’re obsessed with superheroes, rolling around on the tarmac play-fighting with each other and getting bruised knees and scraped elbows and so far removed from the girly girls they were when they started school.

Vanessa knows everything about Monique and Monique knows everything about her, because that’s what it means to be best friends. Vanessa knows that Monique’s brother is eleven and goes to Big School and doesn’t play with her and slams his door and plays rap music that Monique can hear when she’s in her room with the door closed. Monique stays in the high flats with her brother and her gran.

“Do you have a Mama?” Vanessa remembers asking her one day in the playground, drawing in the dirt with sticks.

Monique’s voice had been quiet. She hadn’t looked up from drawing in the dirt. “Uh-huh.”    

“Where is she?”

Monique had shrugged, scribbled out the happy face she’d drawn. “Gran says she’s not allowed to see us any more.”

Vanessa could tell talking about her Mama had made Monique sad, so they don’t talk about that any more. Dads are off the table too. Vanessa doesn’t know hers and Monique doesn’t either. Vanessa doesn’t really need a Dad. Her Mama works in the supermarket and keeps their tiny pebbledashed council house in the estate spotlessly clean and is always on time to pick Vanessa up from school. She drags Vanessa kicking and screaming to mass every Sunday (Vanessa doesn’t like it because all the chanting scares her) and threatens her with El Coco until she’s blue in the face. Monique goes to church too but hers sounds more fun- they laugh and clap and sing their hearts out. Monique sings the songs in school. Vanessa thinks she sounds like she could be in the Sugababes, not that she’s allowed to listen to the Sugababes.

Monique comes round to Vanessa’s house every few weeks or so. She lives close, and Monique is allowed to walk round on her own. Vanessa is jealous of that. She wishes her Mama would let her go places on her own. She tells her that one day and Mama howls with laughter, says she’s not allowed out on her own until she’s at least twenty-one. Vanessa thinks she’s joking. Thinks.

Vanessa gets excited when Monique visits because she knows her Mama will make an effort with the dinner. That’s unfair and disrespectful, she knows; Mama works hard to put food on the table, but her stuffed arepas are just better than rice and beans (and microwave meals if it’s near her pay day, which her Mama makes Vanessa promise she’ll never tell her Abuela they eat). They sit and eat with their bowls on their laps on the sofa in front of the TV and watch The Weakest Link. They sometimes get the questions right even though they’re only 7 and the people on the show are fully-grown adults. Monique is smart, though. Smarter than Vanessa. Vanessa thinks she’s smarter than their teacher. She’s the best at writing in the class and the best at maths too, and she can read any word at all.

Vanessa’s not that smart, but she knows Monique is, and she thinks she’s amazing.

It’s a grey-clouded day in July in the Summer of 2007 when Monique pulls up outside Vanessa’s house on a brand new bike. It’s blue and the seat is close to the ground and the spokes are all shiny. Vanessa runs out to see her, sticks her feet in between the bars of the rusty iron gate at the front of their house and swings back and forth as Monique talks.

“My brother got me it. Someone from the skatepark didn’t want it any more and it’s too small for him, so I guess it’s mine now,” Monique shrugs happily. There’s a smudge of dirt on her face that Vanessa knows her Mama will wipe off with a hot cloth if she sees it. “It’s kinda big for me but it works okay. You got a bike, right?”

Vanessa cringes, thinks about the pink bike with streamers at the handles that lives in their back garden and is probably crumbling away with rust. “I got one, but it ain’t as cool as yours.”

Monique smiles, satisfied with the compliment. “Well, go get it an’ we can go for a ride.”

Vanessa blushes and thinks of how many cool points she’s going to lose when she tells Monique that she has to ask her Mama first. Monique laughs at her good-humouredly, sticks her tongue out at her and calls her a baby. Monique turned 9 two months ago and Vanessa has to wait four more to catch up with her, so the comment stings but she pretends it doesn’t.

To her surprise and delight, her Mama lets her go out on her bike with Monique but only if they just go round the estate and they’re back before dinner time. Vanessa has never been able to follow the rules, though, so when Monique tells her she knows a place by the river under the bridge with a scrub of sand like it’s the seaside then Vanessa doesn’t hesitate to follow her. Vanessa wonders how Monique seems to know the city so well: she takes her on a journey through dark underpasses with yellow strip lights and bright scrawls of graffiti, narrow bridges above busy roads that Vanessa tries to pretend don’t scare her, secret little paths through the big park Vanessa goes to with her Mama sometimes. They pedal wildly and everything zooms by so quickly that even though she has no idea where she is, Vanessa feels safe. Any vaguely scary things they see (big dogs) are gone a second later, and Vanessa knows Monique would protect her if anything scary did happen. She would protect her too. That’s just what best friends do.

They arrive at the place Monique had been talking about. The brown stone bridge hangs high above them but Vanessa can still hear the cars on it pass by. They’re drowned out slightly by the babbling of the river, inky and cold and black with jaggy rocks underneath its surface. There’s huge clusters of boulders that they both have to climb over to get to the sand and they have to leave their bikes leaning against the wall on the path. It’s not a pretty place, but it’s still a little bit magical. It has the aura of adventure rather than beauty and they’d be more likely to discover pirates here than fairies, which is just how Vanessa likes it. Together they chuck stones into the water haphazardly, their hands growing more grubby by the minute and the dirt black under their nails.

“What’s that?” Vanessa narrows her eyes, reaches down to pick up the object she’s spotted. It’s embedded in the sand and she can’t really see what it is, but it looks like what she got her injections with at the doctor’s. Monique races over to see what she’s talking about and pushes her hand away quickly. Vanessa snaps. “Hey!”

“You’re not s'posed to touch that, it’s dangerous!” Monique cries, outraged. “What if you got stabbed?”

Vanessa snorts a laugh. “It’s ain’t a knife, M'nique, it’s only a stupid needle."

Then, almost as if Monique’s warning had been a dare, Vanessa picks it out the sand with her thumb and index finger, holds it by the plastic tube. Monique’s face falls. "Stop it, ‘Ness, that’s creepy.”

Vanessa laughs, starts making the needle float about while making spooky noises. Monique takes a step back, her face all panicked. Vanessa gives a giggle. Monique’s acting like a scaredy-cat; she does that sometimes and it’s funny to wind her up. She usually takes it well but she’s growing more distressed than she usually does. Her eyes are all wide and Vanessa stops playing the moment she sees tears start welling up in them. She immediately drops the needle into the river and crosses over to her, her trainers leaving huge Nike ticks in the sand.

“Hey, what’s the matter? I’m sorry,” she mumbles. She regrets joking around now, and Monique is wiping at her eyes and sniffing and smearing dirt across her face.

“They used to be all ‘round my house before we lived with Gran,” she sniffs. Vanessa gets a churning feeling in her tummy. She doesn’t really know what that means, but it makes her feel frightened just hearing about it. She can’t imagine how frightened Monique felt seeing them for real. Slipping the sleeves of her hoodie down over her hands, she gives Monique a hug, pats her back in the hope it’s comforting.

“I threw it in the river. Don’t worry. You don’t need to see it ever again,” Vanessa says. She’s not Monique, she doesn’t know what it’s like to have a sibling, but Monique is the closest thing to a sister she has and she wants to keep her safe. Monique is smiling at her when she steps out of the hug, and Vanessa feels relieved.

“An’ if it does come back we’ll just stab it before it can stab us first!” Monique jokes. It’s a silly joke but Vanessa still bursts out laughing.

“We’ll stab it with a stick!” she joins in, and soon the two girls are laughing and anything vaguely threatening has been forgotten about.

They end up cycling a lot that Summer, Monique showing Vanessa all sorts of hidden places all round the city. Vanessa never feels freer than when she’s racing around on dirt paths behind her best friend, and worries are a distant memory. Vanessa’s life is good and she has a lot of things to be thankful for but she knows she looks different and doesn’t fit in, she knows there’s a lot of things that the other kids have that she doesn’t, she knows that there are times when her Mama sits up at night time with her bills spilling out across the kitchen table and a calculator in her hand. Monique is a bright smile and a sense of adventure and she makes Vanessa feel happy.

They don’t go out on their bikes as much when they go back to school after the holidays. Year 4 flies by almost as quick as they used to cycle, as does Year 5. They don’t pretend as much in the playground anymore, preferring to run riot on the astroturf with the boys in their class and play football and get bruises on their shins from being tackled to within an inch of their life. Not much changes by Year 6; their last year of primary school when they should be responsible and conscientious and yet they’re still getting in trouble for giggling in class and playing pranks on the other kids and whispering swear words in Spanish (that one is Vanessa’s fault).

They’ve only got a month left of primary school and Vanessa’s allowed to walk home with Monique now as long as she keeps her phone on loud and texts her Mama to tell her if they’re stopping by the park or the snack van. Today is one of those days. They’re sat underneath the huge cherry blossom tree at the park; Vanessa wants to climb it but Monique’s saying that’s too babyish. They’re too old for that now, so they’re bluetoothing each other Tinchy Stryder and N-Dubz songs and blaring them at full volume out of their tinny phone speakers instead. Vanessa’s about to show Monique a parody somebody’s made of You’re Beautiful by James Blunt when Monique breaks the not-quite-silence.

“You gotta crush on anyone?”

Vanessa wrinkles her face up, snorts a laugh. “Ew! Nah. All the boys in our class are gross. I ain’t ever had a crush on any of ‘em.”

Monique gives a quiet laugh. “Me neither. They all use that Lynx Africa like it’s gonna cover up their B.O.”

Vanessa lets out a howl of laughter. She wasn’t lying to Monique; she doesn’t have a crush on anyone. If she thinks about it, she’s never really had a crush on any of the boys in her class. It’s just not something she thinks about. She cares more about her best friend than she’d ever care about any boy.

Their laughter dies down, and Vanessa gets a knot in her stomach. It happens every so often when she thinks about high school. Their class went up to see the school last week and it felt like such a terrifying maze of identical-looking corridors and crowds of kids so old they looked to be mini adults. Their teacher had told them to write down three friends they wanted to be in the same form class as, even though she said she couldn’t guarantee they’d get to stay together. Vanessa had written only one name on her form- Monique Heart - in her curly, barely-legible handwriting, the “i”s dotted with hearts. It’s been on her mind ever since, though. They’ve been together since Reception, Monique is all Vanessa knows. She wouldn’t begin to know how to make any other friends. She doesn’t want any other friends.

“M’nique,” Vanessa says, and the other girl looks up. “What happens if we ain’t in the same form class next year?”

Monique gives a small, humoured laugh. “Well then we ain’t in the same form class.”

Vanessa rolls her eyes and shoves her. “Duh, idiot! I mean like…with us. We still gon’ be best friends?”

Monique laughs dismissively, shakes her head at her. “Now who’s being the idiot?”

“I’m serious!” Vanessa objects, annoyed that Monique’s still got her eyebrows raised at her like she’s a little kid. She’s going to be 12 in October; it’s not like she’s a baby. “What if you find other cool girls to hang out with? What if you get a new best friend? What am I gonna do?”

“You’re gonna do nothing, cuz that ain’t gonna happen,” Monique insists. Her face lights up as she gets an idea, jabs a finger against the tree trunk. “Okay. If I carve our initials into this tree, it’ll be like a promise. That we’re always gonna be best friends. I don’t want to hang out with cool girls. It’s fun just me an’ you.”

Vanessa smiles, her heart feeling all warm at the reassurance. Monique rummages around in her bag and produces her keys, starts stabbing at the bark of the tree relentlessly. Vanessa flinches a little, part of the reaction a residual memory from watching Pocahontas too much when she was really little; she used to believe that trees could feel things like humans. She shares the memory with Monique who doesn’t laugh at her, even though she probably has every right to.

“Well humans feel things an’ they get tattoos. So this is like a tattoo for a tree,” she shrugs. She’s chipped a big capital M in the bumpy bark so far and is starting on an H.

“Hey, you think we should get matching tattoos when we’re grown ups?” Vanessa suggests, the idea exciting her. Monique frowns as she drags her key over the wood.

“Don’t they use needles for that?”

Vanessa regrets the idea as soon as Monique says it; she’d forgotten about her friend’s fear. She decides to commit to the idea. “They do, but they’re all clean an’ safe. An’ you wouldn’t have to be scared cuz I’d go with you.”

Monique nods as she starts on Vanessa’s name. “I never feel scared when I’m with you. Except when Mrs Del Rio yells at us.”

“She’s a big baby. She just hates us cuz we would be better teachers than her,” Vanessa shrugs. It’s true.

“Well, what tattoo are we gonna get? We need to decide now so we can start saving up for it,” Monique questions her. Vanessa scoffs.

“How much do you think a tattoo costs? It’s like ten pounds, God!"

It’s Monique’s turn to laugh. "Nah, it’s way more than that! My brother’s got one and his cost a hundred and fifty.”

Vanessa lets out an outraged screech. “That’s a damn lie! You’re gonna go to the bad fire if you keep tellin’ lies like that.”

“An’ you’re gonna go to the bad fire cuz you just cussed.”

“Well, see you down there,” Vanessa shrugs. She considers Monique’s question. “What about we get BFFs in cool writing?”

Monique nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! With a heart maybe.”

“Yeah!” Vanessa agrees, excited about the prospect of their matching tattoos. She Googles “when can i get a tatoo” (spelling’s never been her strong suit) and lets out a groan at what she reads. “Ugh. We have to wait seven whole years.”

“You have to wait seven years, I only have to wait six!” Monique boasts, Vanessa sighing. She hates being one of the youngest in the class. She doesn’t have time to feel down for long though, as Monique shows her her handiwork with a flourish; MH + VM, scratched into the tree forever. “There! Best friends forever.”

Vanessa feels as if her smile is going to break her face. It feels like her body is made of the sun’s rays. When Monique says that, high school doesn’t seem so scary any more.

“Where we gonna get these tattoos anyway?” Monique speaks again. Vanessa’s smile turns wicked and she can barely get her thoughts out without laughing.

“Imagine we get them on our butt!”

Vanessa thinks Monique’s Gran might be able to her them screeching with laughter from the top floor of her tower block.

***

Things change though, despite the promise they make. Monique doesn’t think either of them mean to break it but life gets in the way and God has other plans. It’s what she believes at least.

Though she doesn’t know what his plan was for separating her from her best friend. Monique cries for forty-five solid minutes when she receives the letter telling her what form class she’s in; she knows it’s different to Vanessa’s. Her Gran holds her tight and rocks her against her chest on the sofa while her brother yells at her to shut up and slams his bedroom door. Her Gran is full of comforting words: you’re a strong girl, and you’ve been through worse in your life than this, and this isn’t going to change a single thing, hush now. But it is going to change things. When she’s with Vanessa, Monique feels like she can take on the world. She brings out her confident side when she feels shy, matches every shriek with a screech, takes her mind off the fact that she lives in a shoebox fourteen storeys high in the air where the elevator doesn’t work and the stairwell smells like piss. She can’t imagine starting high school without her. She doesn’t want to imagine it.

Monique batters out of the flat despite her Gran shouting after her, dashes down the stairs like her life depends on it. Her heart feels ready to give out when she reaches the lobby and bursts out into the open air but she still unchains her bike from the rack outside, pedals madly to Vanessa’s house. The bike is too small for her now and it’s uncomfortable to ride but it’s all she has to get her to the person that matters most. She reaches the house and Vanessa’s Mama lets her in, and Monique takes the stairs up to Vanessa’s bedroom two at a time where they hold each other tight and bundle up in Vanessa’s duvet and sob and sob and sob.

But looking back, Monique knows she’d been a little dramatic that day. Not being in the same form class as Vanessa really is not the end of the world. They walk there together on their first day and give each other a tight, nervous hug before they each head to their own form rooms. Monique pushes down on the doorhandle and anxiety fills her body as she walks in, freezes at the doorframe. There’s about twenty other kids already in the room and the whole scene is a bit chaotic. There are two boys chucking a ball to each other across the classroom, some girls with hair in high ponytails screeching and playing Katy Perry out of their phone speakers. Even though Monique has sat through countless interviews with social workers, child psychologists and police officers, this is one of the scariest experiences of her life.

“Hey. You wanna sit with us?”

Monique’s eyes fall on a table of girls with skin just like hers and hair to match. Monique instantly feels 80% more reassured; she’s never seen a classroom with a colour palette like this in her life. She and Vanessa had been the only two girls in their year at primary whose skin colour had deviated from the sea of pink or almost-translucent. There’s one girl who fits that mold at the table with the others, and Monique thinks it’s funny that she’s got pale skin, blonde hair and blue eyes and still happens to be the odd one out.

The girls take her under their wing that first day, and the next, and the next. They’ve all gone to a different primary school from Monique and so are already closer than close, but they never make her feel like an outsider. Asia with the sleek, black hair that tumbles down her back has a sweet smile and explains all the in-jokes that Monique doesn’t understand. Antonia, the girl who invited Monique to sit with them, has an intimidating face and a skinny frame but a kind heart and always shares her snack and pens with her. Roberta- Bob- has a huge untameable afro and personality to match, and her cousin Monét isn’t dissimilar apart from the fact that her hair is wavy and caramel instead of jet black and curly. They bicker with each other and gossip about their teachers and make Monique laugh when she’s down. And Brianna is kind and caring and is always able to put a smile on Monique’s face.

Before long, it seems like Monique has made five new friends without even having to try. She wishes she could say she’s friends with Vanessa like she always used to be, but that would be lying.

Because Vanessa’s made friends too. They’re the girls Monique’s Gran always warned her about- friends with the devil and they’ll lead you on a path straight to him. Akeria and Silky make a reputation for themselves at high school within a week of the year beginning. They mess about in class, text during lessons, Silky starts fights with other girls in the corridors that her victims never have the balls to finish. Akeria flirts with the boys and the rumours say she’s had her first kiss already. They backchat teachers and keep cans of spray paint in their bags and walk along the train tracks to the depot after school to spray their wobbly initials on the side of freight trains.

But despite the fact they don’t hang out as much in person any more, that doesn’t diminish the light that Monique keeps burning in her heart for Vanessa. They bump into each other in corridors and chat excitedly in the five minutes they have between lessons, smile and wave at each other from across the lunch hall, and they still text each other and walk there and back from school together. Well, until just after the start of Year 8. Vanessa starts getting a lift from Akeria’s Mum in the mornings and hanging out at the shopping centre with her and Silky after school. It’s not her fault, and Monique supposes she’s no better- Monét lives on Monique’s route to school so the two of them start walking together instead, and after school the girls often go to the chicken shop in town and shovel down wings to make up for the disgusting school lunches.

By her second year of high school it’s almost like Monique has a new best friend.

But she doesn’t want to think like that, so she’s overjoyed when it gets to the start of Summer, just before the last term of their second year ends, and Vanessa’s texts change from general small-talk chit-chat to an invitation to have a sleepover at her house at the weekend. Monique feels embarrassing levels of excitement as she texts back confirming she’ll be there.

M: Are your other friends gonna be there??

V: nah just me n u

And it is just her and Vanessa. It’s a gorgeously sunny day and Vanessa’s Mama puts up a tent in the garden that they can camp out in. It’s nice to be back with her, talking and giggling and laughing about stupid stuff. Vanessa laughs uproariously as she tells Monique about Silky and Akeria’s latest exploits and Monique listens nervously, anxious just hearing about them.

“Do you join in when they do stuff like that?” Monique asks her, after a story about how Silky signed her name in the same Sharpie she does her eyebrows with on a toilet cubicle door and got detention. Vanessa shakes her head, smiles bashfully.

“Nah. I tell ‘em it’s good to keep someone onside in case we get into trouble. The teachers’ll let us away with more if they like one of us. 'Least that’s my excuse,” she explains. Monique smiles, reassured.

“I didn’t think you were like them,” she says, relieved. She thinks Vanessa narrows her eyes at her, but she blinks and her expression has changed. Vanessa’s started wearing makeup and it suits her, even though her foundation is maybe a little off-colour. The mascara she’s swept onto her lashes opens up her eyes a little more and lets Monique see the twinkle that seems to be permanently shining in them.

She is so pretty, and Monique wishes she could look like her.

They talk as if nothing has changed over dinner, various barbecued meats grilled on a disposable barbecue Vanessa’s Mama got from her work. Monique has never had a barbecue before and she decides that burgers charred to within an inch of their lives are the best thing she’s ever eaten. They make smores from chocolate digestives and marshmallows for dessert and Monique howls with laughter as the chocolate and marshmallow melt down half Vanessa’s hand and she licks it off as her Mama rolls her eyes, goes to find her a hot cloth and mutters in Spanish that Monique doesn’t understand but knows is long-suffering. She has almost forgotten the way Vanessa can make her belly laugh just by acting the fool. Monique has spent two whole years not even knowing how much she’s missed her friend, too distracted by her new ones.

When it’s time to go to sleep they both cosy up under Vanessa’s duvet that’s been dragged outside and a sleeping bag each under that. Every available pillow and cushion in the house has been utilised in lieu of a blow-up mattress but the set-up is still comfortable, even though it’s pitch-black both in the tent and outside. It might be the end of June but it’s still cold once the sun goes down, and Vanessa has shuffled up near to Monique in a bid to try and keep warm. Vanessa being so close makes Monique feel warm on the inside as well as the outside.

“Hey, you know that rumour about Akeria kissing Dean from Year 9?” Monique pipes up, interested. “Is that true?”

Vanessa rolls onto her tummy to face Monique, and her eyes are sparkling with mischief even in the dark. It makes Monique’s stomach do a flip. “Yeah. They did it at the food court after school one day. You wanna know what else?”

Vanessa’s face is so full of glee that Monique can’t help but nod in anticipation. She’s almost in fits of laughter as she tries to get the secret out. “He tried to get her to touch his…you know!”

Monique lets out a screech that is equal parts horrified and amused as Vanessa dissolves into giggles too. “GROSS! Did she do it?”

“Ew! What do you think? Of course she didn’t. That shit’s nasty.”

There’s a pause in which Vanessa lets out a few more giggles. Monique doesn’t. She’s silent. She’s thinking.

“I wonder what it’s like.”

Vanessa’s voice is loud in the silence of the night. “What? Touching a boy’s-”

“No, idiot!” Monique laughs, explaining herself. “Kissing someone. Wonder if it’s as nice as people say it is.”

Vanessa falls quiet as well. Monique wonders what she’s thinking. She decides to break the silence. “You ever kissed a boy?”

Vanessa lets out a snort. “Come on, M’nique, you know I ain’t.”

“No I don’t!” Monique protests, her voice dropping to a murmur as she feels herself pout while she speaks. “I feel like I don’t know anything about you anymore.”

They both fall silent, and there’s a shift in the atmosphere that Monique can’t quite put her finger on. Vanessa lets out a sudden giggle.

“What?” Monique asks awkwardly, unsure if she’s meant to be in on the joke or the butt of it.

Vanessa’s face is scheming. She laughs a little, buries her face in her pillow before she speaks. “You know we could practise?”

Monique is slow on the uptake at first. “Practise? Practise what?”

She realises as Vanessa lifts her head and gives another giggle. Monique lets out a screech, takes the pillow from underneath her head and thumps her friend with it. “Ew, Vanessa! Ew, ew, ew! You’re so weird!”

“Oh, c’mon! I don’t wanna go kiss a boy and then be really bad at it, then he’s tell his friends and they’d tell their friends and then the whole school would think I’m shit!” Vanessa insists. Monique’s heart gives a very loud thud as Vanessa inches her face close to Monique. She’s not taken her makeup off and her mascara is all smudged around her eyes like makeshift eyeliner. She looks really pretty.

Monique shoves her away back onto the pillows. “I ain’t doin’ that shit with you! Ask Akeria since she’s so experienced.”

“But I don’t wanna practise with Kiki! I wanna practise with you!” Vanessa says matter-of-factly. Monique’s stomach gives another churn. Something is different, something has changed. Monique isn’t sure what it is or what to make of it.

“Well, tough shit. We ain’t…practising,” Monique huffs, turning her back to Vanessa and letting her eyes burn holes in the flimsy tent walls.

Vanessa’s voice comes from her side of the tent. “Fine! But if they call you…shit, I don’t know…Washing-Machine Mouth Monique…don’t say I never warned you!”

Monique lets out another huff, squeezes her eyes shut and wills herself to sleep. She feels weird. Her heart is going too fast and her stomach feels fizzy and it takes her a moment to realise her face has gone all hot.

“M’nique?” Vanessa’s voice comes from the darkness. She ignores it. “You mad at me?”

She sighs, rolls her eyes even though she knows Vanessa can’t see. “No.”

“Okay,” Vanessa says. Her voice is soft, and she rolls over onto her side. She rests her head against Monique’s back and puts an arm around her. They hug all the time, but this one feels different. It’s nice, though, and Monique feels warm and safe. “I’m sorry we haven’t hung out much. You know. Like we did in primary.”

“I’m sorry too,” Monique sighs, bringing a hand up to pat Vanessa on the arm. She ends up simply leaving it there.

“Hey, we should hang out more in the Summer! You know you can always come round to mine,” Vanessa continues.

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Monique murmurs, letting out a heavy sigh. She’s not lying- it would be nice. She knows she could never have friends back to her flat because they don’t have the space and besides, most of them wouldn’t even want to set foot in the high rise anyway. Monét’s parents are doctors and Asia’s Dad is a barrister and her Mum is a lawyer, and Bob’s parents work in something accountant-y, and they all live in big houses with sweeping paved driveways and garages and gardens the size of the Emirates stadium. Granted Antonia’s Mum and Dad both work two jobs to pay the rent and Brianna’s Dad is a dustbin man while her Mum stays at home to look after her baby sister, but at least their families are happy ones. Monique has never known the luxury of a fancy house or a private garden or a car or a perfect, cookie-cutter family. She wonders if she ever will.

She’s pulled out of her thoughts by Vanessa giving her a gentle squeeze, cuddling closer. She didn’t think it would be possible but she somehow manages it, and Monique isn’t complaining. “G'night, M'nique.”

Monique is too tired to think any more. Vanessa’s arms feel comforting around her, and she chooses to settle in them. “Night, 'Ness.”

[wildcherryhs]

𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮

❝ 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨. ❞

𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭: harry isn’t used to being rejected, especially by his best friend.

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫+𝐚/𝐧: this is for the fine line writing thingamabobmajiggything. i’m also really good at mediocre shit so enjoy my mediocre shit. cussing is most definitely ahead. this is really short, i’m sorry? i tried? also every time i listen to adore you, this is like how i interperate the song so y ee t. i might write a couple more chapters/parts to this depending on how i feel about it. 

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: harry x plus size! best friend! fem! reader

—

It all started with that damn Christmas party last week. 

She had worn the matching Rudolph sweater to his reindeer ears headband, a duo that no one would ever doubt. Her hair was in her face and hiding her blushed cheeks every time he joked about standing under some fake mistletoe. And her lips were plump from the constant drinking of punch, the pineapple soaking it’s acidity into her skin and making her look nothing but kissable. Harry was suffocating the entire night and even had a thought to himself that strangling himself with the hanging lights would be more comfortable than this. Anything but this. 

Because Harry realized for the first time that night that he was in love with Y/N. His dear, precious Y/N that he’s known over the years and has endured every part of his successful journey with him. Y/N was his best friend in the entire world and that was something that would never go away. He trusted her in everything he did. 

However, over the past few months, he’s gotten closer to her in a way he never thought he would see himself doing. Their late-night conversations weren’t just for shits and giggles, no. They somehow grew intimate with him, and he felt so transparent and real. The only girl to ever make him feel like he wasn’t just another human being. Y/N gave him everything and made him feeling everything all at once. That’s when he knew he was royally fucked. 

A groan left his lips as Harry covered his eyes from the light above him, shielding himself from the outer world as well. The studio had been empty for hours, and he thought it would be best to stay behind after the others left to just think. It only made him bury himself further in the hole that he had dug. Just as he was about to sit up, the sound of a knock on the door jolted him back to reality. At the door stood the janitor, Gary, who was in his fifties, holding a vacuum looking rather confused.

“Oh, uh, I didn’t think anyone else was here. I can come back later,” he started.

Harry shook his head, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “No, no. You’re completely fine, I’m sorry for holding you back from your job. Let me just grab my stuff and I’ll be out of your hair in no time.” 

Without giving Gary the time to protest, he began to pack up his lyrics and jacket, even throwing away some of the others’ trash from dinner. Little did he know that his face was scrunched up in concentration, eyebrows furrowed and lip tucked under his front teeth. It was clear that he was deep in thought and that made Gary questionable.

“I don’t mean to pry, but son, you look troubled.” Harry glanced up as he spoke, freezing in his movements. Was it really that obvious the damage he was causing himself? As he sighed, Gary nodded and pulled back a seat from the table in the middle of the room. “I have some time, ya know. It looks like you need someone to talk to.”

For a split second, a genuine smile placed on his lips and he cautiously took a seat as well, folding his arms in front of his chest. It was silent for a moment as he tried thinking of what to say. His lips pursed every time he thought of what to say only for him to go into a frown, finding himself stuck. Why was it so hard to admit he was in love with Y/N? 

The janitor sat back in his seat, inspecting the other male rather closely before he nodded slowly. “You’re in love. It’s complicated, but you’re in love and don’t know what to do.”

Harry was stunned, to say the least. This man who he had never met before in his entire life was able to describe exactly how he was feeling in one statement as if he was an open book. He could only sit in shock with his eyes wide at the older man, trying to come back to reality. Gary took this as his chance to continue.

“All you teenagers today treat love like it’s some scary thing like once you close your eyes it will disappear. Horse shit,” he started, shaking his head. 

Harry scoffed for a moment but Gary only smiled. 

“Kid, I’ve lost so many people in my life. These are people who I loved with all my heart and yet they still left. I never stopped loving them, and I don’t plan on it. If you’re feeling this way because of love, then you’re only hurting yourself. It deserves to be heard and to be celebrated. The more you hold it inside, the more unhappy you’re going to be.” 

Harry could only nod at the wise words being spoken by someone he’s only known for five minutes yet had the audacity to call him out on his bullshit. He felt like he was trapped inside his own mind but the advice from Gary was making him feel liberated in a way, almost reassuring him that everything was going to be alright no matter what the outcome would be like. Harry glanced up at the janitor to see him already leaving the room, and he panicked for a moment.

“W-Wait, how do I tell her?”

Gary shrugged. “I’m pretty sure she already knows. Just confirm it.” he laughed lightly.

Harry half-smiled at the advice but then smirked slightly, standing up to grab his stuff as well. “By the way, I’m not a teenager. I’m twenty-five.” 

Gary continued on his way out the door with his back facing the younger boy, his own smile upon his lips in a way a father would smile at their kid. 

“Then act like it.”

--------

Before he could stop himself, Harry was standing in front of the familiar sand-colored door that had a shitty, dollar store Christmas sign taped to it. It was the same one she put up every year despite how out of shape it was getting over the course of time. He could feel his heart racing against his chest in a way he never thought he would experience. He’s performed in front of thousands, if not millions, of people and this was still more frightening to him. However, Harry knew he had to do it. He had to do it tonight before it was too late. Or he would never forgive himself. Harry rung the doorbell with a shaky finger, deciding that if she asked why he was shaking it was because of the winter evening. 

Within a matter of seconds, Y/N stood in front of him in her loose-fitting clothing, which was actually an oversized band shirt and some black leggings. Her hair had been tied back to prevent it from getting in her face as she made her annual Christmas sugar cookies. But, the look on her face was priceless because why would Harry be here so late at night and in this weather?

“Harry, what the actual hell?” Y/N fumed, pulling him inside immediately to shield him from the cold December night.

She slammed the door shut and began to brush off some snow from his arms as he just stood still, admiring her caring actions so closely. Harry stared at her from his height, being around a foot taller than her, and felt himself grow even more in love with her. Just the way she always cared for him, the way how she rushed to make sure he was warm-

“Harry, I asked you what are you doing here?” Y/N chuckled, moving some hair from his face. 

That’s when he fucking lost it.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

There was a moment of silence before either spoke once more. Harry’s eyes were wide at revealing his own secret and Y/N froze in place, spacing herself between him with a good foot of distance.

Harry... loved Y/N? Of course, they would love each other, they were best friends! That’s why it had to be the reason and the only reason. She smiled warmly and nodded at his statement, taking it lightly as she only thought of it platonically. I mean, her whole friendship with him she’s had to keep it platonic in fear of ruining anything between them. So, whenever he said things like this, she would just embrace their friendship even further knowing he could never love her. At least that’s how she perceived it.

“I love you, too, H. You’re my best friend!” she giggled, shaking some more snow off of his body before turning to leave to the kitchen.

Harry looked at her with confusion, tilting his head to the side. For the first time, he actually questioned if there was something genuinely wrong with Y/N. Did she not just hear him confess his undying love for her? And she just walked away? What the fuck?

“I made some tea, do you want some?”

Harry followed her into the kitchen and scoffed. “No, I don’t want your fucking tea.”

Y/N stared back at him with just as much shock as earlier, his language turning cruel in just one second. She gave a face of annoyance, a hand on her hip as she replied in a sassy tone, “Well, damn, you could’ve just said no.”

Harry sighed heavily. “I said I was in love with you, Y/N. I love you like a best friend too but I really, really love you. More than a best friend should.” He spoke rather softly on the last part, stepping closer to her almost as if needing her touch.

Y/N laughed it off. “You can’t be serious.” Was all she said, a fit of giggles erupting from her only to turn into deep chuckles. However, when she opened her eyes from her little fit, she could see Harry standing there looking as honest as ever. It was something in the way his eyes looked at her, taking in every inch and curve and imperfection and viewing it as complete art. His body was aching to be near hers, reaching out and holding onto her waist that was always so soft and fun to grab, which he meant in the best way possible. She had shape and he loved it; God did he love her body. Harry was so in love it fucking wrecked everything in him. And Y/N could see it all unfold right before her in the kitchen around 1 in the morning on a random December night. Harry Styles was most definitely in love with her.

He leaned in, nuzzling his face into her neck as he brought her in close. She was so warm already and he felt like a snowman defrosting in front of a fire. Y/N shivered and almost reciprocated his movements only to push him away slightly, a bitter laugh escaping her lips.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she scoffs and Harry is only more confused as his face scrunched up at her rejection. 

“You can’t be in love with me, Harry. I’m me. I’m your best friend that stays home from parties because I’d rather be alone. I’m the type of person to call in sick from work just to get some extra hours of sleep. Harry, I don’t even make it to school on time because I’m either having some like panic attack about school or I’m thinking about dropping out. I am not the girl you should be in love with and I don’t understand how you could love me when I don’t even.... when I don’t even love me.”

Harry felt something in him twist in pain, almost like the self-hatred she felt for herself was causing him to physically feel ill. How could she feel so unwanted? So unloving of herself when all he ever did was let her know how much she meant to him? He knew that loving yourself is one of the hardest things to do but he just couldn’t understand it, not in this situation. Not when Y/N was such an amazing person. It made him upset knowing that’s how she viewed herself because to him she was so much more than she could ever imagine.

He felt the need to speak up against her words only for Y/N to push him away once more. 

“No, I don’t want to hear what you have to say. Harry, you can’t be in love with me. I’m not the girl you need in your life right now and honestly, I hate you so much for telling me this. Why did you tell me this? Why now?” she pushed, anger beginning to rise in her. If he was so in love with her, what changed about telling her tonight? Why couldn’t he tell her before? Y/N couldn’t even realize the amount of hypocrisy at the moment as she continued to rage at her best friend.

Harry laughed at her words. “You’re mad at me for telling you how I feel? Wow, that’s a first. You really do astonish me, Y/N. You always have.” he chuckled but something about it wasn’t sincere. “I don’t think you quite understand what I’m trying to tell you here and it’s so frustrating- God, you’re being so frustrating right now.”

The two shared a stare of intensity, anger evident in both of their eyes. Y/N was too prideful to even let into Harry’s feelings and to let him know she felt the same. She continued to hold herself back however Harry was pulling her into him, almost like two waves fighting against each other in the ocean and meeting together as one. He would never stop colliding with her until she realized what he was saying to her was true. Even if she didn’t love him back, Harry just wanted her to know that what he was saying was true. Why was she making this so difficult?!

“I would never lie to you, I mean, I would never lie in general because that’s not me. But, lovey, I would never lie to you.” He was so gentle with his words that it somehow sparked the fire in Y/N.

Tears had spilled onto her reddened cheeks, her hands reaching up and wiping furiously at the mess he had made. Y/N just felt all of her emotions outweigh her as she let go of the grip she was holding inside. Everything came pouring out and Harry couldn’t be more welcoming to the open invitation of her vulnerability.

“Harry, I can’t let you love me. Please, I-It’s not that I don’t want to be with you, but I can’t let you be with me. I’m a mess of a human and I can’t bring that onto you. I love you, too. I always have.”

Harry felt his heart swell in his chest at her words, both in sadness and in joy. She had just confessed that she reciprocated the way he felt about her and he couldn’t be happier. He reached forward, despite her pushing him away, and held onto her like before however, he wasn’t going to let her escape as easily. His forehead pressed against hers, shushing her as she crumbled against him, their bodies being able to mold into each other so easily after all of the years of being together. It was home to her; Harry was home. Her cries turned to muffled whimpers into his chest, her arms wrapped tightly against him, knowing that she wanted this just as much as him. 

“Please let me love you.” was all he whispered, his own eyes forming with tears.

Y/N could feel how close they were in that moment and could feel his heart beating faster by the second. Despite wanting to close her eyes and avoid confrontation, she knew she had to be open. She slowly began to nod her head but she knew that Harry would want a vocal response. So, as her lips parted, she swallowed roughly and responded with a shaky breath. 

“O-Okay,” she whispered back.

Harry broke into the biggest grin, lips reaching down to be met with hers. Immediately he felt ignited from his feet all the way to the top of his head. He was on fire, the hair on his arms rising from the shock that was cast upon him. Harry was overwhelmed with affection, a feeling he could finally come to understand and appreciate. Y/N had never been kissed like that, and somewhere inside of her, she knew it only proved they were meant to be. Soulmates would be an understatement for their case. It was like the world was made for them in that exact moment in time, and no matter what history was made on that day, they would always end up together one way or another.

Like it’s the only thing they’ll ever do. 

[ask-de-writer]

Dr. Mordenheim’s Travels, Book 1: De Writer’s Equestria, Ch. 2

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Dr. Mordenheim’s Travels, Book 1: De Writer’s Equestria, Ch. 2

by

@mordenheim

1785 words

© 2019 by @mordenheim

Writing begun 04/11/19

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Dr. Victor Mordenheim has traveled to many different realities in his many centuries of existence.  This series, which I shall add to from time to time, will explore some of them, beginning with the world of @ask-de-writer.

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NEW TO THIS STORY? READ FROM PART 1 which is HERE

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An almost painfully purple colored unicorn sat his narrow rump in front of the Ponyville Day Spa.  He ran a grubby hoof through his greasy-looking slicked back green mane as he puffed out his chest with pride.  A white ribbon was around his neck, holding a silver medallion, a symbol of the Celestian Church.  Pokeweed had decided to take it upon himself to guard this fine business and make sure that no undesirables make their way inside.

It was just a few moments before he saw the bedraggled looking zebra making its way down the road towards him.  Getting a self-righteous smirk on his face he held up a hoof towards the creature and shouted out, “Lesser creatures got no business here.  Jes’ move along.”

After a moment, Pokeweed realized he may have made a mistake in more ways than one.  First of all, he had misjudged how far down the road the zebra had been when he called out.  The second was assuming that he was dealing with a normal black and white heretic like the poison-selling witches he had been told so much about.  As the striped intruder got closer, the violet stallion realized he might have bit off more than he could chew.  In seconds, he was staring slightly up towards a nasty-looking x-shaped scar on the front of the zebra’s chest.

Victor slowly lowered his head down, his single ice-blue eye seeming to bore right into the violently violet unicorn’s soul.  His voice was a deep base rumble as he asked, “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

Pokeweed, who was a fairly recent inductee into the church must have still had a few scruples left as he simply swallowed hard, mumbled, “N-no sir…” and backed out of the way before trotting down the road, quickly!

The big zebra sighed.  Things had started out so well this morning.  Ah well, he thought, no point in letting just one mishap get to him.  Lowering his head, he ducked through the doorway and trotted inside.

Behind the counter sat a pale blue mare with a pink mane, a small brass plaque in front of her showing her name as Lotus Blossom.  She quickly sat up, taking notice as Victor made his way through the door.  Her voice was heavily accented, rolling her r’s as she spoke, “Oh my, you are a beeg one, aren’t you?  Well, we gladly serve all kinds here, please, just sign the register and we can get started.”

He blinked again, once more pleasantly surprised by the hospitality he was being shown.  Taking a quill gently in his teeth, he signed his name into the thick book.  He was so confused by the situation that he nearly forgot what he had been told at breakfast time.  Keeping his voice soft and low, he murmured, “Caramel Treat sent me.”

“Oh!  Wonderful, wonderful, let’s see here…”  She glanced at the book and smiled, “Veector, now that is an interesting name.  Well, come with me, please.  I think we should get you started with a nice, long soak and do something about that mane and tail.  You look like you’ve been lost in the forest for days!”

Victor found himself being whisked from room to room, being scrubbed to a shining white with fragrant shampoos.  His mane was cleaned and brushed, leaving it long, luxuriant and shining, it’s deep red color offset by it’s gleam.  In what seemed like mere minutes, he found himself deposited face-down on a table that was surprisingly not too small for him, his face resting through a hole, looking down at the floor.  Everything was soft and comfortably padded and he felt himself drifting off until he heard voices from the next room.

“Alright, Snowflake.  Veektor ees a new customer, and I want you to be sure to get every last knot worked out of his muscles, do you theenk you can do that?”

A deep, gruff voice belted out an enthusiastic “YEEEAAAH!!!!!”

Victor jerked his head upright, looking towards the door as a literal white wall of muscle forced his shoulders and tiny wings through the doorway.

“al-RIGHT, let’s DO THIS!” the pegasus shouted.  A few bottles of oils on the walls rattled at his voice.  Victor could not doubt this “Snowflake’s” enthusiasm!

He felt a chill run down his back as a cold, floral scented oil was poured onto his back, but that quickly became a warmth that seeped into his old muscles as it was rubbed down his spine.  Just as he was starting to relax, there was a sudden downward thrusting force between his shoulders, a sharp crack, and a blinding pain that seared through his nerves before his tense muscles suddenly relaxed.  The big zebra gave a low moan, practically melting into the table beneath him as Snowflake worked his magic.

A few moments later at the reception desk Lotus Blossom and her sister Aloe were running around like chickens with their head cut off!  Huge, heavy thuds were echoing through the floor and walls as they tried their best to catch the vials of oils and shampoos that were shaking themselves off of the shelves.  They looked at one another and shrugged, they had never known any creature to be able to endure Snowflake’s massage for more than a few seconds, but this had been going on for a good fifteen minutes!  Finally, just as Aloe made a diving catch to save a particularly expensive bottle of mane conditioner, the noise finally stopped, followed by a low, rumbling groan of relief.

After he had finished, Victor stood slowly on wobbling legs.  He had no idea that he had been so tense.  He nodded to the blonde buzz-maned bodybuilder in thanks and headed back to the front to pay his bill.  Snowflake smiled and relaxed a bit.  He finally had a customer who didn’t run screaming in pain from his deep tissue massage.

Stepping back out into the sun was a changed zebra.  His body had healed a bit, filling back out a bit as his body quickly processed the wonderful food from that morning.  His mane was pulled back in a tight ponytail behind his neck, healthy and bouncing slightly as he walked.  His tail had been bound in braided leather straps both for fashion and protection, the fluffy tip protruding from the end.  His black stripes were sleek and shining and his white fur almost seemed to glow in the sunlight.  Even his dark hooves were polished almost to a mirror sheen.

He smiled brightly, still careful to keep his muzzle closed as he looked about at the little ponies going about their chores.  They shuffled from store to store, most greeting one another cheerfully as they did so.  He could see occasional confrontations, but these seemed minor and far between.  Of course, they still kept staring at him from the sidelines and moved far out of the way as he passed.

Sighing, he gazed up at the mountainside above Ponyville at Canterlot Castle.  He would have to venture up there soon to ask about official ownership of the ruins in the Everfree, but he was determined to wait until after nightfall.  Not only would his size cause less of a ruckus amongst the so-called Canterlot Elite, he would be more likely to granted an audience with Princess Luna, with whom he was still on somewhat good terms unlike her accursed sister.

He wandered the town for a while, slowly becoming more and more confused.  Most of the roads were the same, aside from being in such good condition, but others were new entirely.  Most of the buildings were in good repair, most of the ponies he recognized were here, though they didn’t seem to recognize him at all.

As made his way down the street, ponies continued to give him wide berth, either trotting to the other side of the road or slipping into alleys as he passed by.  All save one.  A small white pegasus in a wide-brimmed black hat trotted right up to him, tilted his head back and held out a hoof in a welcoming gesture.

“Greetings, friend!  I don’t believe I’ve seen you in these parts before!”  He smiled pleasantly enough and seemed sincere in his welcome.

Victor reached out a foreleg and tapped the offered hoof in return, his own dwarfing the smaller stallion’s.  “Indeed.  It’s been a long time since I last visited, far longer than I intended, it seems.”

“Well, I certainly hope you’ll be staying a while!  Allow me to introduce myself, I am Reverend Smallflower, and…”  his voice trailed off a bit as he saw the sudden change in the huge zebra’s mood.  

Victor frowned, his mood turning sour.  Thunderheads seemed to knit between his eyebrows as he scowled down at the pious pony before him, “Reverend?  After hearing from one of your congregation earlier, I’m surprised you speak to, how did he put it?  “Lesser creatures like me.”

Smallflower shook his head, frowning now as well, “Bah, you ran across a member of the Celestian Church.  In our church, all are welcome.”

He blinked, then reached a hoof up to rub at the back of his neck, a bit embarrassed.  He’d just acted every bit the ruffian that the townsfolk had been treating him like.  “I’m sorry, Reverend.  You’re correct.  They were in front of the day spa and were trying to keep others from entering.”

The reverend sighed and shook his head, “They know better than that.  THe next time you see them doing something similar, just inform Constable Crager of the Ponyville police department.  He’ll set things straight.  Just make sure you talk to him directly.  Sadly, some of the officers are members of the Celestian church as well.”

Shaking his head in return, Victor smiled in thanks, “I appreciate you letting me know.  Perhaps I may stop by to see your congregation one day.  Good day, Reverend Smallflower.”

“And a good day to you, too, brother.. uh…  I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Victor, and thank you again.”

With that, the two touched hooves again and went their separate ways.  After this encounter, however, Victor noticed a change.  Fewer ponies were crossing to the far side of the street to get away from him.  He got a few nods of acknowledgment or waves.  He was even able to browse a few shopping stalls without the keeper not suddenly having business elsewhere.

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[onifere]

An Idea on the Kwami Swap

 Edited

  After watching Reflekdoll, I realized that this episode is why I tend to resent shows that are made so their episodes could be watched in every order. Such a choice implies that plotlines must be extremely simple and easy to follow. By doing this, we lose many possibilities for important character development. And, I think with this episode, we did not lose an important possibility for Cat Noir's character development, but a critical one.

  Reflekdoll was the perfect episode to show us that, yeah, as of how Cat Noir's currently acts in battles, Ladybug doesn't really need him. He's not that huge of a help. She could do without him. She could have saved Paris countless times without his help. I'd even say, if she really needed support, she just could have asked others miraculouses holders like Queen B(ee?) or Rena Rouge/Carapace without ever asking for Chat's help.

   When I look back on Ladynoir's use of the Cat's Miraculous in Reflekdoll, she makes it looks so strong…  Which it is! She uses it so well, that Reflekdoll basically gets pummelled and send in every direction. Compare that to Cat Noir's use of the miraculous’s powers, you would think that his miraculous's powers are on the same level of a support miraculouses (like Rena Rouge's, Carapace's etc). When it isn’t, no, it one of two most powerful miraculouses there is! And Plagg showed that when he destroyed a major part of Paris along with the Eifel Tower in “Style Queen”! Of course, you could say that it’s to not make Adrien OP, but I’d say not OP YET, as he would need training and all to master such a Cataclysm. Then we could have such uses of it. But the point stands, the cat miraculous is far stronger than what Adrien’s use allows.  Marinette even at her kind of “beginner” level Ladybug does a much better use of her miraculous strengths and capacities.

  It has always been obvious that Cat Noir's fighting style is reckless, almost as if he does this to "have fun". And it has been established many times that he acts with a selflessness that I’d qualify virtuous but too dangerous. (for me it’s the bioproduct of a lacking feeling of self-worth but we’re not going there yet!) So, it comes to no one's surprise that Adrien's use of the Cat's Miraculous is lacking in skill. As it doesn’t seem that he cares at being skilful. He sure wants to be helpful, yes, but it does not seem to translate in him making skilful use of his miraculous.

  SO, to get back to Cat Noir's character development, this episode could have been perfect for him to see:

1) The Cat's Miraculous true strength when properly used.

2) Not how useless he is, but how more useful he could be.

  And it would have been great if Adrien reacted to Ladybug doing so well as LadyNoire if not BETTER than him with some shame. You know, this feeling you have when you realize you’re nothing special, although you thought you were? Adrien realizing that, truly most of the time he is useless to Ladybug, as now he is showed by LadyNoire how much more useful he could be?

   It could have been a great way to kick off Cat Noir's character development as he then tries to train himself, to stay more focused in battles, just to change for the better. For his Lady, for Paris.

   And perhaps these changes could have helped Adrien in his daily life! In perhaps feeling less unimportant. (I get the feeling that Cat Noir acts the way he does because he feels as if it's not a big deal if something happens to him. Perhaps I’m wrong (again the idea of selflessness)). Perhaps such changes would help Adrien into realizing that "YES! I do matter.” "YES! People are interested in me!”, and "YES! My friends value me!”. And perhaps he wouldn’t have to be so huh… Lifeless? I also think it would make him less oblivious to how he is seen by others.

  And even if it only helps Adrien as Cat Noir it would be something interesting, to see him try… And struggle! As such changes take time! It takes times changes, and some time you go back to your old ways without wanting to, so you keep fighting to maintain your progress. Of course, it shouldn’t change him too much. Keep him lively yet keep the puns and funny cat things for when the akuma is dealt with. A proof of his evolution, of him trying to mature.

 NOW

COMPLETLY ANOTHER SUBJECT BUUUUUUT

AM I. THE ONLY ONE. WHO THINKS,

That the show would be all over better if the kwami swap was like, permanent? I mean, obviously the show was never built to unable such an important event. But imagine if it were… I see that swap moment as one that would have defined the show! Like One Piece’s two years’ time skip which served as a big step in the series! I see how us, fans, would call it “the great kwami swap” or some shit like that… I would be a point in the show when everything changes!

  By seeing Marinette with Plagg and Adrien’s with Tikki, I was quite taken aback to see how they look so much more… Compatible?

  To me Plagg and Marinette, Tikki and Adrien, both are better matches. To me, it seems like these matches “push out” something from the characters themselves. They feel more natural. A good step, taken, in the right direction. The next evolution. I personally have never been happier to see Marinette fight as LadyNoire! It looked as if she was born to be Ladynoire and her interactions with Plagg, it looked they'd be a greater harmony between the two! And again, to me she acted freer than ever, and was even more performant.

I think that Plagg would be a better influence for Marinette as he always looks like he's the "cool" dude going with the flow? I'd see him cheering Marinette on, pushing her to be freer minded, less stressed (as he’d teach to care less about trivial things that don’t matter), open her up to new possibilities. His "Everythin's fine, man…" attitude feels like it would be a much better help on the long term for Marinette.

Edit: Plagg’s influence would be even better as he’d teach her to “Go for it” something that is indispensable for a designer/artist, you know? Not being afraid to show your work, not being afraid to be more “aggressive” even more creative perhaps?! Like he would tell her, encourage her to go wild as fuck and even if her art/sketch would not amount to any creations it would be experiences that shape her? He would push her to try everything!

   For Adrien and Tikki, the connection seemed much more subtle yet as good as Marinette’s and Plagg’s connection. Both having soft personalities, both being kind of reserved and quiet/calm. (even tho Tikki is far more optimistic and uplifted than Adrien). Basically, being permanently Mister Bug, we would start to see an Adrien whom starts kind of dumb and useless. Yet he would not give up. (He would be kind of “meh” in the start as there is a lot of work to do but hey! With experience it would come, and he would then one day surpass Marinette’s Ladybug (as Ladynoire would Surpass Adrien’s Cat Noir).

And same for Ladynoire’s better use/compatibility of the cat’s miraculous! It seemed bizarre how it felt more right for me to see Adrien as Mister Bug. (it might all come down to my preferences) The fact that he guessed he’d get a mirror is for me proof he used a kind of logic that we never saw Marinette use. She almost always receives her lucky charms and appears dumbfounded for a second, then looks everywhere on how to use it. But Adrien guessed what he would get. He didn’t know how to use it, and acted dumb because It’s his first time, but also (I think!) because he didn’t want to put in the effort of thinking (again, his recklessness is showing). And AGAIN, throughout the fight against Reflekdoll he was acting recklessly, like he does as Cat Noir. (well yeah, duh.) Swinging his yo-yo like a moron. (Nobody should mock him for that as Marinette’s own beginnings with the yo-yo weren’t glorious either).

  I was talking about how it would have been cool for Adrien to have with this episode the start of an arc where he questions his usefulness in battles and how he wants to get better, how he wants to be of greater importance in fighting Akumas with Ladybug, but hey! Being Mister Bug would solve all these problems! As Cat Noir's problems for me all boil down to a lack of focus, lack of self-worth = "doesn't matter what happens to me she got this" kind of crap.

  So being Mister Bug would make him more patient, focused, on the lookout for details, would make him think more, be more aware of his surroundings and the people around him.  It would fix his self-worth issues! Not like the lack of self-worthiness is Adrien’s defining trait, but it would surely help! Moreover, I feel like Adrien would be better off with Tikki as a kwami as she could provide a sort of replacement for motherly care/attention that Adrien seems to lack and seek, making him feel more balanced, important, secure. And he would feel more useful, he would feel necessary (closing the arc to him feeling useless in battles. AGAIN, I must stress this he could start to feel useless, train as chat noir, yet his training makes him more useful, true but he’d want to be even more useful, he would want to feel necessary, there is nothing wrong about wanting to be necessary.) (I say that, because in Reflekdoll he seemed so happy, no fond to catch & release the akuma. Like “YES, the fight is over thanks to me purifying the little bug) like it was really cute, HE was really cute gimme a break xD)

  There are holes in my ideas of course, but I think these holes could be patched, but looking how the show is made it’s clearly impossible. As of how I see it, it all comes down to how the show was written (duh) and prepared. Now, it’s obvious they don’t want to pull off this “permanent kwami swap” but they simply… Can’t… Such a swap should have been prepared…  Prepared from the start as "THE Great Miraculous Swap". They would have made the swap the result of a long arc for both Ladybug and Cat Noir. And of course, the show should just have been named: "Miraculous', not "Miraculous Ladybug" or "Miraculous tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir" so they would have been no problems with such a swap (with the title I mean) .

   The idea of a swap could have been the result of a long arc. I can see this arc taking place over the three first seasons of the show! Being a long, slow realization that something is off, that “Maybe, things would be better if I… Changed?” as the two realize that the problem lies within them… The third season would have been about the two characters understanding that perhaps, all would be better if they were to just, swap kwamis and miraculouses. But much m, they would understand that the swap IS needed.  More than being needed, the permanent swap could have opened the gates for deep character development. We could have explored their fear regarding things changing so greatly, their apprehension over “What is the public going to think, they’re going to get confused!” (it would be Marinette that would worry over that.), or the “Would I be a better Mister Bug/LadyNoir that I am Cat Noir/Ladybug?” Moreover, they could have used the idea of the miraculous swap to deepens the two heroes relationship with master Fu as they would tell him how they feel, their struggle with their hero purpose/identity. He’d try to help them but to no avail.

   Reflekdoll could have been a first taste of such an idea. I see the episode light the little of spark of “Yep, it feels right, better, can’t go around it now… We need to do it.”. Especially for Marinette as she would have felt freer as Lady noire. Losing her apprehensions “This isn’t so bad…” and Adrien as Mister Bug would have felt kind of dumb and rather weak but being Mister bug would have still felt righter than being Cat Noir. He wouldn’t know why, but he would feel as if things were in a better order (don’t get me started on how we could have seen then resent the idea to give back the other’s miraculous, HMMPF.THE.ANGST.). And the part that “Historically women are better with the Ladybug miraculous and men with the cat miraculous could have been challenged etc! And you know, the fear of the routine, what you’re accustomed to disappearing etc���

  Then, we’d have tearful goodbyes with their first kwamis as it’s a chapter of their lives that ends, just like real life! You make great friends, but even though you are great friends you sometimes need to let go and let the wind of time blow… Which they would have done by saying goodbye to their first kwamis and embracing the next chapter it would have been so deep! (and since Adrienette is probably endgame they would still have endend back together so…) The show could have been themed over growing up, realization, big changes and just the way teen just mature, by making those big changes.  And with that the greater problems would have been fixed already, the three first season Adrien would have spent time with Plagg, Marinette with Tikki and they would both have learned from their first kwamis, then they swap and realize how right it feels to be the other!

  We could have had an even better team! Them understanding each other! Helping each other just after the miraculous swap by giving each other tips in the middle of fights, not sending each other jabs like Ladynoire did to mister bug (although because of how the current show handled its narrative, it is understandable that Marinette jabs a Mister bug being like “ain’t that easy, uh bitch?”) and even think of the possibilities! What about the others  in the team thinking that things were better before? (Like Queen B(ee?), Carapace, Rena Rouge, Viperion thinking that Ladybug was better than Mister bug and the swap was foolish etc it could have created tension, made possible important character interactions, development etc!) And to people who really want a Ladybug and a Cat Noir, the show could have been shaped to Star with Ladynoir and Mister Bug then swap! (although I personally find it better to go from Ladybug/Cat Noir to LadyNoir/Mister Bug (because the connections between the new bearers and their new kwamis feels more right to me). But again, the show was never built so it could plan, even handle such an event. To me it’s a shame…

Finally, I must stress that they would still both learn from their time as Cat Noir/Ladybug! They would have developed and grown but not as much with their second miraculous. I certainly wouldn’t want the show to play the first assignment as a plain mistake/waste of time, make it feel needed, and make sure the two characters remember this time of their life as them learning, figuring stuff out as best as they can, don’t make them bitter over “lost time”!

I only wish it was this way, just because to me, the character and their struggle would have felt more real… But the show was made this way, who cares? Not me, I’m sure I can find many swap AU on the internet! (And I’m Looking for it now :} )

[garbagequeer]

hey hello im writing a piece for laptop ensemble that involves sampling and i need the most repressed/tender/yearning quotes you got. just as gay and heart wrenching as you can. but also no pressure I know youre a stranger on the web I just feel like you post that kind of stuff a lot thank you bye

hope this isnt like too late school keeps me busy :( (also can you put a read more on asks? guess i’ll find out). i ended up choosing many quotes from the same texts cause im indecisive as shit but i’ll bold my favorites from those in case that makes it easier for you!

anyways first of all you can never go wrong w richard siken as obvious as that is. these are both from you are jeff

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.

Let’s say you’ve swallowed a bad thing and now it’s got its hands inside you. This is the essence of love and failure. You see what I mean but you’re happy anyway, and that’s okay, it’s a love story 

this one’s from planet of love (the format got fucked bc tumblr is not actually a finctional website but :/ )

I have a megaphone and you play along,                                                                 because you want to die for love,                                                            you always have.     Imagine this:You’re pulling the car over. Somebody’s waiting.                      You’re going to die                                            in your best friend’s arms.             And you play along because it’s funny, because it’s written down,you’ve memorized it,

from litany in which certain things are crossed out 

I make you pancakes, I take you hunting, I talk to you as if you’re            really there.Are you there, sweetheart? Do you know me? Is this microphone live?                                                       Let me do it right for once,

sorry about the scene at the bottom of the stairwell                                    and how I ruined everything by saying it out loud.            Especially that, but I should have known.You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together            to make a creature that will do what I sayor love me back.

We were inside the train car when I started to cry. You were crying too,            smiling and crying in a way that made meeven more hysterical. You said I could have anything I wanted, but I                                                                                just couldn’t say it out loud.Actually, you said Love, for you,                             is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s                                                                                                 terrifying. No one                                                                        will ever want to sleep with you.

from snow and dirty rain

I had a dream about you. We were in the gold roomwhere everyone finally gets what they want.

that scene from when harry met sally where sally says:

One day I was taking Alice’s little girl fro the afternoon. I’d promised to take her to the circus, and we were in a cab playing “I spy” - you know, “I spy a lamppost”, “I spy a mailbox” - and she looked out the window and there was this man and this woman with two little kids, and the man had one of the kids on his shoulders, and Alice’s little girl said “I spy a family”, and I satrted crying, you know? I just started crying, and I went home

(like anyone else sometimes cries when u see a family doing something nice? is it because i want to participate in a sense of family of my own but have been excluded as a gay person from it’s portrayals and it makes me go :^( cause i dont feel there’s room for me there but i want there to be and i just have to long for this nuclear family heteronormative way of life that i’ve been made to believe is idylic? is it because my parents got divorced and my dad’s an ass and my mom is just a very angry lady and i want to re-do my own childhood? who knows. should we ban movies? yes we should!)

from maurice (ultimate source of tender)

“There was something better in life than this rubbish, if only he could get to it, love, nobility, big spaces where passion clasped peace, spaces no science could reach, but they existed for ever, full of woods some of them, and arched with majestic sky and a friend”

‘Did you ever dream you had a friend, Alec? Nothing else but just “my friend”, he trying to help you and you him. A friend’ he repeated, sentimental suddenly. ‘Someone to last your whole life and you his. I suppose such a thing can’t really happen outside sleep’

we are all so lucky i don’t actually own maurice in english this would just turn into me quoting the whole book

ee cummings voices to voices, lip to lip

the thing perhaps isto eat flowers and not to be afraid.

from virgina woolf’s letters to vita

7 september 1925

january 21 1926 vita writes

I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. You, with all your un-dumb letters, would never write so elementary phrase as that; perhaps you wouldn’t even feel it. And yet I believe you’ll be sensible of a little gap. But you’d clothe it in so exquisite a phrase that it would lose a little of its reality. Whereas with me it is quite stark: I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal. So this letter is just really a squeal of pain. It is incredible how essential to me you have become. I suppose you are accustomed to people saying these things. Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan’t make you love me any the more by giving myself away like this—But oh my dear, I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defences. And I don’t really resent it …

and on january 26 virginia writes back

Your letter from Trieste came this morning—But why do you think I don’t feel, or that I make phrases? ‘Lovely phrases’ you say which rob things of reality. Just the opposite. Always, always, always I try to say what I feel. Will you then believe that after you went last Tuesday—exactly a week ago—out I went into the slums of Bloomsbury, to find a barrel organ. But it did not make me cheerful … And ever since, nothing important has happened—Somehow its dull and damp. I have been dull; I have missed you. I do miss you. I shall miss you. And if you don’t believe it, you’re a longeared owl and ass. Lovely phrases? … 

from virginia’s diary, about vita on december 21 1925

I like her and being with her and the splendour–she shines in the grocer’s shop in Sevenoaks with a candle lit radiance, stalking on legs like beech trees, pink glowing, grape clustered, pearl hung.

from virginia woolf’s to the light house

What device for becoming, like waters poured into one jar, inextricably the same, one with the object one adored? Could the body achieve, or the mind, subtly mingling in the intricate passages of the brain? or the heart? Could loving, as people called it, make her and Mrs Ramsay one? for it was not knowledge but unity that she desired, not inscriptions on tablets, nothing that could be written in any language known to men, but intimacy itself, which is knowledge, she had thought, leaning her head on Mrs Ramsay’s knee. Nothing happened. Nothing! Nothing! as she leant her head against Mrs Ramsay’s knee. And yet, she knew knowledge and wisdom were stored up in Mrs Ramsay’s heart.

Love had a thousand shapes. There might be lovers whose gift it was to choose out the elements of things and place them together and so, giving them a wholeness not theirs in life, make of some scene, or meeting of people (all now gone and separate), one of those globed compacted things over which thought lingers, and love plays.

there forced themselves upon her other things, her own inadequacy, her insignificance, keeping house for her father off the Brompton Road, and had much ado to control her impulse to fling herself (thank Heaven she had always resisted so far) at Mrs Ramsay’s knee and say to her—but what could one say to her? “I’m in love with you?” No, that was not true. “I’m in love with this all,” waving her hand at the hedge, at the house, at the children. It was absurd, it was impossible 

(fun fact: the spanish translation adds something that i’d translate as “one could not say what one meant / what one wanted to say”, which i really like and i was disapointed to find out isnt on the english edition)

It was love, she thought, pretending to move her canvas, distilled and filtered; love that never attempted to clutch its object; but, like the love which mathematicians bear their symbols, or poets their phrases, was meant to be spread over the world and become part of the human gain. So it was indeed. The world by all means should have shared it  

from the great gatsby

I didn’t want to go to the city. I wasn’t worth a decent stroke of work but it was more than that—I didn’t want to leave Gatsby. I missed that train, and then another, before I could get myself away (…) Just before I reached the hedge I remembered something and turned around. ‘They’re a rotten crowd,’ I shouted across the lawn. ‘You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together.’ I’ve always been glad I said that. It was the only compliment I ever gave him

from kafka’s diaries

may 27 1911: Today is your birthday, but I am not even sending you the usual book, for it would be only pretence; at bottom I am after all not in position to give you a book. I am writing only because it is so necessary for me today to be near you for a moment

parts from a from a letter he wrote to oskar pollak on february 4 1902

When we talk together the words are hard; we tread over them as if they were rough pavement. The most delicate things acquire awkward feet and we can’t help it. We’re almost in each other’s way; I bump into you and you - I don’t dare and you. When we come to things that are not exactly cobblestones or the Kunstwart, we suddenly see that we are in masquerade, acting with angular faces (especially me, I admit), and then we become sad and bored. Does anyone make you as bored as I do?

then I fall silent and you fall silent and you become bored, and I become bored and it’s all like a stupid hangover and there’s no use lifting a hand. But neither wants to say this to the other, out of shame or fear or - You see, we are afraid of each other, or I am.

Of course I understand it. It’s boring to stand for years in front of an ugly wall and it just won’t crumble away. Of course, but the wall is afraid for itself, fro the garden (if there is one), and you get out of sorts, yawn, have headaches, don’t know where to turn

You often talk with her, not only for the sake of talking. You walk around with her somewhere here or there, or in Roztok, and i sit at my desk at home. You talk with her, and in the middle of a sentence somebody jumps up and makes a bow. That is me with my untrimmed words and angular faces. That lasts only a moment, and then you go on talking. I sit at my desk at home and yawn. I’ve been trhough it already. Wouldn’t that separate us? Is that so strange? Are we enemies? I am very fond of you

from his leters to milena

Last night I dreamed about you. What happened in detail I can hardly remember, all I know is that we kept merging into one another. I was you, you were me. Finally you somehow caught fire.

jane wong. from clearing

We want to believe everything has meaning.Plums blossom over a power grid

and I am in love again. The shame of it.

from leslie harrison’s [sirens]

I’m not Penelope married to faith married to waitingbound in fine soft strands of silk dyed and stretchedin my world longing has teeth and fins has a tastefor blood longing is a room built entirely of knives

Lorde’s melodrama tour interlude

Don’t you wish you could go inside a heart, see the strings and atrium’s, everything beating and bleeding. It’s kind of funny, I spend almost every minute thinking about love. Being guided, and divided by love. But I’ve never seen it. It’s just a rumour, a comedown, an afterglow. I wanna see it, in colour. In the summer, I can almost picture it

from Andrea Long Chu’s on liking women

One day, you tell yourself, it will give you what you want. Then, one day, it doesn’t. Now it dawns on you that your object will probably never give you what you want. But this is not what’s disappointing, not really. What’s disappointing is what happens next: nothing. You keep your object. You continue to follow it around, stash it in a drawer, water it, tweet at it. It still doesn’t give you what you want—but you knew that. You have had another realization: not getting what you want has very little to do with wanting it. Knowing better usually doesn’t make it better. You don’t want something because wanting it will lead to getting it. You want it because you want it

ada limón, In a Mexican Restaurant I Recall How Much You Upset Me

But love is impossible and it goes ondespite the impossible. You’re the muscleI cut from the bone and still the boneremembers, still it wants (so much, it wants)the flesh back, the real thing,if only to rail against it, if onlyto argue and fight, if only to missa solve-able absence.

i dont think i need to get into mitski songs because you probably already know but basically pink in the night/come into the water/once more to see you/in happy when she says if you’re going take the train so i can hear it rumble one last rumble/in i want you from the first verse to the first time she goes “i just need a quiet place where i can scream how i love you” (YES the card thing is very important)/the first verse of i will (w emphasis on everything you feel is good i f you wold only let you)/abbey/strawberry blond

sufjan steven’s futile devices obviously predatory wasp of the palisades you know the drill 

was going to find some twin fantasy lyrics but i started thinking about famous prophets (minds) and like. emotionally left my body so. i wont be thinking about it or any other songs anymore it makes me too crazy

from frances ha

It’s that thing when you’re with someone and you love them and they know it and they love you and you know it but it’s a party and you’re both talking to other people and you’re laughing and shining and you look across the room and catch each other’s eyes. But not because you’re possessive, or it’s precisely sexual, but because that is your person in this life and it’s funny and sad but only because this life will end and it’s this secret world that exists right there. In public. Unnoticed. That no one else knows about. It’s sort of like how they say that other dimensions exist all around us but we don’t have the ability to perceive them. That’s what I want out of a relationship. Or just life, I guess.

from ellen lee’s notes on twin fantasy that i revisit constantly

there’s no going back to deliver these words to the ones they were really meant for. That’s how heartbreak feels, I guess. It feels like your heart in between the teeth of someone who’s looking away. When you’ve lost your loved object, what happens to all the things you have to say to them? When they’re turned away, what happens to all the things that you couldn’t, but desperately need(ed) to, say to their face? He dissociates himself from his own romance until it becomes a fantasy. You have your bleeding heart, you have a finite set of memories — when nothing new enters and you’re unwilling to let go, then you have a fantasy. The loved object enters into you and transforms.

the journey home by dermot bolger(havent read this at all dont really plan to/dont know a thing about it either i just came across this shit like 2 years ago and i still think about it)

I wanted to hurt him; I wanted just to touch him. What I wanted I’m not really sure. If he had stopped and opened his arms I would have walked towards him; I would have sat on the kerb all night with him

adam b, sweet i have a (really gay) heart

i feel like my body is the extension of a lake. i feel really badabout not telling you the truth, sometimes. i feelreally small next to you. tall boys remind me of bean stalks.i wish i had your legs. i wish i could know your handsbefore i even touch them

aaaand i think that’s all i could think of and track down, hope this is actually helpful and not too long (i am indecisive no kidding). also ksjdfg it’s nice that you thought to ask me this and i did have fun going over all these quotes so thank you 💖💖💖

[hcro]

lily luna potter ;; biosheet

❝ and i will STAY UP through the night. and let’s be clear, won’t close my eyes. and i KNOW that i can survive. i’ll walk through fire to save my life. and i want it, i want my LIFE so bad. i’m doing everything i can. then another one bites the dust. it’s hard to lose a chosen one. you did not break me. i’m still fighting for p e a c e. well, i’ve got thick skin and an elastic heart, but your blade - it might be too sharp. i’m like a rubber band until you pull too hard. yeah, i may snap and i move fast but you won’t see me fall apart ‘cause i’ve got an ELASTIC HEART. ❞

basics

name

lily { lil ◦ ee } :  the name lily is of old english origins, it was taken from the name of the plant having delicate, trumpet-shaped flowers regarded as a symbol of purity and perfection. the word is derived from the middle english lilie, which is from the old english and latin lilium (lily). alternatively, lily is used as a pet form of both lilian (lily) and lilith (of the night).

“people with this name have a deep inner desire to serve humanity and to give to others by sharing money, knowledge and experience, or creative and artistic ability. people with this name tend to be a powerful force to all whose lives they touch. they are capable, charismatic leaders who often undertake large endeavors with great success. they value truth, justice, and discipline, and may be quick-tempered with those who do not. if they fail to develop their potential, they may become impractical and rigid.” [ x ]

luna { loon ◦ a } : the name is directly derived from the latin luna (the moon), she was the roman mythological goddess of the moon and is equated with the greek selene. luna can be used as an astrological name for those born under the sign of cancer, which is ruled by the moon.

“people with this name have a deep inner desire for order and physical creativity, and want to be involved in conventional, safe activities. people with this name tend to be creative and excellent at expressing themselves. they are drawn to the arts, and often enjoy life immensely. they are often the center of attention, and enjoy careers that put them in the limelight. they tend to become involved in many different activities, and are sometimes reckless with both their energies and with money.” [ x ]

potter { pot ◦ ter } : the surname potter is an occupational name for a maker of drinking and storage vessels, from an agent derivative of middle english, middle low german pot. in the middle ages the term covered workers in metal as well as earthenware and clay.

—

they named you lily luna potter.

lily was after a girl with hair redder than dragon fire, just like you. your grandmother was not only an extraordinary witch but a beacon of light. lily evans-potter represented the faith that unselfish love could defeat the greatest of evils: death. she had stood for kindness, for strength, for wit, and most of all, for courage ― the fortitude to stand up to enemies and friends alike, to forge one’s own path. the right path. 

but for all of her virtue, there was a certain duality to her, and the same double-edged sword cuts through your heart. you might have her capacity for love, but you also have her overwhelming fury and ferocity. it rages within you like a unstoppable forest fire, burning so bright that anything in the vicinity will be consumed in the flames – including you. sometimes you wish you could tear your bounding heart from your body, just so you could stop this unrelenting aching in your chest, once and for all. you don’t know how to handle your passion, your spark, and you almost feel ruination is all you know. and then a thought presses at your mind, so petrifying it makes your blood runs cold: you could destroy yourself one day. the brightest flames burn out the quickest.

luna was for a woman who carries a different sort of grit than your grandma did: the boldness to always be herself without remorse, without apologies. sometimes you wonder if your godmother ever tried to change. did she ever listen when the world told her what she ought to be? since the day you were born, humanity expected nothing less than greatness from you, and you don’t remember who exactly you were before they molded you into something else. you taught yourself to be fearless and brazen and strong. but even now that you’re following in your parents’ footsteps, you’re still not enough for yourself. slowly, you’re learning not to feel shame and regret when you look into the mirror, but you find the strength to steel yourself somehow, just as luna did. in front of the flashing cameras, you paste the roguish of smiles on your face, never letting them see the cracks in your armor. people are bound to talk. you’ll give them something to talk about.

and much like your namesake luna, you treasure your friends and family with all that you have too. it was always instilled in you that nothing mattered more than your loved ones, and you took that lesson to heart, sharing with them a softness that most people have never witnessed from you. they see the girl behind the facades you wear – the bounding heart you’ve learned to keep hidden away, lest the world finally manages to break it for good.

and everyone knows what potter means. whenever you walk by, people whisper. they point. you hail from the most famous wizarding family there is, and you wear your surname like a badge of honor. you are proud to be a potter and a weasley. the accomplishments your family has amounted are extraordinary. but that’s just it, isn’t it? all your life, you’ve chased glory and praise, but when your father is the wizarding world’s savior, it is impossible to measure up to the world’s expectations of you. you’re not enough, never enough.

you take pride in your name. but you are a walking memorial of a girl, named after a martyr and a maverick. you are never only yourself; you are the names of all that came before you.

and you’ll be in their shadow for the rest of your life.

birthday

august 13, 2008

“august 13 birthday - the horoscope of the sharpshooter

your greatest challenge is: coping with your anger and impatience

the way forward is: to step outside yourself when your emotions reach boiling point. this will remind you that you alone are in charge of your feelings.

people born on august 13 zodiac are no strangers to conflict and controversy. they are sharpshooters who always aim true, and their urge to break with convention compels them to take on challenges or make waves, whatever situation they are in.

the unconventional vision, resilience and tenacity of purpose that are key characteristics of these people can earn both the admiration and the disapproval of others. this is because despite the wounding criticism of those who regard their rebellious notions as ridiculous or fanciful, they always remain faithful to their beliefs. if life doesn’t go their way, they refuse to be crushed by disappointment. and as their unusual imagination is supported by solid analytical skills, more often than not those who start out disagreeing with or disapproving of them will end up admiring their bravery, even if not agreeing with their standpoint.

as risk takers, they have all the courage, discipline and energy to attract success; what they sometimes lack is perfect timing. they need to learn when to cut their losses and move on, when to be patient, and when to pounce.

dynamic and sociable, people born on august 13 zodiac often have a wide circle of friends, and their deeply felt passions and zest for life are incredibly attractive to romantic partners. however, deep insecurities underneath the bravado may block their dreams of intimacy and true love.

on the dark size: brash, insensitive, unrealistic

at your best: ambitious, resilient, courageous” [ x ]

lily came into this world only two days after her mum’s birthday, predestining her to a lifetime of comparisons to ginny. like her mother before her, she was the youngest and only girl, born at the height of summer, with hair as red as hellfire and dark, dark eyes. but anyone who’s truly paying attention could deduce the truth: there is so much harry within lily, far more than there is ginny. it’s uncanny.

because of the proximity of the dates, she’s never had a celebration to herself, and for a girl with two borrowed names, she finds herself craving something – anything – to call her own. would there ever come a day where someone would think of her without thinking of her crippling legacy? she loves her ancestry so much that she would never dare think of breaking free, but sometimes she’s not sure if she’s truly her own person or just a crude amalgam of her family.

gender

a cis-woman

sexuality

bisexual demiromantic

somewhere deep down, lily always had an inkling that she was bisexual, but it took several years for her to come to this revelation while she navigated through her internalized fear and doubt. it certainly wasn’t her family that instilled this as they had always been so accepting and supportive, but society had ingrained compulsory heterosexuality into her, making it difficult for her to find validity in her feelings for girls. she’s still not publicly out, as she isn’t ready to face the vitriol of the media, but her close friends and family all know.

much like her mother in her youth, lily has never dated anyone for long. see, while she often experiences sexual attraction, lily hasn’t quite felt a romantic attraction to anyone in years. there have been inklings of feelings here and there, yes, but never anything truly substantial. lily worries she might never fall in love again, a thought that terrifies her. but what terrifies her even more is falling in love. she’s a contradiction in that regard–she longs for intimacy but she’s afraid to be vulnerable. a highly distrustful and guarded person, she isn’t used to letting her guard down. to lily, that’s how you get hurt.

because she’s demiromantic (although she hasn’t realized it yet), lily needs to feel a romantic attraction, there needs to be an established emotional connection, a kinship. she will never have instant romantic feelings for someone. it takes time for lily to love you–and even more time for her to accept it. falling in love, after all, is opening yourself up to someone who might not feel the same. falling in love means making sacrifices for someone who might betray you. falling in love makes you weak and takes away your control, and that is what scares lily more than almost anything. so it takes a lot of trust for her to willingly admit she’s fallen in love, trust that is very hard for someone to earn.

when lily does love though, she loves recklessly. lily is always consumed by her emotions, and love is far from the exception. for those that she loves, she would eternally condemn herself to the depths of hell without a second of thought. she will bleed and ache and suffer without complaint to protect them. she’ll even kill.

blood status

halfblood

hogwarts house

gryffindor

there was never a doubt in her mind where she would be sorted until she let the sorting hat fall over her eyes. she expected to hear him bellow “gryffindor!” in a matter of seconds, but the hat took his sweet time, telling her that she could find a home with the snakes, if she wished to forge a separate path for herself.

not slytherin, she nearly cried out, clenching the edges of the stool so tightly that her nails sunk into the wood. clearing her throat, she whispered to the hat in a voice so imperious it could order kings to bow, “i will accept nothing less than gryffindor. that is where you will place me.”

the hat considered, lily’s heart pounding so fast it threatened to burst from her chest. “ordering around an all-knowing hat is definitely bold of you, if not incredibly foolish. have it your way then – it’ll have to be gryffindor!”

[ on pottermore, lily has been sorted into slytherin and gryffindor about an equal amount of times. at first glance, lily comes off as the quintessential gryffindor. however, much like her father, lily is someone who could have gone a different path into the snake pit, but ultimately, that was not what she wanted for herself. she exhibits the slytherin qualities of determination, resourcefulness, guile, and ambition, but she doesn’t value them nearly as much as she lauds her bravery, chivalry, and righteousness. and in fact, she scorns slytherin’s tendency towards self preservation. furthermore, lily’s black-and-white views of morality is just so very gryffindor at its heart – her quench for retribution is downright bloodthirsty and ruthless, but in her mind, it’s justice. she is perhaps the darkest and most dangerous sort of gryffindor – the way she sees the world is so skewed, but she views herself as right. whether she is a hero, villain, or something in between is up for debate; wickedness isn’t inherently a slytherin trait, just as goodness isn’t inherently a gryffindor trait. but she’s a gryffindor through and through.

i do think that she possesses many of the traits that salazar slytherin admires in a person though, as much as she tries to deny it. lily doesn’t hate all slytherins, but she remains prejudiced towards the house as a whole. it’s hypocritical and paranoid, really. for a girl so against bigotry, she treats a great deal of slytherins with disdain, perhaps loathing many of them more than they loathe her. the worst part is, she does see parts of herself in every slytherin, and it disgusts her. ]

religion

agnostic christian

religion was never an integral part of the potter household. her memories of attending sunday morning church are few and far between, but lily still identifies as christian, celebrating christmas and easter at the burrow every year. and there is no time better than christmas time in lily’s book. she loves sitting by the crackling fire with a cup of hot cocoa—topped with whipped cream and tiny marshmallows of course. she loves the smell of the fresh pine trees. she loves decorating the house with ornaments and lights and garlands. and if she’s in a particularly good mood, she’ll even attempt to help with the cooking and the baking. (but in all honesty, if she can make it five minutes without destroying the kitchen, that’s a christmas miracle in itself.)

nationality

english

student functions

dueling club captain, gryffindor chaser, s.p.e.w. club member, debate club member

dueling club captain

it might come as a shock that the daughter of two renowned quidditch players would rather be president of the dueling club than the gryffindor quidditch team, but lily’s never had her sights set on pursuing quidditch as a profession. she’s always dreamed of following in her father’s footsteps and joining the auror ranks, so dueling club was the natural first step to honing her combat skills. she’s been a member since the start of her hogwarts career, but it was only this year that she was finally granted that elusive captaincy.

with the sheer strength behind her spellwork and her stellar instincts in a scrimmage, she’s considered to be a dueling prodigy of sorts and has amassed a number of trophies over the years. her marks in defense against the dark arts and charms are unparalleled among her peers because she works so immensely hard to eclipse everyone else – she hopes that some glowing recommendations will prove to them (and herself) that she has earned her spot with the aurors. it won’t be handed to her because of her family name and influence but through painstakingly hard work.

but dueling club isn’t simply a means to an end to lily. there is nothing she covets more than the glorious burn in her muscles in a seething fight – the adrenaline rush when she’s high on a win. she relishes in the pain because it’s a reminder that she’s still alive, that the ice hasn’t completely turned her numb. lily always needs to be moving or else she’ll remember everything she’s trying so hard to forget.

the staff must think of her father and dumbledore’s army when they survey her demonstrations, but little do they know she and the rest of the club have tampered with the dark arts. “is it better to outmonster the monster or to be quietly devoured?” lily doesn’t know the answer, but she thinks of her father’s cold, cold body and the spell that stole his life. she’ll only call upon such terrible magic in the direst of circumstances, but it’s best that she’s aware of exactly what she’s fighting against as far as she’s concerned.

gryffindor chaser

quidditch might be less of a priority to lily than dueling club, but she still cherishes the sport more than she could ever express aloud. she loves the smooth handle of her prized broom, given to her by her dad on her eleventh birthday, engraved with her initials. she relishes in the freedom of the rushing wind against her skin, how alive she feels when she flies. (it’s hard to feel alive these days.) quidditch is her chance to escape herself, to be unfettered from all the thoughts swirling around in her head.

when she learned how to play, she took to the quaffle, not the snitch. lily can never see herself choosing to wait when she can still move – racing around the pitch and scoring goal after goal is better than squinting in the wind, praying for something to happen. there’s nothing like the excitement of the match to get her blood rushing. she knows that when they cheer for her, it’s not because of who she is but because of the points she just scored. there’s no better feeling than that.

she’s thought about quitting – who could think of quidditch in a time like this? but it was her father who taught her how to soar through the sky, and now that he’s gone, she can’t bear to sever that connection to him. so for once, she’ll let herself be selfish.

physical appearance

hair

red. the same red as her mother’s hair, although ginny’s has slightly faded overtime with age. lily’s has natural loose waves, but she has been known to straighten or curl it from time to time. it depends on her whims that day, really. save for one disastrous haircut when she was nine though, her hair has never been short. it’s almost impossible to style short hair after all, and lily adores playing around with different styles. her hair is most often–and unsurprisingly–the first thing people notice about her. it’s hard to miss hair that red in a crowd.

eyes

brown and almond-shaped like her mother. lily breathes passion and emotion, so it’s no surprise that despite her best efforts to conceal her emotions, her eyes are often the window to her soul; they’re so very expressive. lily will make deliberate eye contact almost always–even when lying–except in moments where she’s feeling particularly vulnerable. that is when she will look away. but the expression she makes most often? eye rolls. she’s perfected them over the years.

height

5’0. she’s fairly sure she’s already done growing; she’s about as tall as her mum who stopped growing around sixteen. lily isn’t insecure about her height, but she loathes being underestimated for it. she refuses to allow herself to be disregarded and thought of as a little girl merely because she’s small–as her uncle says, “size is no guarantee of power,” and lily is the utter proof of that.

weight

98 lbs

body type

short and petite

voice

energetic and loud—if one wishes to be heard in the weasley family, loudness is a necessity. and if she’s particularly upset, it’s not uncommon for lily’s voice to turn shrill, high pitched, and piercing. lily also tends to speak in exaggerated tones with a great deal of emphasis placed on her words, and she’s no stranger to swears either, often struggling to tone it down among her superiors. lily’s been told she’s mouthy, and it’s true; she talks a far deal, so much so that it’s hard to get a word in with her around.

gait

lily tends to move swiftly from one place to another, never one to waste time to stop and smell the roses; she has things to do, for merlin’s sake. luckily, she was blessed with grace and coordination unlike some people (hem, hem, teddy), and her posture is decent by all accounts except her aunt fleur’s.

piercings

ears, once on each side.

markings/scars

various scrapes and scars. some of them are from the childhood adventures she used to drag her cousins into; one particular time she attempted to climb the tall oak tree in the burrow’s backyard, which resulted in a concussion, a broken leg, and a large scar on her arm that she covers via magic and makeup. but the vast majority are the product of raging fights and heart-palpitating duels – they are her shining battle scars. she keeps them carefully glamoured to prevent the mirage of her delicacy from shattering, but the truth is, she’s proud of them. they are a symbol of every war she’s won. everything she’s overcome.

personal style

[ tw: sexualization of a minor ]

feminine. lily has always been very comfortable in her femininity, her aunt fleur teaching her from a young age that it’s possible to be both effeminate and strong. she is a strong believer that females should be allowed to dress as they please and not be discriminated against for it, and she loathes it when people write her off as a weak little princess for her fashion choices. lily most often wears blood red lipstick and nail polish–her battle armor in the fight against feminism. most people are surprised to see that a little girl with such “girly” taste has such a mouth on her, but lily potter is no princess in distress. lily potter is the dragon standing guard.

and growing up in the weasley-potter household, she was no stranger to muggle culture, so thus her clothing choices are much more similar to that of a teenage muggle girl than a budding witch. she loves dresses and skirts and blouses and crop tops, and don’t even get her started on stilettos. she has one particular leather jacket though, given to her by her brother victoire, that she actually doesn’t mind wearing—as long as she has her stockings and leather miniskirt on. she’s almost never seen without makeup on–blush, lipstick, and mascara at the very least–and she keeps her nails sharp and painted. lily has actually assisted her uncle with the wonderwitch line at weasley’s wizard wheezes before; she helped george develop a line of long-staying lipstick and nail polish. 

her wardrobe choices are considered promiscuous by the media. her skirts are too short. too much of her cleavage shows in her tops. she exposes her midriff more than she should. but lily doesn’t dress the way that she does to attract people–she dresses the way that she does because she likes it. she won’t stand for accusations of “distracting the males around her.” it isn’t her job to dress more modestly to aid their self control. if a boy touches her without her permission or uses misogynistic slurs towards her, she will destroy them without a single thought.

the media made the mistake of sexualizing her from a young age, calling her all sorts of names like whore and slag. her clothes are a “fuck you” to rita skeeter and the journalists at witch weekly. you want to see a girl gone wild? then that’s what you’ll get, darling. (the anger seethes in her body so long that it rots her bones – one day she’ll come for them all.)

headcanons

fears

losing more family, not living up to expectations, disappointing her family and not living up to the family name, never finding love, opening up to be rejected or betrayed, the thought of being afraid itself, being powerless or limited, not being in control of herself, being perceived as weak, not being able to save the people she cares about, falling in love with the wrong person, the possibility that she’s just as terrible as the people she loathes, not making it as an auror

her fears are most often abstract rather than physical, tangible things. in fact, lily’s boggart manifests into her body on the floor, trapped in a full body bind while helplessly watching a faceless person murder the people she cares about, one by one. the deadliest foes will not make her blink but the very thought of being powerless when she needs her the strength the most? it can be crippling. when she was first faced with her boggart in her third year whilst in dada class, lily froze for several seconds, absolutely paralyzed by the image, a fact she still denies to this day. she is a potter. she is the strong one. she isn’t supposed to know fear. (oh but she does.)

goals

[ tw: parental death ]

ending the war, becoming an auror, living up to her name, freeing herself from her family’s shadow, making the world a better place, finding a way to impose justice on those who’ve wronged her

lily longs to make her family proud of her, but even more so, she wishes to escape their shadow, to be seen as a separate entity. she wants to earn her accomplishments, not be handed them on a silver platter. she wants to make a change, a true difference. it’s idealistic of her, but that’s what she wants. if lily glimpsed into the mirror of erised before her father’s death, she would have seen herself finally free from her father’s shadow, being given the order of merlin first class, her proud family in the background. but now? if she were to look, all she would see is her father, standing right by her side.

amortentia

firewhiskey, petrichor, firewood, hot chocolate, broom polish, old books, roses, treacle tart, strawberries and whipped cream, french vanilla, the sea, chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven, cinnamon, cherries, cloves

patronus

phoenix.

“the phoenix is a difficult patronus to come by, and if you do happen to have it, it signifies a very strong heart. these people have been through a lot in their life, and have risen from the ashes of it and become driven, daring, and a bit stubborn. they will not let anything bring them down, because they’ve been there before and never want to go back to that place. they have fire-like emotions, and can therefore be a bit tense at times. they are natural therapists, wanting to help others get out of tough places to allow them to rise as well. the most common house for a phoenix patronus is gryffindor. the most common signs are leo and taurus.” [ x ]

everything in that description is so lily to me, but because i like to be thorough, i’m going to delve in a little deeper.

the phoenix is a bird with red and gold plumage–the colors of gryffindor. and although lily does have traits from the other houses as well, she is essentially the textbook gryffindor. their scarlet body feathers glow in the darkness, and their gold tail feathers are scorching to the touch, a perfect metaphor for the flames within her.

phoenixes are said to be capable of carrying tremendously large loads, and this also screams lily to me because this is the girl who’s trying to carry the world on her shoulders. she may be failing, but merlin is she trying. and the truth is, lily can withstand a great deal before hitting her limit, her breaking point. just like a phoenix.

phoenixes are symbols of rebirth and healing; they may go up in flames every now and again, but every time, they come back from it. they come back from it just as strong as they were before. this is lily. she is the girl with the elastic heart, the girl who’s overcome so much in her small time on earth thus far. and she will do whatever it takes to heal her loved ones until her last dying breath.

the phoenix song evokes bravery in the hearts of the righteous and strikes terror into the hearts of the wicked – lily is a person who has the capacity to save the planet from the brink of devastation or set it on flames herself. but one thing is for certain: she will change the world.

lastly, the phoenix is of course the symbol of the order of the phoenix. her loyalty to the order’s values and her family is unwavering, and to me, it makes sense that her patronus would also reflect that.

wand

[ tw: parental death ]

12 inches, cypress, dragon heartstring, hard

“cypress - cypress wands are associated with nobility. the great medieval wandmaker, geraint ollivander, wrote that he was always honoured to match a cypress wand, for he knew he was meeting a witch or wizard who would die a heroic death. fortunately, in these less blood-thirsty times, the possessors of cypress wands are rarely called upon to lay down their lives, though doubtless many of them would do so if required. wands of cypress find their soul mates among the brave, the bold and the self-sacrificing: those who are unafraid to confront the shadows in their own and others’ natures.

dragon heartstring - symbolizes power and wisdom. those who are strong, wise, compassionate, dedicated, relentless, resilient, bold, strong-minded, head-strong, powerful, ambitious, highly determined and driven (to obsessive), have strong desire and/or stubborn would have this wand core. having such a wand core suggests that you can be bossy at times, but also have a fiery disposition and have firm convictions, which will lead you down the road to leadership, as well as being devoted and selfless. this is the best core to have for hexes, the dark arts and all manner of elemental magic. it is a core predominantly found among those of house slytherin, but can also bond well with those of house ravenclaw and house gryffindor. as a rule, dragon heartstring cores produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. wands with dragon heartstring cores tend to learn more quickly than other types. in elemental magic, dragon heartstring cores are the most flexible of all the common cores, being that they work well with all manner of elemental spells, but no doubt that fire spells are among the most potent with this core type. while they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner. such wands also tend to be easiest to turn to the dark arts, though they will not incline that way of their own accord. such wands are also the most prone to the ‘three cores to accidents’, being somewhat temperamental. dragon heartstring cores are a powerful wand core with a lot of magical “heft”. they are not the wand core you want for subtlety, but for sheer power, they are definitely the best. although they are the most common core among dark wizards and dark witches, they are most certainly not their most common users. dragon heartstring cores are by far the most common wand core amongst slytherins, but their power often bonds well to gryffindors and ravenclaws as well. however, they tend to overwhelm the archetypal hufflepuff personality.

hard - a wand of this flexibility is very difficult to work with and its loyalty is not won easily. hard wands are great for complex and advanced levels of magic, so beginning wizards and witches may find extra difficulty with this wand when it doesn’t perform well for simple magic. as such, this type of wand is best suited for wizards and witches who are gifted, stubborn, and never give up. owners of this wand also have a tendency to view things in absolutes; black or white. some people may find them intimidating or difficult to approach.” [ x ]

in classical antiquity, the cypress tree was a symbol of mourning, death, and the underworld, and it remains the most common cemetery tree in europe. her wand wood is not only a metaphor for lily’s name and all that her family has lost but also a poignant symbol of her underlying trauma – the early death of her childhood. the most well-known myth about the cypress tree is the tale of cyparissus and his beloved stag companion, who he accidentally murdered with his hunting javelin. his sorrow was so consuming that he begged to weep forever, transforming into a cypress tee, with the tree’s sap as his tears. as the stag is of course harry’s patronus, it all relates back to her father and her grief over him.

bad habits

becoming so intensely focused that she forgets to eat, over-straining or over-extenuating herself, being quick to anger, drinking too much, reality television, swearing, using romantic relationships and hook-ups as a means to feel better about herself, staying up too late, having too many cups of coffee per day, lying to others (and herself), seeing things too black-and-white, being too loud, over-involving herself into others’ affairs, letting her emotions completely consume her, placing blame where it does not belong (on both herself and others), deflecting with sarcasm

likes

peonies and roses (her favorite flowers, not lilies), pop music (she likes upbeat songs she can dance to -- her favorite artists are lorde, beyonce, rihanna, sia, and marina and the diamonds and she almost exclusively listens to female artists), quidditch (she plays chaser like her mum), reality television (a guilty pleasure), the sea (when she’s around water, she feels at peace for once for it soothes the flames burning within her), coffee, hot chocolate (it reminds her of christmas, her favorite time of the year), the color red, muggle literature, family, romance movies (another guilty pleasure though she’ll never admit it), french food, dueling, honeydukes chocolate, treacle tart (it’s her favorite, much like her father), alcohol, fashion, puppies (she will not tolerate cats), warm weather, fire, dueling, nail polish (she has a plethora of colors), stilettos, and surprisingly a great deal of “nerdy” things (such as star wars, lord of the rings, and comic books) but if you try to call her a nerd she’s likely to punch you

quirks

lily cannot cook at all and has set her kitchen on fire multiple occasions.

she loves to sing but is so horrifically tone deaf that she truly shouldn’t. (her favorite genre is pop.)

her art consists of poorly colored stick figures, honestly resembling that of a child’s.

for someone so fiery, she is very averse to the winter. three minutes in the cold and she’ll be absolutely freezing—goosebumps and all.

she much prefers muggle clothes to robes.

secrets

[ tw: emotional abuse, binge drinking/developing alcoholism, ptsd ]

lily has always been brazen and intrepid and fierce, but as a child, she was just a bit softer, before the world hardened her. unfortunately, growing up under the microscope of the media, she was still left vulnerable to vitriol and sexualization, and it forced her to grow up too fast, despite her family’s best efforts to shield their little girl. this is when her insecurities truly started to grapple her, but she responded by putting on an unbreakable facade and feigning confidence. when she was in her third year, she dated someone for the first time, a fifth year named adonis. he was utterly beguiling, like a python before it swallows you whole. at first, there was the honeymoon period where she felt as though she were on top of the world – a beautiful older boy was interested in her. but it was all a cruel game to him, and over time, he pinpointed her insecurities and used them to influence and control her in a manner that was so sly it took her ages to realize it. this was all while convincing her to keep their relationship a secret, so her family would be none the wiser, which isolated her from those who truly cared about her. after about five or six months, she finally recognized something was very wrong and broke free from him, but the emotional abuse and gaslighting left its toll on her as she came to terms with it. never in her life had she felt so stupid, so foolish, and she vowed to never lose control again. this heavily contributed to her fear of falling in love. nowadays, she never lasts in a romantic relationship long, flitting from person to person. she hasn’t ever talked about what happened, but in his seventh year (her fifth), she discovered that he was isolating and manipulating another girl, and she clandestinely struck with a curse that left him permanently blind. never again would he be able to touch her – or anyone else. she can only hope the taste of her was worth it.

after she broke up with him, she also started drinking at parties to endure the fame and trauma, savoring how the firewhiskey numbed her and allowed her an temporary escape from herself. it started out innocuous, but over the years, she’s fallen deeper into alcoholism as it’s very much a coping mechanism for her. while she doesn’t truly hide her drinking, she shuts down anyone who tries to tell her she has a problem. 

she’s still a virgin. she’s fooled around before, but every time she comes close to letting someone truly see her, she thinks about how she almost slept with someone she shouldn’t have. she’s never properly dealt with the trauma from her first relationship, but as far she’s concerned, she’s perfectly fine.

her confidence is merely a mask for her insecurities about not being good enough. fake it until you make it, muggles say, and lily cannot disagree.

she pretends as if she isn’t afraid of anything—as if nothing fazes her—when in reality, she knows fear just as much as everyone else. she simply won’t admit it.

jung type

enfj. (extroversion over introversion; intuition over sense; feelings over thoughts; judging over perceiving)

“enfjs are the benevolent ‘pedagogues’ of humanity. they have tremendous charisma by which many are drawn into their nurturant tutelage and/or grand schemes. many enfjs have tremendous power to manipulate others with their phenomenal interpersonal skills and unique salesmanship. but it’s usually not meant as manipulation — enfjs generally believe in their dreams, and see themselves as helpers and enablers, which they usually are.

enfjs are global learners. they see the big picture. the enfjs focus is expansive. some can juggle an amazing number of responsibilities or projects simultaneously.many enfjs have tremendous entrepreneurial ability.

enfjs are, by definition, js, with whom we associate organization and decisiveness. but they don’t resemble the sjs or even the ntjs in organization of the environment nor occasional recalcitrance. enfjs are organized in the arena of interpersonal affairs. their offices may or may not be cluttered, but their conclusions (reached through feelings) about people and motives are drawn much more quickly and are more resilient than those of their nfp counterparts.

enfjs know and appreciate people. like most nfs, (and feelers in general), they are apt to neglect themselves and their own needs for the needs of others. they have thinner psychological boundaries than most, and are at risk for being hurt or even abused by less sensitive people. enfjs often take on more of the burdens of others than they can bear.” [ x ]

moral alignment

chaotic good.

“chaotic stands overall for freedom and adaptability, and especially chaotic good embodies that. characters of this alignment disdain bureaucratic organisations that get in the way of social improvement and place high value on personal freedom - but not just their own, but the personal freedom of others as well. since they are on the good axis, they are altruistic and intend to do what is right, regardless of what society may think of it, or whether they go against the law while doing it. think of a vigilante that’s a champion of the people, but frequently breaks the law helping people. they’re not much for planning and extensive organisation versus improvisation, and may create conflict in a team if they feel being pushed around (by, for instance, a lawful character). chaotic good characters might best work independently for that reason, or at least with someone who will respect their personal boundaries.

traits: rebellious, free-spirited, listens to their conscience, follows own moral compass, independent, kind, benevolent, believes in goodness, cares little for laws and regulations, good-natured, unpredictable, value freedom, believe people should follow their own desires, responsible, doubt their government, reckless

positives: combines a good heart with a free spirit, encourages selflessness, encourages freedom and equality, doing good is not seen as a duty, doing good is their responsibility, punishes evil and protects the innocent, keep their word, helps those in need, never kills for pleasure

negatives: disrupts the order of society, punishes those who do well for themselves, often resent authority, refuse to do good as a duty even if they end up doing it anyway on their own terms, promote society with little control from the government, occasionally breaks the law, may resort to torture when deemed necessary, may kill when deemed necessary” [ x ]

temperament

choleric.

“the choleric is an extroverted, hot-tempered, quick thinking, active, practical, strong-willed and easily annoyed person. cholerics are self-confident, self-sufficient and very independent minded. they are decisive and opinionated and find it easy to make decisions for themselves as well as others. cholerics tend to leave little room for negotiating. the choleric is a visionary and seems to never run out of ideas, plans and goals, which are usually very practical. the choleric does not require as much sleep as the other temperaments so their activity seems endless. their activity almost always has a purpose because they are by nature result-oriented. they usually do not give in to the pressure of what others think unless they see that they cannot get the desired results. cholerics can be crusaders against social injustice as they love to fight for a cause. cholerics are both direct and firm when responding to others. they are slow to build relationships because results tend to be more important than people. they do not easily empathize with the feelings of others or show compassion. cholerics think big and seek positions of authority.” [ x ]

enneagram

type eight (with a type seven wing).

“the powerful, dominating type:

self-confident, decisive, willful, and confrontational

generally, eights are strong, assertive, resourceful, independent, determined, action-oriented, pragmatic, competitive, straight-talking, shrewd, and insistent.

eights get into conflicts by being blunt, willful, domineering, forceful, defiant, confrontational, bad-tempered, rageful, cynical, and vengeful.

at their best, eights are honorable, heroic, empowering, generous, gentle, constructive, initiating, decisive, and inspiring.

enneagram type 8 with the 7 wing desire to appear commanding and see themselves as outspoken, innovative, intense, daring, striking, attractive and tenderhearted.

basic fear: of being harmed or controlled by others.

basic desire: to protect themselves, to be in control of their own life and destiny.

basic motivations: want to be self-reliant, to prove their strength and resist weakness, to be important in their world, to dominate the environment, and to stay in control of their situation.

stress point: type five - withdraws, avoids people, observes and thinks, consolidates plans.

security point: type two - protector of the weak, generous, helpful, charming.” [ x ]

soul type

the warrior.

the source i used for this one was another long page [ x ], so i’m just going to copy and paste the quotes that seemed particularly lily-ish.

“warriors are forceful souls; they embody qualities of strength, courage and determination. like kings, warriors are action-oriented beings, and therefore down-to-earth, single-minded and very willful. unlike kings, however, they tend to be more attracted to the cut and thrust of battle (whether real or metaphorical), preferring to just get stuck in rather than to stand back pulling all the strings.”

“warrior souls tend to see life in terms of confrontations and rising to the challenge. there are causes to serve, struggles to be overcome, battles to be won. they like to be on the front line with their trusted comrades, and strongly value both courage and loyalty. the basic drive of any warrior is to uphold something “right” and defeat something “wrong”, however those two are defined.”

“in the positive pole, persuasion, a warrior is forceful and effective without being overbearing. in other words, respectfully persuasive, courageous and protective. in the negative pole, coercion, the warrior descends into intimidation.”

zodiac

her sun sign is leo.

“the lion.

fixed, fire, yang - planetary ruler: the sun. keywords: i will

leo is the fifth sign of the zodiac and rules the back, the spine, and the heart. positive traits include creativity, charisma, generosity, warmth, enthusiasm, a natural talent for leadership, and a great deal of inner power; negative traits are haughtiness, snobbery, an expectation that one is the centre of attention and should be waited on by everyone else, profligacy, lack of realism, dominance that can lead to bullying, and a refusal to change one’s mind even in the face of solid facts.

this is a natural sign for gryffindors, not least because the griffin is part lion. gryffindors born under this sign are outgoing, friendly, affectionate, and likeable. they make friends easily and are crushed when their advances are rejected. their romantic, chivalrous nature makes them perfect examples of all that is best in their house. however, they are also bossy, domineering, spendthrift, and overly dramatic (ever heard the phrase ‘drama queen?’) they have sharp tempers and need to learn to direct their anger toward only needful causes. the natural creativity and flamboyance of leo makes gryffindors born under this sign good at most everything they attempt, provided they apply themselves to learning magic rather than using magic to hog the limelight.” [ x ]

her moon sign is scorpio, a fixed water sign. the moon sign explanation i’m using [ x ] is particularly long, so i’m not going to copy and paste the whole thing, but here are some things on there that i feel really apply to lily.

“because the depth of your emotions – their strength and potential power – can be so intense, they can at times be overwhelming. early on in life, you may find yourself swinging between extremes of emotional peaks and troughs, feeling intensely and acutely every dimension of life. you are reminded not to collapse yourself into your emotions, or believe just because an emotion has intensity it must be acted upon. part of your nature requires you to allow strong feelings to unfold without being overcome by them.”

“you feel intensely, for better or for worse. this can at times make you seem vulnerable, but in truth you are likely to have much strength. your emotional nature combines sensitivity with the instinctual awareness that real growth only happens through episodes of pain and transformation.”

“there may be a tendency to try and protect this vulnerability, hiding the true depths of what you really feel. this tendency to suppress your emotions can go both ways. on the one hand, you may try to detach from uncomfortable emotions, and avoid circumstances that will really get you to feel. you may protect yourself from close encounters with others, and find emotional release through fictional or fantasy-based sources. or, you may attempt to control and dominate others with moodiness, lashing out at them before they can ‘get to you’. defense is used as a form of offense to prevent others discovering how sensitive and vulnerable you really feel.”

“at its highest level, the moon in scorpio gives you the ability to transform your own and others lives. you can act as an agent for change to become a catalyst for greater growth and awareness. you can help others shift their psychological values. the potential power contained here is enormous. you have the opportunity to be a force for change.”

lastly her ascendant sign is aries, with mars also in aries. again, the page i’m using [ x ] is long, so i’m just going to copy and paste some things that stand out to me.

“people with aries ascendants are direct and quick. their first instinct is to do, rather than think.”

“some aries rising people are competitive, but they generally put most of the pressure on themselves. these people love to come out ahead in all that they do. they get ready quickly, walk quickly, and have little patience for dilly-dallying. their temper is quick, too.”

“your ruling planet, mars, is also in aries: you are a fireball of vitality and a true warrior. become a master of yourself and conquer your own arrogance, impatience, and anger before you go out to conquer the world or burn yourself out.”  

tropes

action girl, chronic hero syndrome, determinator, good is not soft, tsundere, lady of adventure, red is heroic, fool for love, the idealist, rebellious spirit, lethal chef, go-getter girl, fiery redhead

character parallels

blossom (powerpuff girls), barbara gordon (batman comics), rose hathaway (vampire academy), buffy summers (buffy: the vampire slayer), anastasia (anastasia 1997), leia organa (star wars), mary jane watson (spiderman), nina zenik (six of crows), kim possible (kim possible), kayley (quest for camelot), sabrina spellman (chilling adventures of sabrina), arya stark (a song of ice and fire), rey (star wars)

element

fire

lily is the living embodiment of fire – most of the time, she is a seething forest fire, and all she knows is destruction. but some days, she’s reduced down to a mere spark, a flicker. no matter what though, she’s always burning.

deadly sin

wrath

she is choleric and vindictive and ferocious and wicked. she knows this, and deep down, she’s utterly terrified that she might truly be a horrible person. she wasn’t always this bitter, this cruel, but she is never going to be the girl she once was. she isn’t ever coming back.

heavenly virtue

charity

lily isn’t infallible – she’s a teenage girl after all – but she’s surprisingly selfless when it comes to the people she cares about. she’d do just about anything for them. hell, she’d sacrifice herself for any of them without hesitation if it ever came down to it. her wand wood is cypress for a reason.

history

birthplace

st. mungo’s hospital

residence

godric’s hallow

socioeconomic status

upper class, wealthy

pets

a little cairn terrier named toto

lily is such a dog person – once during her first year she and hagrid tried to sneak in another three-headed puppy into hogwarts; he was a vicious little thing named buddy (because these two consider any dog their buddy, even if it could bite their head off). but minerva mcgonagall caught her in the nick of time and the poor headmistress chewed them out so loudly that the hogsmeade villagers most likely heard. and buddy was given back to his original owner. but now lily owns a little cairn terrier who means the world to her – the only boy she’s ever loved, or so she claims. his name is toto because he looks suspiciously like toto from wizard of oz, a favorite childhood movie of hers, and he was given to lily last year by her close friend, clarabel, who’s particularly talented at conjuring animals. curiously, his personality and disposition almost mirrors clarabel’s, most likely because she was the one who brought him to life. as toto isn’t technically “real” (please don’t say this to her), he does not age and could disappear at any given moment, which was the only reason why she was allowed to bring him to hogwarts. granted, it took several impassioned speeches to mcgonagall that went something along the lines of “albus is allowed to bring a ferret, but i can’t bring a dog? ferrets carry diseases, headmistress!” it’s almost remarkable how a girl this hardened can be so soft in the presence of dogs.

father

[ tw: parental death ]

lily adored her father to the point of idolization. from a young age, lily became convinced that he could do no wrong, that he was impervious to evil and completely invincible. he was the savior of the wizarding world. the world’s hero. her hero. she would have followed him to the end of the world. it is because of him that she has always dreamed of becoming an auror. she wanted to make him proud, and moreover, she wants to do some good in the world herself. however, her idolization of her father certainly has its negative effects; she puts him on so high of a pedestal that she can’t admit his faults, especially now. not to mention, she’s so concerned about not living up to the expectations of the potter name and is convinced she will never be able to. she will never live up to her dad. and she will spend the rest of her life not knowing how proud of her he really was.

mother

her relationship with her mother is much healthier than her relationship with her father. although she’s always been a bit closer to harry, ginny and lily are still close to each other, and ginny is most protective over her youngest daughter because she always longed for a girl. while harry taught her how to fly, it was ginny who taught her how to play quidditch. lily inherited her natural chaser skills (among other things). lily would confide in her mother almost anything. yes, they do argue because their personalities are both so strong, but there is complete trust and respect between the two of them.

siblings

in the potter-weasley clan, family is valued over anything, and her older siblings are no exception. although they are older in age, lily is viciously protective over them. she watches out for them because she needs them—she needs albus and james. she has no clue what she’d do without her brothers around, but she never wants to find out. lily would lay down her lives for them in a heartbeat, no hesitation at all, no questions asked. because if it’s between them or her, she’d choose herself every time. they have their rows–all siblings do–but at the end of the day, she’s with them until the end of the line.

early history

i. rooting

your relatives always tell the same little anecdotes about your birth. after all those times you hear them over family dinner, birthday parties, the frequent family outings ― any time and place your parents could embarrass you, honestly ― you memorize them.

mum will always go on and on about the pain, how it felt like “a bloody watermelon was coming out of my birth canal,” and dad will always reminisce about how she cursed like a sailor at him every five minutes for “putting this goddamn demon baby in my tiny stomach” and how she threatened to strangle him later. uncle ron will always talk about how he almost fainted when you came out of mum because holy crap the blood. and of course, grandma will always reprimand them for exaggerating and reassure everyone that mum never once called you a demon.

but here’s the part that always sticks to you the most: you were the hardest, most painful birth out of the three. when your mother finally did manage to push you out, you kicked and screamed and cried, and she looked at you and faintly murmured, still weak from the pain, “that’s it. i’m done.”

and you are their final child.

✿ ❀ ✿ ❀ ✿

the youngest and smallest daughter of a prodigious family, you grow up showered with unadulterated affection and care ― you are so loved that you could drown in its depths. there is never a single moment you doubt just how much they cherish you. it’s in every bear hug, every kiss to your forehead, every pinched cheek. they love you more than the world itself, giving you everything that they have, teaching you all that they know.

grandpa instills in you a curiosity and compassion for the mortal world, like the foolhardy little mermaid’s fascination with the shore up above. “just because they don’t share the same powers we do doesn’t mean they’re magicless,” he insists. “everyone has magic flowing inside of their veins. there are people out there who somehow manage to remember every tune on the radio, children who always know how to make their big siblings laugh, grandmas who always brew a perfect cup of tea. you don’t think there’s something magic to that? all you have to do is look, lils. you’ll see it.”

grandma tries to teach you how to cook, but you’re so quickly infuriated in the kitchen that your magic bubbles to a boil as steaming as dragon fire. before you can stop it, it bursts through the seams of your body and sets the food alight. every damn time. after aquamenti’s spluttered out for the fifteenth time amongst the thick and engulfing smoke, molly just heaves a sigh and shakes her head. “well, we’ll try again when you’re older, darling.” (why is it so much easier for you to destroy than create? sometimes you feel as though you are ruination entrapped in a tiny slip of a girl as it pounds and hollers to be set free. nurture is the gene that you failed to inherit, and it haunts you.)

but mum shows you how to wield those flames inside of you, to take the destruction and demolition thumping in your chest and weaponize it. “your family will always be here to fight for you, but it’s still important that you learn how to fend for yourself.” you learn how to fight tooth and nail. the muggle way, without the divinity of a wand. you’re the spitting image of your mother, small as they come, but size is no guarantee of power. you know that well. when you play make believe, you never demand to be the princess but the knight in shining armor, sword and shield in hand.

from your uncle ron, you learn to have courage in the presence of fear, and from aunt hermione, social justice and protest. uncle bill and aunt fleur teach you that inner beauty is as valuable, if not more, than outer beauty. uncle charlie shows you that there was no harm in a little (or a lot of) danger. uncle george and fred illustrate the indispensable power of laughter and tomfoolery ― what good’s existence if you don’t know how to live? uncle percy’s lesson is perhaps the most important, a lesson he almost understood too late: never to abandon your family. “always remember this, lily, we all love you so much no matter what.” percy stresses.

they love you.

and your dad ― he teaches you how to love them back.

ii. rising

then you’re a little ten-year-old upset that your brothers, your godbrother, and your cousins have left you. in the dust. for a castle ― a magical castle where there are ghosts and trolls and a talking hat. a talking sorting hat who somehow shoulders the responsibility of deciding your entire fucking future. (gryffindor? oh merlin, please, gryffindor.)

and most of them can’t even be bothered to pick up the quill and properly write.

but you don’t cry over these things, see? you never cry. (everyone says you’re like your mum. she never cries. dad secretly likes that about mum. dad isn’t much for tears.)

dad doesn’t mind if you cry, he says, but you don’t want to bother him. he’s a weary war hero, even if he pretends to not be for you. he’s had enough. he’s seen enough. he’s felt enough pain for a lifetime. and all is finally well for him, apparently.

you don’t want him to have to deal with your problems.

last time you ever allowed yourself to cry ― you were around five or six? there was a thunderstorm. it was the first one you remembered in your life. (yeah. you fucking cried over a thunderstorm.) no one seemed to be able to calm you down, no one but james. james came over, wet and unruly hair sticking up on all ends, and said “it’s going to be okay, lils, i’m here. no one’s going to hurt you.”

no one will hurt you while your family’s here. so what use is getting upset over anything? they will always be there. to protect you.

and anyways. you’re lily fucking potter.

you’re the chosen one’s daughter.

what the hell do you need tears for? tears are for the weak.

you should be able to bloody take care of yourself.

you should be able to bloody protect them.

✿ ❀ ✿ ❀ ✿

growing up in such a large family, you have become accustom to chaos and pandemonium and a cacophony of hollering voices. but with so many of them gone away, it’s so disturbingly quiet when you come around the burrow.

your uncle ron takes it upon himself to teach you wizard chess.

of course, you lose at first.

but you’re not one for giving up.

also there’s something satisfying about controlling your pieces and planning your moves ― having power over something feels good.

there’s also something very desensitizing about winning a match and seeing your opponent’s piece violently ― barbarically as your aunt hermione says ― shatter to crumbs.

but maybe that’s a little twisted. getting satisfaction off of that.

aunt hermione seems to be concerned about it.

the point is though ― you get good.

you’re bold and reckless and instinctual in your moves, yes. but you get very good.

iii. blooming

[ tw: emotional abuse and alcoholism ]

you’re finally at hogwarts.

and you’re a gryffindor. thank merlin. (the hat said almost slytherin. but definitely gryffindor. you begged and told it “not slytherin.” and so it put you into gryffindor almost immediately after.

as far you’re concerned, that hat was probably rather tipsy that night. if it can talk and sing songs and make decisions, it can get drunk, okay?

and the words that it said while it was intoxicated? can’t be held accounted for.

so thus: you’re a gryffindor. through and through.

no one else needs to know anything different.)

you owl your entire family about it. they’re all proud. most of them say you could have been in any house and it would have been absolutely fine. but they’re all quite proud.

✿ ❀ ✿ ❀ ✿

in third year, you date a boy for the first time.

he sends you love letters. meets with you outside of school. tells you not to tell anyone about him. that sends off warning signs immediately. why can’t your family know? what the fuck is going on?

“let’s keep it a secret, just for now. i don’t want anyone to screw us up, lil. i don’t think they’d like me.”

“why wouldn’t my family like you? i like you. i’d make them like you.”

“please, lil, we can tell them eventually. i’m just scared to right now. you’re the first person i’ve ever had feelings for.”

you’ve always had a very low trust for people, there’s something you love about being called lil though. so you’re wary. but you decide to listen. this time.

but this time turns into just one more time. and it cycles. you excuse things you shouldn’t, all in the name of love. he isolates you, and he knows just how to push your buttons, to pinpoint your insecurities and lash out like a snake.

it takes you months, but you finally come to your senses and see it for what it is: plain and simple abuse. you untether yourself from him.

and then you try your best to forget about it.

maybe that’s part of the reason why you enjoy firewhiskey the first time you try it, just after you turn fourteen.

it burns like it should. it makes you numb. it’s a proper escape.

and it’s pretty damn clear: love gets in the way of things. love is pointless.

also, no one’s allowed to call you lil. ever again.

iv: wilting

[ tw: parental death ]

you’re sixteen. you just turned fucking sixteen.

and your dad’s dead.

your dad’s dead and you didn’t get to say goodbye and the last fucking thing you have of him? it’s his map.

you’d protect that map with your life. even if you’d rather have him.

✿ ❀ ✿ ❀ ✿

it’s all a blur for a while. the condolences, the flowers, the funeral, the memorial, the tears…it’s all just a blur.

you just…you don’t understand why he’s dead.

a war hero. the head of the auror department. the savior. the chosen one.

he was the best of the best.

and he’s dead.

what hope does anyone still have?

practically none.

but dad would want you to have hope.

so you do your best to have some.

your family is just so clearly a mess though. even if they’re all mostly trying to hide it.

you’re the only one in mcgonagall’s army who actually seems to give a damn about people and this hopeless fucking world that’s probably not even worth saving in the first place.

so it’s just all on you now.

because dad’s not here.

he was supposed to always be there.

but he’s not anymore.

but it’s all right. (it’s all right, it’s all right, it’s all right. you’re the hero of this story. don’t need to saved.)

you need to do something. you can’t just sit down and cry about it.

dad was always so selfless and concerned about the people he loved, but now that he’s not here? you don’t think that dad would really want you to just let his world go to hell.

when you were younger? you knew you wanted to be an auror. and he was proud of that. he helped train you. he was preparing you for this. maybe in some sick, twisted way…the universe meant for this to happen, for him to be taken away from you.

maybe he knew it too. and that’s why he tried so hard to prepare you.

the reasons don’t really matter, you don’t want to fucking talk to anyone about it. this is all just your job now.

that’s it.

iv: falling

you become harsh and hopeless, a storm that never seems to break. gone is the girl who was terrified of lightning and thunder – now you embody them, reveling in the demolition. you are untouchable, and you’re not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse.

if your father was still alive, you wonder if he would be proud.

but you know in your heart, he wouldn’t.

personality

strengths

caring, protective, loyal, intelligent, passionate, determined, brave, outgoing, selfless, witty, cunning, chivalrous, charismatic, adventurous, capable, ambitious, bold, independent, kind, generous, loving, well-intentioned, heroic, willful, free-spirited, warm, revolutionary, compassionate, decisive, hard-working, intuitive, pro-active, family-oriented

weaknesses

paranoid, envious, grudge-holder, blunt, outspoken, misconstrued perceptions, over-drinks, distrustful, stubborn, argumentative, hotheaded, feels the overwhelming need to save everyone and fix everything, too emotionally driven to the point of being illogical, impatient, reckless, lack of regard for her own life, sarcastic, insecure, unyielding, inability to admit she’s wrong, worrier, perfectionist, dishonest, controlling, competitive, unpredictable, erratic, tempestuous, difficulty resisting temptation, spiteful, fearless to the point of harming herself, self-righteous, judgmental, vengeful, violent, manipulative, hypocritical

personality overview

lily is known for her liveliness and her energy. the girl can’t stand being bored, and sitting around doing nothing frustrates her more than anything. most of the gryffindors view her as fun, but her idea of fun doesn’t align with everyone. she likes excitement and adventure. she’d take a swim in the lake when it’s freezing cold outside; she’d drink until she’s completely wasted; she’d set off fireworks in the great hall with her friends; she’d even explore the forbidden forest at night if she’s bored enough.

she’s also known for her quick wit and sense of humor, always ready with a comeback. her favorite teachers call her cheeky, while her least favorite call her a troublemaker. she’ll mouth off to anyone, consequences be damned, and it’s earned her a fair amount of detention sentences over the years. she just can’t help it but sass most of the time. it’s almost a defense mechanism, a way for lily to deflect.

lily knows how to lie, and admittedly, she’s very often dishonest. but she knows how to persuade. she speaks with conviction, her voice unwavering as she spins her webs, a stellar actress. she’s not pathological, but there’s a lot she likes to keep to herself. a lot of weakness and vulnerability that she doesn’t like to share with just anyone. at times, lily is so talented at lying that she is capable of deluding herself, burying some things that she doesn’t care to admit so far in the cobwebs of her mind that the denial becomes subconscious.

she has the heart of a lion. fierce, bold, and strong, lily’s the type of person you’d want beside you in a time of crisis. she’s a textbook gryffindor, ready for a fight and nearly impossible to scare. the girl could be considered too brave; her unwavering courageousness could easily get her killed someday. things that should terrify any sane person, such as bloodthirsty death eaters or hungarian horntails, never scare her. lily is recklessly dauntless, and she’s proud of it. there is nothing she values about herself more than her bravery. if you want lily to go berserk, all you have to do is call her a coward.

lily isn’t afraid to say what she thinks or stand up to people. she’s blunt and outspoken–sometimes harsh – always feeling the need to express her opinion. to make matters worse, she’s very argumentative and steadfast on her beliefs; she could debate for hours about something. in fact, lily actually enjoys arguing and debate, sometimes even picking fights with blood elitists and slytherins merely due to boredom, provoking them for no reason other than craving combat. incredibly hot-tempered, she’s usually fighting with someone about one thing or another and isn’t afraid to resort to violence if her point isn’t coming across.

there is a softer, kinder side to lily behind all her bravado though. she isn’t exactly nice, but she is caring and selfless. and she isn’t inherently cruel. she’d never hurt someone on purpose unless they didn’t absolutely deserve it in her opinion ( though she’s been wrong before on so many occasions ). she’s passionate, loyal, and protective about the things and people that she loves. she would sacrifice her life for someone she cares about in a heartbeat. she has a weakness for heroics, feeling a need to save people and fix everything, carrying the world on her shoulders. this is, of course, unreasonable, but she believes she has to be that way because of the family she comes from. from day one, she has had expectations placed on her because she’s a potter, and rather than fight them, she feels the need to live up to them. she feels as if the world is expecting her to be a hero because her family is so respected and moral. these expectations and complexes of hers are what drives lily.

she is a perfectionist. lily is constantly pushing herself past her limits and often tries to do far more than what she is capable of. lily refuses to stop and rest, and she’ll continue to refuse until the day she dies. she stays up too late to maintain her near-perfect grades. she practices for quidditch nearly every morning. she pours over her dada textbooks for hours on end so that she’ll win every duel in dueling club. lily is competitive and feels the need to be the best because her insecurities cause her to worry that she isn’t good enough, that she’ll never be good enough. it’s self-induced pressure–no one places unrealistic expectations on the girl but herself. in actuality, people may expect lily to be brave and heroic like her parents, but no one expects her to be the best at everything, and she puts most of the pressure on herself due to her own insecurities. it’s only lily who thinks she isn’t good enough, and one of her biggest flaws is her tendency to compare herself to other people rather than seeing herself as her own person. people who are better than her are often met with green, envy rattling in her core, as much as she tries to ignore it.

even though she appears completely fearless to most, lily is actually only almost devoid of fear, not that she would ever admit she was anything less than dauntless. she rarely ever speaks of emotions of fear in front of other people, pretending that nothing fazes her. she doesn’t want anyone to know that she can be scared or weak sometimes. she’s a gryffindor and a potter, so as far as she’s concerned, she’s not allowed to be. lily is expected to be strong and fearless, just like her parents, so that’s what she claims to be whereas, in reality, she can be afraid just like any other person; she’s just good at hiding things. the thought of losing people she cares about absolutely terrifies her, especially with the war. along with that, she has always felt pressure to be great; lily has spent her whole life worrying whether or not she’s good enough due to her family’s achievements. just like her father, she’s always felt the need to be a hero. lately she’s been afraid that she isn’t doing enough to help the order, that her dad would be ashamed of her if he was still alive. that’s one of the reasons why she’ll try to push her outlandish ideas on mcgonagall’s army members even though she knows deep down that she’s suggesting suicide missions.

it’s frightening, really, how much little regard she has for her own life. her self worth is nonexistent in the scheme of things. she’ll fight nail and tooth to live but only because she wants to be there to protect her loved ones; she sees her life as second to theirs. if she thought she could help bring about the end of the war by dying, if there was even the slightest possibility of saving those she views as good, lily would do it in an instant. without thinking. because lily truly believes that her loved ones would get over it, maybe not at first but eventually. and she’s okay with that. she’d want them to move on with their loves, to stop mourning her and find happiness. for lily, there is no better way to go than to go down fighting. to go down while defending her loved ones and her beliefs.

but if she lives through the war, lily plans on becoming an auror, just like her father. it’s just what she’s always wanted to do. again, the girl has a hero complex. and her ambition is great–she wants to be the youngest auror ever accepted into their department and one day make her way up to head auror. lily believes her true calling in life is on the battlefield, protecting the innocent and bringing justice to the world.

lily is a control freak–bossy, domineering, and assertive. losing control is her greatest fear, so she’d never let anyone get the best of her. lily always needs to do something because that’s how she finds control in her own destiny. it always takes time to earn her trust because she fears betrayal and manipulating, causing her to be naturally suspicious of others’ intentions. she’ll fight like hell when others get in the way of her plans; her fear of losing control doesn’t allow her to adapt to change easily. when her father died, she felt weak and powerless, wishing she could just bring back, wishing that she could just do something, anything; her worst fear became a reality, and she swears she is never going to allow herself to feel that way again. she will never be vulnerable again. she will never lose control again. oddly enough, even though she’s been surrounded by love her entire life, she’s even afraid of falling in love for those very reasons. the thought of falling for someone who may or may not love her back, allowing herself to be that vulnerable in front of someone, has always scared her more than she would care to admit. lily needs to feel safe, and being in love with someone who could break your heart is something only fools would do in her opinion.

lily won’t admit to sadness or heartache either, not wanting others to think less of her. through sheer willpower alone, the girl has not cried since she was six though there have been moments where she wished she could allow herself to, such as her father’s funeral. when she saw her father in that casket, she felt like knives were in her ribs, and all she wanted to do was run back to her home, cry, grab a beater’s bat, and destroy all the objects in her home one by one, but her face looked stoic. when asked, lily claims that she’s completely all right about her father’s death, and most believe it. she’ll barely ever talk about him at all. it’s like she isn’t even mourning. there are subtle nuances that she is though. her smile and laugh are more demure than it was before. she’s even more fiercely protective of her family and friends now, and her weakness for heroics has also increased; she’ll go to great lengths to protect and save others with little regard for her own safety. it’s partly because she wants to make her father proud by being brave and partly because she doesn’t value herself much as a person due to her insecurities.

but ironically, even though she hides her emotions the majority of the time, she is consumed by them. they control and drive her, often even to the point of recklessness. logic falls on deaf ears to this girl, making her much more likely to make mistakes and get into trouble. she has a good brain on her shoulders and should know better than to act without thinking, but she doesn’t. lily’s impulsive, reckless, and impetuous, mostly relying on pure instinct. and she’s as stubborn as a mule as well. it’s very hard to convince her not to do something once her mind is set. and bare nerves, stubbornness, and recklessness is a dangerous combination–a mixture not usually found in those who like to live long lives. lily is aware of how foolish she can be, but she just doesn’t care. as far as she’s concerned, if something’s the right thing to do, it’s the right thing to do, regardless of the possible consequences.

but here’s the problem: she’s so often wrong. her black-and-white and self-righteous beliefs are so instilled in her that she can’t see the bigger picture. she can’t recognize that the population isn’t capable of being sorted in categories of good and evil. she doesn’t see shades of grey, judging others by their actions and beliefs regardless of the circumstances. death eaters are not seen by lily as people–only monsters incapable of human emotion. whenever she looks at a death eater, all she can see is her father’s dead face. she doesn’t know who was responsible, so instead she blames them all. she hates them all so intensely that she is blind to the fact that expectations are placed on those from traditionalist families too. and most of all, she doesn’t realize that the other side is just as capable of loving others to the point of consumption as she is. and they should be feared for that.

describe your character through a particular weather temperament or season. / could your character be described in two rival parts, and if so, what would they be? / ( +bonus: if your character could choose their own form of death, what would it be? )

i. lily luna potter was born at the height of summer, on a muggy august night, and as such, she truly embodies every aspect of the season. she’s the unrelenting sun beating down on you — she is always burning burning burning, and she’s impossible to put out. everything she chooses to do is carried out with a tremendous intensity and passion, almost as though she is pouring her entire heart into it, and perhaps she really is. (”they told me to pour my heart into everything i do. so that’s what i did, i poured and poured and poured. now they ask me why i’m so empty.��) when she’s determined to accomplish something, nothing else matters in that moment. she’s overpowering, a girl with the capability to set the whole damn world on fiendfyre if she wanted to. she’s just so much all at once — too much, really. she’s been told that by exes before, that she’s just too much for them, and lily always responds, her voice so piercing it could slit a throat, “or maybe you’re just not enough.” even when she’s cold, it’s with this ferocity that still manages to burn you to the core.

lily can’t ever be any other season than summer, but sometimes she wishes she could be. she longs for the rebirth of spring, the balance of autumn, the chill of winter. but she’ll always burn like summer.

ii. lumos – a fire-haired girl who dons robes of scarlet and gold, as striking as a beacon of light / the family legacy you swore to protect / brain and nerve and bounding heart / a deafening roar of laughter after a brilliant joke / being so incredibly drunk you’re as giddy as a toddler, the life of the party / shielding young girls as though you are the mighty huntress artemis / a magnificent silver phoenix burst from the tip of your wand, summoned by the many faces of your family / the indescribable solace found from wrapping your arms tightly around your big brother, not ever wanting to let go / the callow little girl within yourself that you couldn’t quite manage to kill, a girl who wished on shooting stars and cried during thunderstorms

nox – a meadow of wildflowers wilting away / the fury deep within your core that burns like dragon fire, threatening to consume you / a memory you’ve tried to bury deep within the crevices of your mind, a memory you’d rip from your skull if you could / swearing off love because what good is it anyway / clenched fists so tight that your red, red nails bite crescent moons on your palms / the glorious burn of your muscles during a seething fight / a thunderous cry for retribution, even if it means destroying yourself in the process / feeding into your rage because if you falter for just a moment, you’ll remember just how hollow you are / a ruinous lightning storm encased within a pint-sized girl

iii. she can’t ever picture herself dying quietly. whenever the veil inevitably comes to shroud her, she will take her sharp nails and try to tear it into shreds – she is a forest fire that refuses to snuffed. rage is all she knows, all she’s good at. her beloved cypress wand bears a reminder she carved in runic scripture: “never give up without a fight.”  and lily never will. she will struggle and struggle and struggle before they take her.

it’s not that the prospect of death petrifies her. there have been cold nights where she feels hollow and so very small, and she thinks about how she doesn’t want to die – no, she doesn’t want to die – but still she would appreciate the rest, the quietness, the peace. it had been her own father who had sat her down at age six, her very first taste with death (her great-great aunt muriel finally decided to fucking croak) and bestowed upon her the wise words of albus dumbledore just before they left for the funeral, “do not pity the dead. pity the living.” and oh, she does. lily is just sixteen years old, and she’s already so exhausted.

no, she’s not petrified of death, but rather petrified of what she’d leave behind: a family she treasures more than anything. lily doesn’t place much value in her own life. she ultimately views herself as just a person and not a very good one at that, but still she will fight until her dying breath. she will do it for them – all this struggle is for their sake. she needs to stick around to protect them.

but of course, if she could die to save someone she loved, she would do it in an instant. lily’s loyalty is hard-won, but once it’s earned, there isn’t anything she won’t do for you. so that’s how she’d choose to die, fighting but fighting for something – or someone – worth dying for. on those cold hollow nights when she’s wondering what it’s all for, she has to remind herself that it’s for them.

she might not matter, but they do.

drabble

lily luna potter – the woman, the myth, the legend. the only daughter of the chosen one, the world hailed her as a figure of hope from the moment she was born, waiting with baited breath to see what she will go on to accomplish. lily’s so beguiling she could be the sun – she never manages to dim. she’ll lull you to a stupor when she struts past, as ostentatious as ever, and you’ll be rendered gormless in her wake. she’ll leave you wondering whether she’s a dream or a nightmare, but that’s the very point, isn’t it? you laud her as your hero, thrust her with expectations she could never live up to, and when she seems to rise to the occasion, you forget. you forget that she is just a teenager, not a blinding sun or a sharp crack of lightning or a ruinous earthquake, but a girl who’s barely sixteen. a girl who’s lost more than you could ever imagine. children should never be viewed as metaphors, but from the second she came into this world, it was already too late.

               / / /

self-righteous but vindictive, girlish but bloodthirsty, idealistic but cynical, emotional but hardened, tender but acrimonious, coquettish but closed off, well-intentioned but wicked, fiery but icy, radiating but deathly – lily is a girl of contradictions and paradoxes. she possesses so many opposing traits that it’s difficult to make sense of her. with her full face of makeup and voguish outfits, she is ever so carefully put together, but it only serves to hide the storm raging underneath her skin. her countenance is a purposeful illusion – she doesn’t want you to see the red scars on her skin or the dark circles underneath her eyes. everybody is always watching her, so she must look her best. but there’s more to it, isn’t there? he always used to tell her she wore too much makeup, and since breaking up with him on the cusp of her fourth year, she has never stepped outside without a full face. it’s a permanent two-fingered salute. “fuck you, i’m beautiful.” but why does she feel so ugly and mangled?

              / / /

on some days, she burns as bright as a brush fire, incinerating everything in her path. but on others, she’s as hollowed out as a glacier cave, the coldness seeping inside her body, freezing over her heart – those days, nothing and no one can really touch her. somehow, she always fluctuates between passion and numbness, a vicious cycle she can’t seem to control. lily either feels so intensely or feels absolutely nothing at all, and she’s not quite sure which is worse. when her emotions are tearing her apart, she longs to shut them off, but once they’re gone, she’ll do anything just to feel something again. how can she be so passionate yet so hardened at the same time? sometimes she misses the bitter tang of tears, the sweet release – it’s been ten long years since she’s allowed herself to cry. but she won’t allow herself to be weak again. she’s come too far. perhaps it really is best to have a heart that’s forgotten how to beat; dead hearts can’t break.

              / / /

she’s furious and she’s bitter and she’s tired. she’s so goddamn tired. it’s always so exhausting to be her. some days, she wonders what is the point of it all. why does she keep struggling when all she wants to do is lay down her weary arms, close her eyes, and rest? but she knows she can’t. she was born to fight – that’s all she knows how to do at this point. so she will soldier on.

[veuveperdue]

November 6, 2009-- Los Altos, Arroyo Seco, NM

After I ended my  journal entry for the 4th, drank the rest of my coffee, I went for cash to pay the car wash guys, after the credit card/no credit card mix up.  After driving around some more, I decided I did need a mechanic and came home for the phone book, my journal and a book to read, then called Friday Motors and headed out.  No sense in waking up distressed and wondering what might be wrong with the car—something was obviously not right and I couldn’t continue to drive around with this clanging much less drive back the 1700 miles in worry.

I took the main guy for a test drive in the parking lot and went in to wait, half an hour later his “main technician” as he put it came back from lunch and would have a listen…  

I sat there in the warm sun-filled room and realized I was happy for the chance to sit, without computer, internet, TV, etc and I was able to write out the two cards to Dad & Polly and one to Aunt H.  If I had not been afforded the time I might have written just non-sequential blather, but here I was able to tell them truths: nothing is resolved, I weep all the time unabashedly, and I am lost and frightened.  Maybe I didn’t say that, but it’s implied, if they can read between my lines.

When I was done, I opened the book I’ve owned for a while… in fact I think Mom got it for me for Christmas, but in my haste to leave for The Island in March, I left all my books behind.  So, I sat in the sun and began Eat, Pray, Love.   She begins by describing when she first spoke to god, or God and how there on the bathroom floor, in tears, how her weeping was suddenly silenced by a voice—her own—telling her simply, “Go to bed Liz.”  I related, not in that I have been speaking to god (I have only addressed Nicholas and the universe, which may be the same thing) but that there have been times my crying has stopped suddenly… The term “crying jag” I find appropriate because it does see so—it is jagged, sharp, ragged and can stop abruptly.

Sitting in the sun reading, I could only recall how once back at the hospital in May, Nick said he only wanted to sit under a tree in the sun and read.  I had said to him, “Then there is only one thing you must decide.”  He looked up at me with those massive rich brown eyes, dying before me, and said “What’s that?”  

“What do you want to read?” I asked.

“Comedy.”

∞

When Zippy was done, $97 later and one tiny piece of gravel in my left hand from the right rear caliper, I drove back toward the plaza area and went to a few shops.  Here’s the killer—I went into a tiny bookstore I had seen earlier, and one of the books that was eye-level, facing me was On Death and Dying by Kubler Ross.  I took a few paces and stopped dead in my tracks as I heard on the radio Handel’s Ombra Mai Fu, the piece I would play over and over and over as I greeted the dawn on our balcony watching the still Mediterranean and I shed tears for Nicholas, who only wanted a tree, sunshine and a book…

Ombra mai fù 

di vegetabile, 

cara ed amabile, 

soave più….

Never has there been a shade 

of a plant 

more dear and lovely, 

or more gentle. 

∞

Yesterday, as in my dream I drove the the enchanted circle, only without kidnappings, and Bruce Campbell dying.  It is not as enchanted as I remember; it will take much more to enchant me these days, and everything beautiful is only bittersweet now.  I came home and changed again (having been forced out of my Capri pants into long pants up at Angel fire where the temperature was easily 25 degrees lower than Taos, although only 35 miles from here.  I then made my way to the Nicolai Fechin house, housing the Taos Art Museum.  The house alone is worth the price of admission.  Cozy, but stark, warm woods, and Fechin’s carvings coarse and primitive but pleasing to the eye.

I came home with a fresh loaf of bread, wine and tomatoes and a nice French goat cheese and prepared dinner and waited till 7 for my dose of sci-fi/soap-opera Flashforward.  I had the windows open and so it was this that made me dismiss the following… The first time.

At one point I went into the bathroom and noticed that Nick’s scarf [that I keep by my bedside and inhale deeply when I want to feel near to him] was on the floor by the bed.  I picked it up, shook it out lest it got dirty, and replaced it on the table by the bed.  Then I closed the windows.

As I was getting ready for bed, I moved around the corner to go back into the bathroom and his scarf was on the floor again.  I admit, I stopped in my tracks for a moment, then of course, logic dictated that a draft was caused by my opening the door to toss out crumbs from dinner for my prairie dog friends-- though how you get a draft in an L shaped room, I'm not sure; so I replaced the scarf then went to open and close the door as I would have moments earlier.  I paused before rounding the corner, wondering—nay praying—that the scarf wasn’t on the floor—indicating it was no draft that moved it.

The scarf was on the table where I had left it.  

There is a tiny bit of paper, with ee cumming’s poem on it that I carry in my pocket—that hadn’t moved though it is lighter than the scarf.  My new tarot cards that were given to me as a gift, out of their box, slippery new and slick, they also would have moved under a draft, but none were out of place.  None of the photos of Nicholas on the table were moved either.  

Only his scarf was moved to the floor.

I sat on the edge of the bed, and tried to reason this out.  The human mind—the human mind bound by that which it is taught—bound by the conditioning of the narrow minded cannot fathom the possibility that something other than a draft could move Nick’s scarf.  So I sat there, in wonderment, perplexed and hopeful.  

I believe all I could say was, “If you’re here, I love you.”

I want to believe. 

[sussex-nature-lover]

Petworth House Collection

Part 2 of our visit to the property - the inside

As I wrote in Part 1, I was sadly underwhelmed by our visit to Petworth, although that doesn’t take away in any part from some of the fabulous works of art and decor which are real treasures.

It’s very difficult times for any kind of ‘attraction’ or museum and I did try to curtail the flat feeling I had with appreciation of being able to go inside the house at all and to see such things. It’s just that I really like to come away from visits with a real sense of who the people were who lived in and shaped the futures of, these historic homes.

One thing I have just discovered is a video they’ve made about the kitchens which, as you read in the last blog, I really wanted to see for myself.

Credit Petworth NT Twitter

As I said before, only downstairs rooms are open.

Side Note: alterations to the property were carried out in the 1870s by Anthony Salvin, architect, who was also involved in Scotney Castle local to us, which is why the name rang a very loud bell.

The way the house tour is arranged now, you first encounter The Chapel. You’ve got to marvel at anything that dates back to approx 1300.

Pietà after Michelangelo Buonarroti

It may just be us. It might be the times, but I didn’t get much of a feeling of peace or of history. The Chapel, despite its ornate decorations seemed dull and dusty and, oh I don’t know, I feel churlish, but it didn’t give me what I expected, or any inspiration. The stained glass is impressive though with all the Percy family commemorations. 

I’ve taken a few photos from Trip Advisor which hopefully show things in a different light.

The Chapel at Christmas

Of course, the main attraction at Petworth is the purpose built North Gallery. Here are some of my photos and an indication of what it would usually look like.

Wander around and take your pick

There have previously been sign boards with lots of information 

Now, there’s nothing, so it seems more like ‘and here’s another statue’ or ‘here’s another landscape’

St Michael Slaying Satan  John Flaxman RA

Carved from a single piece of marble apart from the spear.

One thing I learned from the guide is demonstrated here by the middle statue, look carefully below.

The body of a male with the face of a female - when art works and statues were all but plundered from Continental Europe, the authorities decreed that only damaged and broken statues were permitted to be exported, hence the practice of combining parts to make a whole. I wonder if anyone does a double take?

I can’t really work out why at least some of the information boards can’t be displayed because of Covid procedures. Knowing what you’re looking at makes such a difference.

My favourite piece in the whole house - I’m not exaggerating to say that it blew me away. There’s no sign or information so I’ll put good money on it being overlooked by most visitors.

I enquired and found out that this piece, which is approximately 10x12″ is attributed to Lady Jane Grey

Lady Jane Grey, also known as Lady Jane Dudley (after marriage) and as "the Nine Days' Queen", was an English noblewoman and de facto Queen of England and Ireland from 10 July until 19 July 1553. Jane was the great-granddaughter of Henry VII through his younger daughter Mary, and was a first cousin once removed of Edward VI

History of John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland for anyone who wants to brush up on their history.

Lady Jane Grey embroidered panel

The colours on this work have held up well considering it must be AT LEAST 467 years old and more likely 470. Lady Jane Grey was only, what? 16 or 17 when she was executed, so this piece of work is reputedly the work of a teenager. It’s so accomplished, so fine, so magnificent that it almost leaves me speechless in awe and these pictures simply can’t do it justice. Frankly, despite my whinging about the visit, this item was worth the journey all by itself. What makes me feel sad about it is that people will walk by and perhaps not even know what it is or why it’s on display. 

These are my photographs of the Molyneux Globe, a priceless treasure, which I believe has previously been on display in the North Gallery. Below is a Trip Advisor photo of the information you would usually see.

Emery Molyneux (/ˈɛməri ˈmɒlɪnoʊ/ EM-ər-ee MOL-in-oh; died June 1598) was an English Elizabethan maker of globes, mathematical instruments and ordnance. His terrestrial and celestial globes, first published in 1592, were the first to be made in England and the first to be made by an Englishman.

Molyneux was known as a mathematician and maker of mathematical instruments such as compasses and hourglasses. He became acquainted with many prominent men of the day, including the writer Richard Hakluyt and the mathematicians Robert Hues and Edward Wright. He also knew the explorers Thomas Cavendish, Francis Drake, Walter Raleigh and John Davis. Davis probably introduced Molyneux to his own patron, the London merchant William Sanderson, who largely financed the construction of the globes. When completed, the globes were presented to Elizabeth I. Larger globes were acquired by royalty, noblemen and academic institutions, while smaller ones were purchased as practical navigation aids for sailors and students. The globes were the first to be made in such a way that they were unaffected by the humidity at sea, and they came into general use on ships.

Molyneux emigrated to Amsterdam with his wife in 1596 or 1597. He succeeded in interesting the States-General, the parliament of the United Provinces, in a cannon he had invented, but he died suddenly in June 1598, apparently in poverty. The globe-making industry in England died with him.

Only six of his globes are believed still to be in existence. Three are in England, of which one pair consisting of a terrestrial and a celestial globe is owned by Middle Temple and displayed in its library, while a terrestrial globe is at Petworth House in Petworth, West Sussex.

Wikipedia

That’s interesting because I only associated the name Molyneux with the football stadium in Wolverhampton 😊 We live and learn.

Bespoke locks and door plates - I have a particular interest in these wherever we visit - the craftsmanship and attention to detail is fabulous and I do like a marble floor as well.

Lovely large windows giving views down to the lake

Apparently this was originally an entrance to the house - which is now the back of the house. Personally I’d expected a larger porch area and perhaps some kind of covered outer porch. Get me and my critique.

Below is my photograph of the carved hall. It’s not as per the original because two rooms were later knocked through into one with the carvings both modified and also supplemented (from elsewhere in the house and by new additions) Portraits were moved. At a later point in time the base panels were painted over. Every generation makes its own mark I suppose. Having just watched some TV footage of felling ancient woodland in Buckinghamshire to make way for HS2, I have to say, oftentimes things are better off left or preserved.

Read that and weep - in my case, literally.

Points to note are that when the lower level paintings were installed this was so that diners had good viewing from their seated position - clearly that effect is lost on us now and also, the large portraits beyond Henry VIII were originally on the demolished dividing wall and were hung here incorrectly i.e. not complying with the original intention of the artist’s composition of the family.

The Duke is pointing to his left which indicates his wife and child portrait should be hung to the viewer’s right side as we look at the scene. Originally they were hung on the (now removed) dividing wall

*Short Video about the Carved Room at Petworth House at the end of the Blog

Carved work by Grinling Gibbons

Apparently the carved sheet music is Henry Purcell’s Fairy Queen and can actually be played.

I’ve just discovered a You Tube documentary about Gibbons, which I’ll watch tomorrow. LINK.

So, so many photos. Well, if you’re unlikely to get a chance to visit for yourself, this is a mini tour. I’ve got a separate entry of some artwork snaps. 

  The smaller dining rooms are no longer presented as such but there are some information stands of Turner watercolours from his time at the house. I think other originals are in the Tate Britain collection. Shame as they look charming studies and at the risk of stating the obvious, very at home in this setting. I hadn’t realised how accomplished Turner was or how young he was when he started his studies. His youth was very challenging. A guide recommended the film Mr Turner, which starred Timothy Spall. That’s probably one for the long Winter nights.

*Note the blue monitoring device

The Square Dining Room dressed for Christmas

Weighing Scales

check out that link!

Sanitise your hands and exit to the front Courtyard and the Servants’ Quarters opposite.

♦ As always I’m not responsible for the content of outside links, in bold type which are not affiliated to my Blog

[regalhqs-blog]

                                          ❝ in the name of igwe, long may you reign. ❞

at first, there was nothing. only darkness. then came igwe, the sky, god of heaven, of kings, and quella, the earth, goddess of love, of fertility. the two lived in peace and solitude for eons, until they decided that the lonlieness and quiet was too much to bear. and thus, the creation of maliu, the god of the sun, and itras, the goddess of the moon and the stars, occurred. igwe used light to shape the two twins, and the family was happy for the longest time. but eventually, that was still not enough for quella, forced to be on her own as her husband and children lived among the sky, so they created two more gods. degall, the god of fire, and mayim, the god of water, made great companions for the lonely quella, and all was peaceful for the longest time.

maliu was not quite happy with the hand that he had been dealt. he craved more power, more responsibility, and he was willing to fight to get it. despite his twin itras trying to talk him out of it, maliu took up an army of dragons and monsters, attempting to fight his father for the role of king of the gods. degall led the charge against him, armed with a bow and arrow and igwe at his side, bringing thunder and storms with them into battle. and then they saw maliu’s dragon, ajagara. 

for a moment, it looked like maliu would win the battle, would be the ruler of the gods. however, one lucky shot by degall down ajagara’s throat slayed the beast, its blood seeping into the clay and mud of the earth, and maliu’s battle lost. the earth was in shambles, and maliu was to blame. as punishment for rising up against his father, maliu was banished to the underworld, forced to rule over the dead instead of the living like he had so hoped. 

as for the dragon blood, quella’s kindness and love combined with igwe’s mercy for maliu blessed the ground, and mankind began to form from the bloody clay. the gods and the men worked in harmony to take care of and restore the earth, and they remain working together to this day.

in return for their help maintaining the earth, each god has different areas that humans will pray to them for and, depending on how much work they have done towards perfecting the world, things sometimes work out they way the human hopes.

igwe; god of heaven, kings, and the sky (pronounced eeg-way) -- many fathers pray to him for protection of their sons, monarchs pray to him for long and peaceful reigns, mourners pray to him for protection of their loved one’s souls after passing

quella; goddess of love, fertility, motherhood, and the earth (pronounced quell-uh) -- many mothers pray to her for protection of their daughters, women pray to her for most anything they desire, lovers pray to her for a successful love affair, every wedding ceremony is performed in her name, farmers pray to her for a successful harvest

maliu; god of the sun, death, justice, and the underworld (pronounced mall-ee-you) -- not many pray to him for much of anything, they mostly pray that maliu will not ever come near them, but there are some in the old world who pray to maliu and only to maliu. they are called malites, and they treat death as something to embrace as opposed to something to fear

itras; goddess of youth, beauty, art, luck, and the moon and stars (pronounced eat-rahs) -- young girls pray to her for beauty, aspiring musicians and artists pray to her for guidance and success, many people pray to her for good luck in anything they made need luck in

degall; god of fire, war, strength, and health and wellness (pronounced day-gahll) -- warriors pray to him before a battle, young knights pray to him to help them find strength, when someone is sick, their family will pray to degall for their health

mayim; god of water, wisdom, and magic (pronounced my-eem) -- scholars, alchemists and researchers pray to him for help in their studies, some mages pray to him before they study and before they cast a spell, people from stonemore often pray to him in order to avoid a drought