#they have reached the point where the habits that they developed out of necessity and a need to survive

[rxttenfish]

PLEASE tell us more about virina mishra im such a sucker for nextgens

OOPS FUCK I GOT DISTRACTED AGAIN AND FORGOR TO ANSWER THIS

virina!!! my beloved virina!!!! littlest froggy!!!

aaravi and miranda very much both wanted to actually, you know, have a family. its one of those things where you come from someplace so shitty and so terrible, that you just cannot imagine someone else going through that same thing, and you cannot bear the thought of making someone else go through the same thing. to be fair, they are both TERRIFIED of just repeating the past and ending up in the exact same loop that their parents did, terrified of just heaving back on the same generational trauma and wreck of a childhood, but there comes a point in being afraid of something where you just need to get rid of this fear. its too constant, its too forever, its too eternal. sitting through it and avoiding it isn't making it go away, and they already fucked up avoiding it by finding each other and loving each other, so dancing around the issue isn't helping. instead, what they mutually land on is just... a want to prove that fear wrong. a want to prove that fear wrong, to prove that they aren't doomed to be just a weapon and just a source of death in all its forms, that they can hold something in their hands and make it grow. best way to avoid repeating the past is to take responsibility by the leash, after all. they want to go back in time, to give themselves the childhood that they always missed, and the best way they figured to do that is to give that to someone else.

this is something that very much existed since their relationship started to get serious with each other, and something that's been in the background the entire time since, so its not like its a mystery or anything. if anything, they've been using this want as a motivation, as a need to keep going even at the worst of times. they will have this happy future. they will make it through this together. they will make it work. no more ifs, no more buts, no more doubt. stop living in the doubt and start acting as though their happy end is a foregone conclusion and something that they are going to have no matter what, give no room for fear or guilt or shame or depression or self hatred to sneak in. they will be happy. they will make someone else happy. they will be someplace safe, not just for themselves, but for their loved ones too. they will be good. they will be.

even after everything blows over (mainly from miranda's family, she is still crown princess and stepping away from that was never going to be an option they gave her), it still takes a few years for them to broach the topic of having a kid for-real. just to make sure everything's settled. just to make sure everything's safe.

they have virina later in life than some of their other friends or just in general, but they were planned and wanted for so long that the wait is worth it. the name, as i've mentioned, comes from aaravi. she knows her mom was a... complicated woman, she knows her own raising wasn't perfect and that there were things that she still cant fully forgive her mother for, but she had a hard life too. she too deserved better. despite it all, aaravi still loves her mom, despite despite despite. and so she does the best thing that she can to honor her mom, to honor her memory, to give her the life that she never had the same as aaravi herself, and gives it to virina. the mishra last name was a no-brainer already, miranda already look aaravi's last name and preferred being a mishra over a vanderbilt anyday.

years later, virina also earns the nickname of "froggy" - primarily because of their own love for the animal, constantly finding them and bringing them in from outside. likewise, miranda and aaravi decide to raise them genderless, and to let them decide for themselves how they want to be referred to when they're older.

virina doesn't really take much after either of their moms, though. mostly they're quiet, shy, keep to themselves. where both of their moms are brash and dominant, very confident in themselves and willing to bowl over quieter personalities, virina seldom speaks, and when they do, its soft-spoken. they get easily spooked and cry easily, especially when it comes to other people. they cling to their moms legs, hide behind them when other people come around, prefer the company of animals over other people, tend not to like new things or new people and greatly prefer sticking to their simple, easy routine. they just can't figure out other people, seemingly, not understanding them or how to make friends or even what's appropriate or not to say in a conversation.

this isn't to say they aren't deeply intelligent and curious. they quickly learn to love venturing outside with their moms, playing in the garden or chasing bugs and frogs. they come in with sticks and rocks, make mud potions, try to build things out of sticks and befriend birds. they prefer books over people, ending up much more of a bookworm than either of their moms ever were, and ends up a very big nerd as they get older. theyre close and affectionate with the friends they do make, but this is a small handful of their very most trusted, and they never get much better at figuring out social norms.

in time, they lean a little bit more towards the femme side of things, growing their hair out long and liking long, swishy skirts that they can spin and sway over and over, that doesnt cling too tight to their legs. they end up needing glasses, and end up picking a pair thats large and circular, making their eyes seem all the more owlish. they settle on they/she, but never have particularly strong opinions about gender regardless. they can be blunt and quick to frustration, especially if they feel people arent understanding them, and are forever going to be deeply embarrassed over how their moms dote on them. i very much see them getting intensely interested and starting to study either linguistics, literature, history, geology, or any biology that takes them closer to the marshes and wetlands that they love.

they never think very much about how one of their moms used to be a princess, heir to a kingdom. beyond an instance as a kid that ended with them dropping a training sword repeatedly and crying, they never get very interested in following the slayer line of work. they fuss over small stakes, have their moms grate on them sometimes in both of their old ways, and they live a normal life.

[horizon-verizon]

This is about the show, not the book characters.

I've already expressed indifference towards this particular ship both bc Laenyra was right there AND bc I didn't feel it had the longevity I prefer in my ships. Well, something else troubles me for the integrity for this ship. Namely, Mysaria's intentions & Rhaenyra's habits (once again, this is all coming from how the show decided to write these characters!!!).

After reading this Variety article where Emma describes Mysaria and Rhaenyra's relationship thus far, it occurred to me that Rhaenyra has already done something like this before whenever Daemon has seemingly abandoned her:

First it was Criston Cole, who she slept with after Daemon left her at the brothel.

Then it is Harwin--she expressly says that Daemon abandoned her, and she's still talking about the brothel mess. It's also when he abandons her at her wedding after their whole "take me to Dragonstone to be your wife" challenege that could have been semi genuiune. Harwin was obviously a much better and longer lasting relationship than the non-one with Cole, but it is very clear that it began as a necessity, developed from proximity, she would have preferred Daemon, and the wound was still visibly sore when she met up with him again in epi7. There was still yearning on her part. Harwin, though she loved him and cared for him, was absolutely second place here.

Now Daemon has gone off to Harrenhal after the S2 epi2 argument that made no sense and Rhaenyra has no idea what Daemon has planned or if he will at all support her. She's feeling lost, unworthy, that she has lost him, and too helpless. Esp with her council and son all saying she should stay put to avoid losing the war altogether with her own death. Mysaria is also Daemon's ex...she and Mysaria both face struggles from being in a world catered towards and over-empowering men PLUS having been with Daemon. I saw another clip that included Rhaenyra saying she wanted to be a man period AND to be a man like Daemon. After Mysaria relates her story and why she thinks she can stay to support Rhaenyra--respecting her as an equal--Rhaenyra immediately reaches in for the hug, Mysaria seems to caress her neck, she kisses Mysaria. She kisses Mysaria right after she says she wants to be Daemon...is she trying to reach Daemon through Mysaria, or is she trying to "occupy" Daemon's space b/t them to borrow some of that "masculine" power? Both? IDK, I'm not sapphic or wlw.

Point is when she's feeling vulnerable, she seeks out comfort, as is her right...but it's also a pattern that the show somehow always centers around a lack of Daemon. And all her vulnerabilities and fears stem from her insecurities about her being a good ruler in the eyes of those who support her, which was men up until this point. With Mysaria, she sees someone who has faith in her being able to be a good, worthy queen, competence--what Emma has said was:

Mysaria really affects Rhaenyra’s politics. She has a powerful impact on Rhaenyra’s ability to see how a kingdom and its citizens are affected in the case of civil war. That was slightly abstract to Rhaenyra — until Mysaria somehow makes that more concrete. And I think speaks to different forms of power that, again, maybe Rhaenyra, in her eagerness for a masculine conflict-based power, sometimes overlooks. Gaining the will, and the belief of the people — I don’t know how much that was part of her political consciousness prior to Mysaria.

and Mysaria has demonstrated a sort of support she feels show!Daemon not only didn't but refused to provide. What Mysaria tells her to do, has all thus far worked.

Check, check, check, check...

Mysaria has always tried to be on the side of power. First it was Daemon, then it was Otto; though w/Daemon she hoped for it indirectly, with Daemon's protection with use of her body and with Otto she wanted to stand as more of an equal or as close as she can get to that by providing information instead. The last few episodes, however, we saw her decide to leave it all behind and preserve her life and sanity after some green burned down her home and ruined her life. We are meant to judge that Mysaria stays despite her previous plans bc she sees Rhaenyra as worthy enough to serve or bc she feels the most "equal" she has ever felt. But I wonder is what Mysaria if Mysaria still feels like she has to cater towards another "patron" not necessarily for/with sex and she is more concerned with getting an angle than a relationship. But then again, perhaps this is only a real issue for those who prefer longevity in ships? IDK.

Also, show!Rhaenyra is resembling Cersei too much with all this wishing-to-be-a-man shit. No, these were not the same "type" of women! this is what happens when you totally rewrite and dilute an original female character's pride for an audience who you think shouldn't be discomfited by a "bitchy" woman demanding her birthright because she claims it.

[brillmindztech]

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Read also: iPhone App Development Companies in Dubai

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[hornyforfrenship]

Andre Bazin, an aesthetic of reality

But realism in art can only be achieved in one way—through artifice.

//

Every form of aesthetic must necessarily choose between what is worth preserving and what should be discarded, and what should not even be considered. But when this aesthetic aims in essence at creating the illusion of reality, as does the cinema, this choice sets up a fundamental contra- diction which is at once unacceptable and necessary: necessary because art can only exist when such a choice is made. Without it, supposing total cinema was here and now technically possible, we would go back purely to reality. Unacceptable because it would be done definitely at the expense of that reality which the cinema proposes to restore integrally. That is why it would be absurd to resist every new technical development aiming to add to the realism of cinema, namely sound, color, and stereoscopy. Actually the “‘art’’ of cinema lives off this contradiction. It gets the most out of the potential for abstraction and symbolism provided by the present

limits of the screen, but this utilization of the residue of conventions abandoned by technique can work either to the advantage or to the detriment of realism. It can magnify or neutralize the effectiveness of the elements of reality that the camera captures. One might group, if not classify in order of importance, the various styles of cinematography in terms of the added measure of reality. We would define as “realist,” then, all narrative means tending to bring an added measure of reality to the screen. 

Reality is not to be taken quantitatively. The same event, the same object, can be rep-resented in various ways. Each representation discards or retains various of

the qualities that permit us to recognize the object on the screen. Each in- troduces, for didactic or aesthetic reasons, abstractions that operate more or less corrosively and thus do not permit the original to subsist in its en- tirety. At the conclusion of this inevitable and necessary “chemical” action, for the initial reality there has been substituted an illusion of reality com- posed of a complex of abstraction (black and white, plane surface), of con- ventions (the rules of montage, for example), and of authentic reality. It is a necessary illusion but it quickly induces a loss of awareness of the reality itself, which becomes identified in the mind of the spectator with its cine- matographic representation. As for the film maker, the moment he has se- cured this unwitting complicity of the public, he is increasingly tempted to ignore reality. From habit and laziness he reaches the point when he himself is no longer able to tell where lies begin or end. There could never be any question of calling him a liar because his art consists in lying. He is just no longer in control of his art. He is its dupe, and hence he is held back from any further conquest of reality.

//

the camera of Orson Welles takes in with equal sharpness the whole field of vision contained simultaneously within the dramatic field. It is no longer the editing that selects what we see, thus giving it an a priori significance, it is the mind of the spectator which is forced to discern, as in a sort of parallelepiped of reality with the screen as its cross-section, the dramatic spectrum proper to the scene.

//

The necessity inherent in the narrative is biological rather than dramatic. 

//

A shot of kind by virtue of its dynamism belongs with the movement of a hand drawing a sketch, leaving a space here, filling in there, here sketching round the subject, and there bringing it into relief. I am thinking of the slow motion in the documentary on Matisse which allows us to observe, beneath the continuous and uniform arabesques of the stroke, the varying hesitations of the artist’s hand. In such a case the camera movement is important. The camera must be equally as ready to move as to remain still. Traveling and panning shots do not have the same god-like character that the Hollywood camera crane has bestowed on them. Everything is shot from eye-level or from a concrete point of view, such as a roof top or window.

//

The technique of Rossellini undoubtedly maintains an intelligible succession of events, but these do not mesh like a chain with the sprockets of a wheel. The mind has to leap from one event to the other as one leaps from stone to stone in crossing a river. It may happen that one’s foot hesitates between two rocks, or that one misses one’s footing and slips. The mind does likewise. Actually it is not of the essence of a stone to allow people to cross rivers without wetting their feet any more than the divisions of a melon exist to allow the head of the family to divide it equally. Facts are facts, our imagination makes use of them, but they do not exist inherently for this purpose. 

//

facts take on a meaning, but not like a tool whose function has predetermined its form. 

//

the unit of cinematic narrative in Paisd is not the “shot,” an abstract view of a reality which is being analyzed, but the “fact.” A fragment of concrete reality in itself multiple and full of ambiguity, whose meaning emerges only after the fact, thanks to other imposed facts between which the mind establishes certain relationships. Unquestionably, the director chose these “facts” carefully while at the same time respecting their factual integrity.

//

the same reason the actors will take care never to dissociate their performance from the decor or from the performance of their fellow actors. Man himself is just one fact among others, to whom no pride of place should be given a priori.

[staravya]

more thoughts on this bc joker holding hands with his friends is very important to me.

first of all: logistics. this is a yaldy curse ofc. something something incentive to make your bonds stronger blah blah. not touching a confidant starts him off with a headache that builds into a migraine that develops into debilitating agony where he just Cannot Move. point a to point b is about 30 min, point b to point c is about an hour.

at first joker was like. okay ig (thank you mona sleeping next to his face) but very quickly realized it fucking sucks (standing alone in the bathroom brushing his teeth has never felt like it's taken so long).

mona finds out first bc joker was basically keeling over in the middle of class until a little paw reaches out from the desk to touch joker's shaking hand. he's a huge blessing bc joker can just stick his arm in his bag/desk and pet him all the time. he gets snuck into even more places now (bathhouse time is pushed fairly late to avoid anyone seeing them. mona allows this bc he knows being clean is important bc cat instincts) and sometimes they give up on subtlety and just let mona sit on his shoulders, fur pressed against the back of his neck.

ryuji is great bc he's already v casually physical with his buddies. hes always down to sling an arm around joker and takes notice when he's super tense w pain and abruptly relaxes/melts when they bump shoulders etc. chronic pain buddies. aside from mona ryuji is the one joker is the most comfortable/confident actually initiating touch with.

ann likes hooking their arms together when hanging out and adjusts a bit so theyre also holding hands or at least resting their hands together. sometimes in class she'll slide a hand back for him to lean forward and silently high-five, just for fun. and for necessity during the start of the okumura arc.

yusuke likes to use his hands a lot and occasionally forgets that hes supposed to be holding on to joker and drops him but once he gets into the habit he sometimes co-ops joker's hand for his own (holding his wrist). they each use a hand to frame something, etc. more dramatic poses! and art together. one hand over the other when arting.

makoto is very professional ab it, or trying to be. at first she didn't even realize it was anything beyond a team building exercise until it was explained to haru lmao. she just assumed joker likes having people with him (not wrong). touchy feely isnt her niche but shes one of the better strategists for fight choreography (the other being sumi).

futaba opts for Poking! this happens most often in leblanc but still does happen in saferooms whenever she wants jokers attention and/or thinks its been a while since he was last touching anyone.

haru is probably the one joker is most cautious of reaching out to for a variety of reasons (guilt re: father, concern re: one of their first meetings is her flinching from someone grabbing her, etc.) but she doesn't mind at all. she's more inclined to brief touches as they pass, etc. rather than extended ones but she reaches out p often.

akechi cannot fucking believe this is a Thing. but he plays along. no reaching out from him, just casual leans when he notices it's been a while since anyone's made contact w their illustrious leader that so happen to involve their ungloved hands brushing. if they get into a mini competition of trying to push into each other later on thats between them. theyre so normal.

sumi doesnt know this is a thing until third sem but she's been helping w/o knowing it. she isnt in group rhythmic gymnastics but she has a better sense of movement and form than the thieves so when joker wants to discuss options for movement while staying in contact w a partner she has ideas ab it. also you know that post about ballerinas being delighted that miles morales might be able to throw them into the ceiling? that. bc metaverse str + grappling hook.

anyway, metaverse! joker gets into the habit of taking his gloves off when they enter. im going with the sleeveless interpretation for convenience here (please picture him leaning on various part members in safe rooms with his jacket off. easy and casual way to stay in contact). he will hold hands w one of the frontline members whenever possible, and is used to kind of being the baton in baton passes lmao.

madarame moment when joker is alone is Stressful but doesnt last long enough to be ruinous thankfully.

mona was Not thinking when he ditched and one of the first things they needed to sort was Who Wants To Have A Sleepover. makoto is still under the impression this is just to make joker feel better/teamwork. yusuke ends up sleeping over bc hes done it before, though he has to leave early. it's a very miserable time regardless. futaba ends up coming over to help him actually survive the morning. ann helps him survive class.

interrogation room joker is really fucking out of it due to drugs and everything hurts. sae briefly resets it by trying to test his temperature when he's too zoned out to respond to her. and again when taking him out of the place.

the curse dissolves with yaldy and allegedly the metaverse. still, when akechi struts over at xmas he offers his gloveless hand to shake. great cover akechi, real smooth.

by the time 1/1 happens joker's practically dizzy from the lack of pain. everything feels floaty. mona isn't even there to pet. he kind of vaguely drifts through the day. akechi grabs his arm to haul him out of the cafe and thats the most awake hes felt. laundromat conversation happens while they r holding hands and ignoring it. akechi still does his gesturing and posing, just with joker attached.

the habit sticks through third sem even though it's not needed.

[deepest sigh in the world] brain took another au/idea and ran w it to my current interest p5. again. bc thats what it does these days.

anyway i was contemplating those "narcolepsy when you're not touching someone you love" curses as a branching thought off of showtimes/baton passes because battle choreography is not something i particularly enjoy writing thoughit is very fun to imagine in my head. but that axes a whooooole lot of stuff even if i assume mona sitting on joker's shoulders counts enough to wake him. pivot to intense disassociation instead. not quite what i want. pivot to Pain tm. the classic. that works. an intensifying headache the longer he isnt holding hands w a confidant. great.

but the best feature is that it gets inverted when third semester happens. nothing hurts, yay. but everything feels even less real. and thats where he starts disassociating. thumbs up emoji.

[ciaran-archive]

Serious question. How do you write long stories? Is there a technique or advice for that? No matter what story I have in mind, I can't seem to tell it in anything longer than 1 to 2k. Writing 5k is tiring already, where do people seriously get that stamina to even do 50 or 100 or 200k? It's mind-blowingly amazing.

there is nothing less worthy or amazing about writing shorter fic - i know writers who struggle with it, and i’ve come to inhabit that position somewhat myself, though i’m determined to stay in practice. it’s a different skillset, that’s all. your fics aren’t worse for being shorter.

that said i will not deny that longer fics generate far more engagement from fandoms simply by virtue of updating more often  → being on top of the ao3 tag when people first open it  → getting more clicks and being considered less ‘frivolous’ (which is bullshit, but what can you do)

if you’re dead sure you want to write longer fic, i would first recommend reading this post about writing drabbles, which i promise is relevant to the point i’m about to make.

Because drabbles are about one moment. You don't need to know exactly what happened before this moment of dialogue, or what happens next, or what's happening around it. You don't have to do any of the planning you might do for a longer fic, but you also don't have the space to let the scene lead in and develop naturally. You've got 100 words.

a lot of writing a longer story is about establishing the scope of your story, deciding what beats you want to hit. there are a lot of ways to go about this; [some people like to outline. i don’t outline, ever, so if you want help for outlining you should look at the other sources on the internet. there are quite a few.] i’m going to talk about the way i’ve learnt to do it.

so when i’m writing a short fic, the thing i’m considering is one or two ideas, and one or two moments (short in this case being under 5k). this also depends on the style i’m going for - fics with sparser styles can fit more scenes, if i’m going for my usual style, each scene takes about 700-2000 words at least and therefore takes up more space. a lot of how i eased into writing longer fics was focusing on stylistic changes - you can push up the word count of a fic by going moment by moment. note the difference between: 

They’d been standing next to each other as they spoke; now Felix turned to him in the rain, startled by the admission of weakness. He reached out clumsily, bumping his hand against Ryan’s until he took the hint and grabbed on.

and 

The rain made it near-impossible to hear Ryan speaking, but the harshness in his voice would’ve been audible through a hurricane. “So you ran away,” he said, like he hadn’t expected this. 

“Course I did,” Felix snapped. “What was I supposed to do? Stick it out and let her kill me?” I almost did, he added under his breath.

Ryan’s sensitive werewolf ears, of course, caught that. “I’m glad you did,” he amended, as though it pained him to admit it. “I would’ve - I did the same. It’s all you can do, sometimes.”

Felix turned to him, blinking through the curtains of water. Ryan was slouching in the downpour, eyes narrowed elsewhere. Mostly he was startled by the admission of weakness - rare in a person who prided himself so thoroughly on being reliable and independent. He reached out, struck by the urge to offer whatever clumsy comfort he was capable of; his hand bumped against Ryan’s, and he held it there until Ryan caught up and wove their fingers together. 

His hands were wet and cold, and he gripped so hard Felix’s very human bones ached, but he wouldn’t have pulled away now. Not when he’d been the one to offer.

it’s not even that one is necessarily better than the other - they both work, and they’re working in different ways. they’re set in the same scene, conveying the same beat - reaching out to comfort someone in the wake of vulnerability. it’s just that one is longer, and therefore gives you more room to - set the scene (rain, being unable to hear each other) - use dialogue to show what is being told in the first example - convey extra information about the characters (actually, if this was a scene i was writing in a fic or novel, the stuff about ryan being a werewolf would already be known to the reader, so i would use that space to convey something else about ryan in that moment) - elaborate on felix’s internal state: the transition from defensive to curious/surprised to gentle - linger for a sentence or two on the moment of connection

this is about unraveling a scene and making it bigger than it was, breaking it apart into tinier beats and describing each one in the narrative. what happens when you do that and your fic doesn’t get much bigger still?

back to scope! we understand, as people who read and write and live, that the part of a story that you choose to depict in a narrative is not the entire story: events happen off-screen. some of them happened before the story started, and they will continue to happen after the story ends. the narrative is only showing you an arc, a particular series of events. 

when you’re writing fic, you have in fact tremendous amounts of flexibility when it comes to the scope of a story. you can write something that is about a single moment in canon, and trust that your audience is following along because they have the context already. so you don’t need to waste time on setting it up, which often means - if you’re given to a certain kind of fic writing (canon compliant / small divergences / missing scenes / character studies) your fics will end up not being very long because you’re not reiterating what you don’t need to reiterate. your idea is small because it inhabits a small space, is squished between canon events, and so doesn’t ever get bigger. if this is what is happening, it’s good, and you should try to preserve this going forward. 

people who are writing longer fic are, simply, working with bigger ideas*. they’re not just going “what if he said what he wanted in this scene instead of going home?” and writing the bit where they kiss immediately after - they’re also going “what if this changed everything in the future? what happens if they tackle all their problems together from now on? what new problems arise from this?”

*hopefully they are working with bigger ideas. i have seen longfics that are just incredibly fucking tedious because the author swallowed a thesaurus and had a tenuous grasp on plotting to begin with. 

that’s for a canon divergent fic, presumably. you might also be writing a post-canon fic, with its own set of pre-fic events and a new set of problems to deal with. currently, for example, i’m writing a fic where akira and goro were dating after canon, broke up, and stayed together in a deeply dysfunctional way after that - and the consequences for them now that they’re forced to deal with the mess they’ve made of their lives, together and apart. so now they have to deal with: the catalyst for dealing with their old problems, which is a problem in itself, and their old problems, which have been festering for a really long time.

which forms the core of the scope i’m talking about. i have to go through a bunch of scenes to set this fic up - i need to show their old problems and their new problems, i need to explain why the old ones haven’t been dealt with already, i need to set up the potential for dealing with them and the necessity of doing so, i need to give them places to start, and also i want to allow them to fail so they can choose to start again. i know these things because i have some idea of the kind of story i want to tell. if i didn’t know this, my story would not go anywhere by itself, and i would have to start outlining scene by scene the way people who actually outline do it, and i hate doing that because then i never write. 

if you can outline and it doesn’t make you want to chew wood, then i highly recommend picking up the habit. it’s very useful, and the methodical approach is a fantastic failsafe for the moments when you (me) get stuck on your fic (breakup au) and have to stop writing for several weeks in order to figure out a single fucking plot point that will let you move forward and

anyway. 

so yeah! to sum up;

find a larger scope for your story

get in the habit of picking apart beats into discrete moments and guiding the narrative through them

learn to outline if you can

last thing - which is perhaps the most vital and least reliable - stamina. 

you WILL lose interest in half the longer fics you write. it WILL suck. if you think you know pain because you have 700 words of a fic and can’t get through the last 400, i promise you it is like that but much worse because you have 7000 words now, or 17000 words, and you are stuck with no way forward. it will suck so BAD. 

don’t beat yourself up over it. once you’re in the habit of writing something long, you will retain that habit, and be able to apply it elsewhere. the words aren’t wasted, they’re practice, and they’re worth what they’ve taught you.

but! all the scope and internal scene-building and outlines won’t help you if you do not (and this is not as bad as everyone makes it sound) actually write. you HAVE to learn to actually write. you have to figure out what you like about writing and make a longfic outline [/ scene beats notes chart / themes mind map / tumblr tag of inspiring quotes and photography] that consists entirely of stuff you love and then you have to sit down and write your fic. it is not terribly scary. it’s okay to fail, but you also have no way around this. 

i hope this helped, and good luck!

[clownattack]

Castor - character bio

I’ve been struggling with getting a bio out for Cas for waaaaay too long now, but i feel pretty ok with how it looks currently - i'm going to repost it on my art blog with some drawings of Cas and Hjalle in the future (hopefully). If you want to skip most of the nonsense and just get a feel for her personality, the section under the bio paragraphs is FULL OF POINTS.

links to drawn refs here and here

Longpost under the cut

✦ Early life in Hjalle:

Being born into the noble family Aran, Castor’s early life consisted mostly of being pampered by the attendants and strict education. Cas was a rowdy kid, and with time, lack of affection and validation from her family served to amplify the trait - she went from occasionally disobedient to full-on antagonistic towards her parents, and the nobility as a whole. She began to sneak out; spending her time outside of the Fort, spying on the guards and trying to bribe knights into taking her on as a page.

When Cas turned nine a sibling came into the picture, and she made it her duty to assure Aster’s upbringing would be better than hers. She poured everything she had into Aster, but soon developed a brash and overbearing streak, unyielding in her focus to teach the meek little sister to stand her ground. Aster became torn between Cas and the parents, who in all fairness, treated her much better than their firstborn. This would remain the case until Castor’s dragon-induced injuries.

In her late teens, Cas was seldom seen in the fort - to everyone's great relief. Her mood was always sour, she gave up on her studies and only seemed to care about Aster and joining the hunting parties. Her parents reached their limit when Castor announced she would not become one of the renowned judges of House Aran - this led to an explosive argument, which concluded with Castor storming out. For the following two years, she lived and worked with rangers tasked with protecting and providing for the town.

It was in those years that Cas acquired her battle prowess and scars, the most prominent being a gift from an especially large and angry dragon. A single swipe of its tail tore Castor’s chest and forearm open, forcing the hunting party to rush her to the fort in (what the hunters expected to be) a futile attempt to get her family to provide medical help for their dying kin. The reception was cold indeed, and if it weren’t for Aster’s hysterics and outrage over her family’s indifference, Cas would have not survived the grievous wounds. The upside to this event was a new high tale to impress people with, and strengthening the bond between two sisters. The downside - Castor was now under her parent’s thumb. They made her accept the position of inquisitor; to make up for the hassle she caused them. Taking up the mantle turned Castor’s world upside down - not only would she have to work in close proximity to her father, but her dreams of being knighted were shattered, as inquisitorial duties stand in stark opposition to virtues of knighthood. As Inquisitor she was tasked with investigating and interrogating for the court - the latter, as Aran tradition had it, was extraordinarily bloody.

 ✦ Vesuvia:

Almost as soon as she arrived, the city sparked something in Cas. This was unexpected to say the least; she was certain the years of gruesome work as inquisitor numbed her to simple joys of life. The sights and sounds of Vesuvia however, made her eager to explore and see how everything ticked - and the more she saw the more she wished to remain in the city. After attending the Masquerade and becoming acquainted with Asra, Cas was prepared to do anything to stay - even if it meant sucking up to the Buffoon count and begging for a job. Lucio proved to be anything but opposed - he’d heard of the “bloody good shows” (pun intended) Castor was infamous for, and was eager to take her off her parents hands. This led to working parallel to the count and his court, but also enabled Cas to dabble in magic under Asra’s tutelage.

This slight betterment of Cas’ situation would not last long however, as The Red Plague took complete hold of the city mere months after she took up her residence in Vesuvia. After perishing, and being brought back by Asra, she very slowly regains certain memories and traits - her sister, love of astronomy, sword skills. She sneaks out, snoops, and is a handful overall; but Asra is happy to see Castor’s “new” self free of bitterness and pain.

After this point, the “game events” take place. I like to imagine Castor braving an amalgam of Nadia and Portia routes, with a fistful (or multiple) of courtier drama. Castor is tasked with an investigation, slowly  but surely unravelling how deep the corruption runs in Vesuvia, and how much of it can be attributed to the courtiers. The conclusion of her story focuses on first facing off against the court, then the Justice Arcana.

  ✦ Physical appearance

Light olive skin, she picks up a slight tan in Vesuvia.

Dark gray eyes, striking marbling on the iris.

Long girl - 176 cm tall, loves being the “tall friend” (and manhandling people close to her). Being taller than her is taken as an indirect challenge.

She has a rectangular body type, could be described as a “runner’s body”.

Prominent scarring across right forearm and torso, missing right breast.

Tastefully disheveled. Her hair has a constantly windswept quality, and the gray streaks seem to be especially unruly.

Inherited the “Aran silver” (early graying), she tries to ignore it. “The more you hide it, the more it shows”.

Secretly really bothered by the many similarities to her father. Avoids looking at herself too much, and whenever she does it feels like he’s looking back at her, judging.

Only ever smoothes herself over before important court meetings and social events. She doesn't know how makeup works, so before any party she asks Asra to sort her out. Cas looking prim is both a treat and a source of friendly jabs.

✦ Character traits

Power walking by default. This can be somewhat intimidating, and she won’t stop if someone is in her way - just put them to the side and continue.

Puts up a really convincing pretence of formality and refinement.

In actuality she finds this facade tiresome, and just wants to talk fast about battle/hunting feats or astronomy. Maybe show off her pyromancy.

Loves socializing, it recharges her batteries.

Dilligent worker.

Tends to overwork herself and neglect her relationships.

Often scatter minded and wanting to do too many things at one time.

Doesn’t appreciate people instigating physical contact or getting up in her face. She needs to prepare herself for it, or be the initiator.

Stubborn as a mule. Never knows when to stop pressing people.

Extremely callous at times.

Annoyingly overbearing

Most of this springs from a place of fear - things had a habit of getting worse whenever her family imposed decisions onto her. In her mind, if she’s the one holding the reins, everything will be better. And if something does fail - she will be the only one to blame.

Starting arguments comes much too easily to her, but she’s just as quick to introspect, and seek out the person she argued with to apologize and approach the issue in an appropriate manner.

Forgives easily

Eternally scoffing at astrology. She knows shes being bigoted, but at this point its almost like an inside joke between her and Asra. “Astrology? It's baby stuff. PSEUDOSCIENCE!” (she cries as she worries over her afternoon tarot reading and preparing pretty horoscopes for the Shop...)

A huge hypocrite at times. “Do as I say, not as I do” could easily be her motto.

Both the upright and reversed Knight of Swords card sums her character up perfectly.

✦ Occupation & Residency

Vesuvia:

Beginning of her story follows the game canon almost to a T - Cas lives with Asra in the Shop, and works there. It bores her to death, and she plays tricks on every customer just to entertain herself.

After being officially hired by Nadia as the Palace Magician, Castor moves out of the shop and purchases a modest house in Goldgrave, much below the value of what Nadia offered her, and what she could afford. It’s convenient and that’s what matters to Cas. She continues supplying the shop diligently, and takes over whenever Asra runs off.

Nadia insisted on Castor having an office in the palace. It grew on her with time, and after The Devil is dealt with it becomes her little “hub”.

Hjalle:

Cas lived with her family in the castle site until 17 years old.

After denying her parents their plans for her future as a judge, she hunkered down in a hunting lodge outside of the town, and spent almost two years living that way - she still thinks of these two years as the most joyous time in her life.

The only thing she ever used her family’s wealth for was commissioning the construction of an extravagant observatory. Reminiscent of a gothic fortress, the stark exterior is contrasted with insides filled with artwork and art-nouveau ornaments. The central chamber is a vast library with a powerful telescope in its apse - it is a sight that could take the breath of the most haughty of nobles.

There’s a tiny living space below the main chamber, furnished sparingly, but with a lovely fireplace (in Hjalle, its a necessity). It’s where Cas stays after becoming the inquisitor/whenever she visits after the in-game events.

✦ Trivia

Cas is 23 years old when she first arrives to Vesuvia - 28 at the time of The Devil’s downfall.

She freed Merlin from a merchant’s cage in the Red Market, during one of her outings in the three year interlude after her death - Asra fumes after they find out she snuck out to the market - yet is amazed that Cas found a familiar.

Cas regained her first memories via touching objects linked to her past life - a letter from Aster, articles of clothing, a sword...

This self re-discovering takes a turn for the worse when Cas finally finds a large, ornate knife - the one she inherited after becoming inquisitor. The memories it resurfaces are a staggering blow to Castor, completely derailing the beliefs she had about her own person. She thought of herself as a paragon, and remembering the torture she inflicted upon others, the lives taken in the name of “justice” made her relapse into bitterness and disenchantment. She deals with those feelings as her investigation into the courtiers progresses.

Predominantly uses pyromancy, other types of magic are strictly used for her work at the palace, and rather sparingly.

Could be best described as a battlemage - enjoys being in melee range and assaulting her quarry with both sword and fire; the latter being used more as a way to distract or stagger the enemy than actually harm. There's no fun in just burning them up!

Doesn’t cook for herself, although she has a natural knack for it - will only cook for guests and short people.

Her dislike of Lucio clashes with gratitude for employing her when she first arrived to Vesuvia - he was the knife which cut Cas off from her parents, and it’s something she could never forget.

Demiromatic/sexual.

She was offered to be knighted by Nadia after defeating The Devil. Cas declined - It’s much more than a title to her, and accepting seemed like mockery (considering her past as inquisitor).

Short fuse, she learns to better control herself while working in the palace. But if someone really pushes her the nearby candles miiiight get a bit out of control. Or she’ll just throttle them.

Hates her full name - Castor is such a mouthful. Sounds stuck up too...

[pyrefell]

Headcanons for some of the boys? Namely horrorfell, underswap and underfell?

you let me off my child leash and i honestly wasn’t even really sure where to even start here, so you get some pretty general headcanons. i have a lot to say about underfell and horrorfell,,,

UNDERSWAP:

IN ALL HONESTY, Underswap is currently one of my least developed AU interpretations. I'm still just really indecisive. BUT! I do have some stuff that I'm fairly set on.

Papyrus:

Never really grew out of the shyness he had as a babybones, he’s always had a much more outgoing brother to hide behind. 

He's the one that designed the puzzles in Snowdin! Puzzles are still one of his special interests in this AU. (Sans gets really excited to tell anyone that asks that his Very Cool little brother designed them.) 

He's fairly low to mid (but consistent) energy. He tries (and usually succeeds) to act all chill but he gets really excited about some things and can reach True Papyrus levels of loud. 

He and Undyne are still friends in this AU! He doesn't go to see her super often because. Hotland. But when they are together, it's pretty chaotic. They like to design things a la Mickey's Dick Smasher. 

Man, he's sure been feeling a lot of deja vu lately. Huh, wonder what that's all about. :)

Sans:

He’s still the Judge! And he's still the one that has to deal with the ever shifting and resetting timeline. It's...really starting to take a toll on him, but what's the point in telling anyone? They won't remember and besides, who's going to believe him anyways? 

He was always fairly outgoing and bubbly but he took on an even more bubbly persona kind of unconsciously to overcompensate for and hide how Tired he is now. 

Sans is just about the opposite of his brother energywise. He's full of energy for short bursts and then he sleeps for hours. He's started sleeping more since everything with the timeline started. It's not the best sleep but he’s just...so tired nowadays. 

Still completely willing to eat condiments for a joke (or a """joke"""). He eats mayonnaise by the handful. Does it mostly to embarrass (and disgust) Papyrus. 

Genuinely enraged by people who think he's young. Sure, he may be only a few inches over 5', but he's a Wide Boy. And not a naïve child, he's the older brother, thank you very much. Haven't you heard his voice? What kid has a voice that deep? 

UNDERFELL: 

One general headcanon I have is that they both have DT in their systems. Gaster gave them injections when they were still very young babybones in the sterile lab and they’d started mysteriously falling down. He’s not really a bad guy there, he wanted to save them. Of course, it’s probably got it’s side effects, right? After all the Bromalgamate and Comic Papyrus exist. :)

Their relationship is...strained. They definitely still love each other and would fight to the death for the other but they don't really talk. They both blame each other for how the other turned out, how they act.

Papyrus:

He’s blind in his scarred socket! He first got the wound when he was still pretty little and because he and Sans were still living out on the streets, he wasn’t able to get any real kind of medical care. It’s still pretty fragile but there’s really not a whole lot that can be done anymore. 

He can cook! Like, really well, actually. Grillby taught him when he was younger. He’s particularly good at cooking with whatever’s already in the house. 

I think he still wants to believe everyone can change and be good if they try. Though, whether he actually believes that anymore is kind of debatable. And I  think that he doesn’t really enjoy all the fighting. He doesn’t take any real pride or joy in what he's become. He really wanted (and still wants) to actually protect monsters. 

There's a square of fabric on his scarf that's from a well-loved blanket he'd had as a babybones. It still brings him some semblance of comfort when he needs it. 

He's well aware of timelines. Well okay, 'well aware' isn't exactly the right way to put it. He can't put a name to what's happening, why he can remember things that haven't happened yet or have happened at all. He at one point attempted to keep a journal about it all but it was gone the next reset. He'd like to talk to Sans about it, but given how their relationship is... 

Sans:

He’s got 3 golden teeth, he got hit pretty good almost directly on those teeth around the same time Papyrus got his scar. They were really loose after that but didn’t actually come out until later. 

Most still see him as free EXP. He doesn't get attacked as much anymore but the times he has, he's been able to suffice on just dodging until Papyrus shows up. He could just as easily fight back, but he's decided there could be some benefit to hiding what he can do for just a bit longer. Besides, he'd rather not place any more targets on their backs. 

He knows how to sew! He learned completely out of necessity when they were both young. They only had so many pieces of clothes, after all. He's the one who sewed the little square of Papyrus's blanket into his scarf. 

King of eavesdropping. Despite his stature (and who his brother is for that matter), he's surprisingly good at going unnoticed. He tends to play like he's completely shitfaced and passed out at Grillby's, just in case someone lets something slip. 

They both blame themselves for how the other turned out but Sans has it bad. He's supposed to be the older brother, right? He was supposed to keep Papyrus safe and stars, did he do a shit job at it, even if there were some things he just couldn't do anything about. 

HORRORFELL: 

OKAY SO, my Horrorfell doesn't start the same way the normal Horrortale AU starts. The short version is that Frisk doesn't fall until YEARS after they normally would have and they fall with Aliza. The Famine devastated the Underground. Frisk's left to try and figure out why they didn't fall when they should have and why they can't remember anything that happened during those years between. They have to balance keeping themselves and Aliza alive and trying to get through to at least Sans, who, while his memory is terrible he knows he's supposed to be pissed at them. They left the Underground to rot. I think that's all y'all really need lmao. I'm definitely going to write about Horrorfell, in fact I've already started something about it

ANYWAYS! On to the headcanons for the Boys. These two are so ride or die now it’s almost unreal. They’ve had a lot of time to air out their grievances and have the years worth of fights with each other. They work together so much better now and it comes in handy for both protecting each other and hunting. They're the most efficient and successful hunters in the Underground. 

Papyrus:

He’s effectively completely blind at this point. He needs coke bottle lenses to see. He ends up completely depending on his hearing and sense of smell when he's hunting. Despite his failing eyesight, he remains the best chef in Snowdin after Grillby's disappearance. He's always sure to use as much as he possibly can. 

His new stature has made it incredibly difficult to get into most buildings. He often ends up walking on all fours and his magic's started to adjust his body for that. He doesn’t recognize himself so much anymore. 

While Sans was comatose, Papyrus spent his time trying to ration out food, attempting to keep the peace for the denizens of Snowdin and caring for Sans. He'd continued to cut his own rations not only for the rest of Snowdin but for Sans too when he hopefully wakes up. 

He'd managed his way out to the rest of the Underground with his own brand of 'shortcut' earlier on despite the lockdown in Snowdin. Some say they'd seen him but no one's really sure if that's true and if it is, how did he get out? Can he do it again and maybe talk some sense into the Empress? They used to be friends, right? 

His memory is also not very good. He and Sans keep a big whiteboard in the kitchen with pertinent information and there's a calendar in every room with all the past dates marked off, just in case someone forgets. 

Sans:

The reason why the hole in his skull is so big and leads into his nasal cavity is because of preexisting cracks. Undyne really didn't mean to hit him! Really, she didn't... 

The selfish part of him almost wishes the DT in him hadn't kept him around, but he can't bring himself to really want that. He can't leave Papyrus alone, especially not now. 

His relationship with Frisk is...tense to say the least. When he first saw them, he didn't fully process who they were but he felt nothing but rage. He doesn't really believe what Frisk's saying when they claim they can't remember anything. Their relationship could absolutely mend, there's just so many roadblocks at the start. 

Seeing as he can't reliably use his shortcuts anymore, he's not as efficient a hunter as he could be. But that doesn't mean he isn't extremely deadly. The brothers are revered for the effectiveness, after all. 

He's developed some pretty nasty coping habits, most of which involve some kind of self harm either intentional or not. Papyrus tries his best to limit it, but he's not the best either.

[transhitman]

Nobody asked but I wanna talk about my OC universe. Specifically the biology of the human species because I think it’s cool as fuck. Basically, homo sapiens is extinct after nuclear winter and all the fantasy races are the different evolutions of the human species with adaptations that allowed them to survive. There are 6 total and they’re all sort of like combinations of two or more more traditional fantasy races so yeah.

H. magus -- HUMANS -- Only named as such because they’re the only ones that don’t have a major outward change in physiology. They look pretty much the same but are a little bit taller on average and can have gold or purple eyes. They survived via the magic of invention and Literal Magic, and mostly stayed in one spot. They sat on resources and created pretty capitalist-leaning societies, and thus didn’t have to undergo any major changes. However, there are still enough small differences to qualify them as a different species than H. sapiens, namely that their bodies conduct magic really REALLY well.

H. bucerus -- OGRES -- Sort of like a mix between tieflings and orcs. They’re descendants of the people who were ostracized from the Human communities for whatever reason, and had to deal with radiation, harsh weather, and GIANT FREAKING SHADOW MOSTERS. Since the Human ancestors were sitting on all the resources, the proto-Ogres were forced to become nomadic. In order to survive the Badlands, their muscles became much more dense, granting them super strength. However, they also weigh twice as much as a Human of the same volume and require twice as much food. They also developed methods of dealing with cancer caused by the radiation of the world. They basically integrate tumors into their bodies as horns. They have a special type of white blood cell that specifically targets cancerous growths and forces them to the surface of the skin, where they can be removed. They also have tails, which suit their environment. There are different variants depending on the global region they’re from, each with different horn and tail types. Probably the sexiest species. They’re tall ^__^ But their size is limited to like 7ft since being too big and dense would be DISASTEROUS in the food-scarce Badlands.

H. gurges -- DWARVES -- Ok so they’re honestly more mermaid-like, but I’m trying to fit a theme with the names here. They are short, though. And most of them live in cities that are below the surface, just not a solid surface. The Dwarves are descendants of the seafaring survivors of the Pacific Ocean. There is actually a wide variety that could count as dozens and dozens of separate species, but for function’s sake they’re all under the same category. They have convergently evolved with different types of fish, getting less and less human-looking the deeper in the ocean they live. On the surface, they’re just people with fluorescent skin tones. In the Abyss, they’re barely even human. They are able to withstand enormous pressure, and notably can form symbiotic relationships with sessile sea life. Sponges and barnacles and the like often grow on their bodies, sometimes in a very stunning, very beautiful way. Though the people closer to the surface are short, those deeper in the water grow to be gigantic. One of their subspecies includes the Extremophiles, who live in the deepest part of the ocean. They can reach about 20ft in length when counting their tails. It’s unknown weather these Extremophiles age, or what they really do down there. The Dwarves outside of the deepest Abyss usually live in underwater cities, on the coast, or on floating oil rig-type things. They’re all normal.

H. hiems -- ELVES -- Elves are sort of a combination between elves, giants, and general undead creatures (skeletons lol). They’re fucking massive, and live in only the coldest areas. Their skin is usually a shade of grey, tinted by the type of mineral that is the main staple of their diet. They eat rocks. Yeah. In fact, their bodies are so fucked up and adapted to their barren environment that normal food can easily kill them. Sugar specifically is HIGHLY toxic. Because they don’t process food the same way, they’re skeletal. And 12ft tall. Basically, slenderman. Though they aren’t bald. They have pale down-like hair on their heads. They also have another strange diet habit, which developed as a result of food scarcity during the beginning of the apocalypse. They have a very different culture surrounding cannibalism. Though the consumption of entire bodies is Not A Thing anymore, having your loved ones consume small parts of your body after your death is a very important ritual. It is an acknowledgement that the soul has gone, and the body has become empty matter. The other big thing about them is their special Suit Magic, in which a symbol of one of the playing card suits appears somewhere on their body when they go though puberty. The different suits grant them different abilities, and the four suits have divided into factions which were once at war with each other. (Blood (hearts) is healing. Edges (diamonds) creates shield constructs. Blades (spades) is bolts of energy. And Fists (clubs) is bludgeoning-type weapon constructs.) However, Elves are now extremely isolated up in their mountains and tundras. Very territorial. People honestly sort of hate them cause they’re also a little bit specist.

H. invictus -- MONOS -- Mono stands for monochrome. Predictably, Monos are monochrome. Arcane albinism overwrites their natural skin tone, and instead turns them a sickly white color, tinted by their subspecies hue. Everything else on them is jet black, including their blood and organs. Or, it’s that same hue color. They’re really fucked up, honestly. They’re sort of supposed to be a mix between vampires and orcs. They’re an artificially created species, made via eugenics and dark magic. Their creators were aiming to make an unkillable army, and they sort of succeeded, but at the cost of prevalent genetic defects. Around 70% of the Mono population has some sort of disability, which really isn’t a huge problem. They’re more than capable of providing medical care and creating accessibility deceives like prosthetics and magic medicine. You can do crazy shit with technology these days! In fact Monos were engineered to be compatible with tech- oh their creators were fascist eugenicists who abused them and treated them like disposable garbage specifically because of the disabilities they themselves caused though carelessness and forced inbreeding? Well. Alright. Not how I would have done it but... Anyway, long story short, the Monos pulled a 180 at some point and broke free of all that shit. Because they’re sort of a genetic mess, they have really great healthcare out of necessity. They’re the most technologically advanced species on the planet rn, but all of their scientists are engineers and doctors, not warriors, so they’re at constant risk of being annexed by Humans. Monos also have a very low fertility rate, so the percentage of whole-blooded Monos is going way down. They’re close to being endangered at this point. Luckily, some guy figured out how to grow babies in tubes but that’s a story for another day.

H. unicus -- DOWNDEEPERS -- Ok, Downdeepers are just all the miscellaneous designs I came up with that didn’t make sense as one of the other species lol. They’re the decedents of the people who fled to the newly-formed Downdeeps cave system, which is a global system of caverns that goes really fucking deep underground. The high concentrations of magic there cause Downdeepers to mutate rapidly. No two of them are the same. They all just live in tha caves... hell yeah...

The last human species are the CHIMERAS, which are really just the people who are a cross between two or more species. They were rare at first, but they had a population boom after global travel was reestablished (somewhat, anyway).

There are a couple other inorganic races I could talk about but I’m gonna leave it there. Yeah nobody asked for this but I hope you thought it was neat. I am honestly really proud of this world I think it’s cool as hell : ) yeah. And if you’re wondering how all the species can be cohesive despite their ancestors being isolated in different parts of the world (specifically Ogres, who live on every continent and don’t have a common ancestor), that’s because of some meta shit that has to do with how magic and human will interact. Collective subconscious shit. And that would take like 3 pages to explain so like. Just go with it for now lol.

[jawbonejoe]

Hey man, earnest question, might sound a bit loaded. How DO you get to actually feel the screw the world I'm me self-confidence? I try to exercise self-love but mostly it feels forced and fake. Like... how do you reach that. You just keep trying?

So, Anon, since your question two things happened to me. The first happened to the rest of the planet: watching Trump lose the election and thus, the end of a four year nightmare draws nearer. 

The second thing happened to only a handful of people in that same world: a dear friend of mine lost his year long battle with leukemia. I found out via his wife’s posts on fb, and bc I was in the middle of cooking with my family on an otherwise celebratory day there wasn’t much I could do to reach out and console her. 

I already had the bones of your answer figured out by the time both things happened and now I know even more clearly what to tell you. 

You’re on the right path, self care and self love and confidence are absolutely practice and patience and more practice. It will feel fake at first bc you have to be bad at something before you are good at it. But we don’t have a cute saying for nothing ‘fake it till you make it is’ absolutely real. 

But I do think you’re looking at the thing in the wrong light. Self-love and confidence should not come from any ‘screw the world’ doctrine. I can see why you would call it that, especially when asking me because I do have a very ‘screw off’ attitude about things. The difference I want to make clear is that self love and confidence are not about the relationship of the self to the world, but the self to the self. You interact with the world every day as a jumble of information being broadcast through your body by a piece of meat with a little electricity inside it. That information is interpreted into sensation, emotion, memory, thought, and of course it is acted upon by the outside world and then reinterpreted to meet the meat’s needs. Being such a crazy living jumble is insane enough but then you have to go out and deal with other people who are also insane living jumbles of things. 

That’s where confidence comes in, because the world will interpret you as it wants and one of the few ways to inform its decision is to act like you can handle whatever it’s going to do to you. This is a skill that can be taught, and for those who have to self teach it there’s no better way to learn it than by following an example.

Why I need you to know it’s not a you v. world relationship is because we’re all constantly becoming and reinforcing who and what we are. And within that, true confidence comes from being someone you like being and trusting you can keep being that. The work there comes with reflection and practice and I can’t tell you how helpful it is to have people who will push you to be the best version of yourself. 

‘Screw the world’ offers too little to the importance of sharing life with other people. Humans are pack animals, we’re pattern finding machines, and those things together mean that we’re more highly adapted to develop profound bonds with each other than any other animal. 

I learned 80% of my own self love routine from my good friend who had spent much of their early life being denied any agency in who they were and thus developed the most powerful armor of self love I’ve ever seen. For them it came from necessity, their love was the thing they needed to stay alive and flourish. From them I learned that being bold and sure of that self love is one of the best ways to reinforce it and broadcast a similar feeling of the power of pride to others. 

Making the choice to love the self every day is key. So are things like self care, good health habits, finding time for art and hobbies, tricks like evaluating how you use language especially when talking to or about yourself. I make a point to never tell self deprecating jokes or even allude to such things because not only are they not funny but they tell my jumble of neurons the exact opposite of what we’ve worked so hard to know. As a woman I still struggle with using filler language in how I express myself, things like pre-facing my statements with ‘I think’ or ‘Maybe’ or ‘Well if you ask me.’ It seems like a small thing in the grand scheme but really understanding how you use language and how you can better use it to help you feel confident is a good first step and can always be improved as you learn and build your own routine. 

What I can’t understate is how important it is to care. Screw the world is just one way self love and confidence can manifest itself but really it’s bravado because the thing that really matters is wanting to be in the world as someone you like. That feeling of being a peace with who you are, with an eye towards who you want to be, will attract people who like who you are and help you reinforce this idea. I can’t tell you the number of times I felt down and then thought ‘well, I’m best friends with some of the greatest people I’ve ever met, and I know they have great taste so are they wrong for liking me? Hell no!’ Nevermind that having them in my life gives me people I admire that I can look to and say ‘hmm, what would X do in this situation?’ 

Self love is so personal it’s easy to think of it as some unteachable skill that you’re either born with or not. I tell you that couldn’t be more wrong. Don’t misunderstand, you can not make people love themselves when they don’t, and that is sad but at the end of the day there will be people in your life who enjoy making themselves miserable. You should care for other people but never give so much of yourself that you get nothing back. A good friend will give as much joy as they receive from you. 

There is so much to self love that I could go on and on but here’s what I learned from my late friend. As a trans man he made the decision, the painful and scary and hard decision, to be who he was every day of his life. He struggled with it, he fought to understand it, he surrounded himself with people who loved who he was always meant to be even before he could name it himself. He let himself feel the richness of life, he chose to be creative and funny and smart and kind. He was tough when he wanted to be and he showed every quality that a man should have because he chose to be the man he was every single day. 

That’s not to say he never questioned or struggled or even failed in who he was but he always got back up and kept fighting to be the best version of himself. In him I always saw an example of how to be the person you want to be, an example of what every person should be. He laughed the hardest at his own jokes, he loved deliriously, he never denied himself his emotions and their expression, and whenever he wanted something he went out and leapt for it. 

Self love is never you v. the world because that’s how you miss out on all the people who help you realize who you want to be. You live for the world, you are a part of the world knowing itself in every little moment you exist. Those who don’t care about the world will only grow their unhappiness because they’re denying the importance of the love that binds us all together. That love comes in big acts and small, I personally love the earthly pleasures of food and drink and art because they can be enjoyed with just a little practice and skill and can be shared as much as they can be enjoyed solo. 

Every time you choose who you are and who you want to be you perform another act of self love. It may feel like a lot of goofy clown work at first but consider that digging the foundation that stronger and stronger self love will build on. So, long answer to your short question, yes. Keep trying. Look to the world and see its beauty, let yourself feel and learn as much as you can and let other people love you. They will help you be the best you just as much as you help them. And before long the goofy clown work won’t be goofy any more it will just be the truth. You’ll start to look to yourself for the love you need when you need it, and that will enrich the love you continue to feel with others.

[mythologyfolklore]

Ares and Athena through the years - Ch. 09

Chapter Nine: The Trojan War, Pt. 01

(A/N:  This is basically the Iliad, but from the gods' POV. The gods meddling with human affairs, just as they please and Zeus being a puppet master for funsies, because he's Zeus. 

If my writing looks a bit differently at some parts, it's because I transcribed them from my German edition translation of the Iliad. Now, the Iliad is one monster of a book. So I'm cutting this chapter into several parts. But I altered or completely skipped a few parts from the epic, so if you discover inaccuracies and books missing, know that this is absolutely intentional.)

“Mēnin áeide, theá, Peleïádeo Akhilēos

ouloménen, hé myrí' Akhaioīs álge étheken …”¹

.

Athena still didn't know why not being picked as the fairest offended her so.

Maybe being thought of as beautiful was more important to her, than she had thought.

Anyhow, she could not deny, that she was slightly butthurt. Not as much as Hera, but she was still furious.

She had offered wisdom and victory, Hera had offered power.

And Paris had picked Aphrodite, because she had offered him the most beautiful woman in the world?! Really?

And to top it off, the woman in question was Helena of Sparta, married to none other than Menélaos, a volatile Mycenaean², who had become king of Sparta through their marriage!

She also happened to be subject of a treaty her father had made with her suitors, before she had chosen Menélaos as her husband: that those rejected would come to the aid of the successful one, should he ever be in a troublesome situation.

And what a troubled situation it was, because Paris had freaking abducted Helena with Aphrodite's help!

Indeed, that guy's stupidity knew no bounds!

So here the mortal men were – rallying the entirety of Hellas, because of that damn treaty! Among them were great men like brave Diomedes, cunning Odysseus (a favourite of Athena's), Menélaos' brother Agamemnon and, last but not least, great Akhilleus and his soulmate Patroklos.

Also, that old bitch Agamemnon had managed to offend several gods and mortals by … well, being his bitchy arsehole self …

.

Book One:

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Apollon was minding his own business, when suddenly a prayer reached his ears.

A prayer full of anguish and despair, from a voice he knew: that of his priest Khrýses.

The god of oracles sighed and listened to what his priest had to say.

“Hear me, God of the Silver Bow, who stands over Khryse and holy Killa, who rules mightily over Ténedos, Smintheus³, if the roof I gave to your temple and my sacrifices ever pleased you, fulfil my prayer: let the Danaoi⁴ pay for my tears with your arrows!”

Apollon closed his eyes and used his gift of clairvoyance to get a full picture of what had happened.

But once he knew everything, he was seized by fury.

“Alright, motherfuckers!”, he growled, as he grabbed his bow and arrows and descended to earth, nearby their camp.

“Face the wrath of Ioímios⁵!”

Then he proceeded to rain down every single contagious disease he had at his disposal, for nine days straight.

.

Hera was raging and cursing Thetis and Akhilles, but mostly Thetis: the Nereid had persuaded Zeus to support the Trojans, because her son had asked her to.

Yep, Akhilles had requested that the Trojans should have the upper hand, lest Agamemnon finally would get his bitchy arse up and apologise to him properly.

Now the most powerful warrior of the entire army was brooding in his tent like … what was that mortal dish again? Oh yeah, a burrito. An overgrown, sulky blanket burrito. Who had completely withdrawn from battle with all of his troops, because screw Agamemnon.

Of course, no one liked Agamemnon, but this was ridiculous.

.

Book Two:

.

Meanwhile the Trojans, with their prince Hektor and Zeus' good will on their side, easily held their own and more than often threatened to gain decisive victories.

And to add insult to injury, her son Ares, who had promised to support her and Athena against the Trojans, had let Aphrodite get into his head and was now opposing them, like the turncoat he was!

Both Hera and Athena were furious at this development, but Zeus had not allowed them to interfere – yet.

“You know”, Athena grumbled, as the two goddesses looked down onto the battlefield, “If father let me, I would love to drive a spear into Ares' gut!”

“You and me both”, Hera huffed. “Just where did I go wrong in his educati- not a word, Athena”, she warned, when the goddess of wisdom opened her mouth to reply.

“Anyway”, the Queen continued, “We have to obey Zeus' decree, especially now; as you can see, he's in a bad mood.” And pointed to the dark clouds above them.

“Also, Athena – I think you might want to go down there; they all seem to want to cut and run, there is a riot.”

Athena lost no time in dashing down there and urging her mortal friend Odysseus to interfere.

It wasn't long, until he and old Nestor had re-established order.

.

Book Three:

.

Some sacrifices and one breakfast later, the Achaeans and the Trojans were duking it out on the battlefield, when Athena and Hera spied Menélaos coming close to Paris.

Latter apparently saw the Spartan king first and promptly ran off like a total wuss.

This made Hera cackle hysterically: this boy had had no qualms risking both her and Athena's wrath, abducting a married woman out of her own home, offending the entirety of Hellas in the process, and now, that her actual husband Menélaos was showing up, he was running away like a wimp?! Pathetic!

Just a few hours later, Paris changed his mind, but not before he got smack-talked by his brother Hektor for being a huge wimp.

Of course Menélaos kicked his arse, but before he could finish him off and end the war for good, Aphrodite showed up! Whisking away her favourite like the bitch she was!

Hera fumed, but resisted the urge to beat her to a pulp.

“Don't worry”, Athena comforted her, “Sooner or later, she'll get her arse handed to her. I already have my plans – and the means to execute them.”

“As always”, the Queen remarked, with a hint of amusement and fondness.

.

Meanwhile Menélaos was still on the battlefield, outraged beyond mortal comprehension and roaring for Paris to “COME BACK AND DIE LIKE A MAN!!!”

Anyhow he had won, his brother Agamemnon decided and demanded that Helena be given back, financial reparations included.

Even most of the Trojans agreed, that Helena should be given back.

But Paris insisted, that she was his wife (except that she wasn't) and he wouldn't give her up.

.

Book Four:

.

The Olympians were having lunch in their dining hall, drinking nectar and toasting to each other, while Hebe was filling their cups.

But Zeus, ever the son of cunning Kronos, was plotting.

Finally he rose and spoke with sharpest tongue:

“Among the goddesses Menélaos only has two supporters: my queen Hera, who is the patron of Argos, and my daughter Athena, who holds her hand over Boiotia. Yet both just sit here, while Aphrodite is having a field day dwelling with Paris and doing as she pleases. Did she not just save him from certain death? Menélaos has won, yes. But now we need to hold counsel about how we will proceed now; shall we bring on more bloody war or shall we finally let gentle Eirene end the suffering? Granted your approval, it would mean, that Priamos' city will remain habitable and Menélaos finally can take his Helena back home to Sparta.”

Hera and Athena stuck their heads together, whispering and plotting more bale for the Trojans.

However, Athena was sensible enough to bite her tongue towards her father.

Hera on the other hand jumped up and ranted furiously: “Zeus, what the heck?! I have worked my arse off, just to put up a fleet against Ilios, and now this shall all have been in vain?! Do whatever you want, but don't expect any of us to approve of it!”

“Shut it!”, Zeus barked, “What is your problem? Why are you so bent on obliterating this beautiful city completely! What did the Trojans ever do to you for you to be so obsessed with this?! Will your blood thirst only be quenched, when you can march through the gates of Troy to incinerate its inhabitants with your own hands?! Do what you must, but heed this; should I ever feel like destroying one of the cities you hold dear, do not get into my way. Let me do as I please, as I do for you, even though I do not like it. The Trojans have never failed to honour the gods as it is due; my altars were never void of the best sacrifices and presents my worshippers had to offer.”

Hera inhaled sharply, but returned: “My dearest cities are Argos, Sparta and Mycenae. Should any of them ever invoke your wrath, destroy them if you want. I couldn't stop you, if I tried – you are the strongest here. Still, my efforts should not be in vain. I am divine like you, we have the same parents and yet I'm the first of the goddesses, because you chose me to be your queen. So we should be in agreement, even if it's just for the sake of being role models to the rest of the gods. Do you not agree, my great and most beloved husband? Thus, we should send Athena down to tempt the Trojans into breaking the truce they made with the Achaeans. What do you say?”

Zeus chuckled at this response, but nodded his head towards Athena.

The goddess of wisdom jumped up eagerly and rushed down like a comet.

A Trojan archer shot at Menélaos, barely missing a critical body part (thanks to Athena's intervention) and the oath of peace was broken.

Soon the two sides were back at each other's throats again.

Back on Olympos, Zeus rose from the table, and retreated to the Room of Fate.

There stood a huge pair of golden scales – the Scales of Fate, gifted to him by great Ananke, the Protogenos of fate and necessity.

Zeus had not agreed to the destruction of Ilios out of favour.

It was the fate of Troy and many more warriors, that they should fall.

It was a hard choice to make; many of the people who would fall were in his personal favour and some even were his dear children.

But he was the King of the Gods.

And as such, sparing someone out of favouritism was not an option.

Meanwhile the Scales of Fate were swinging up and down, towards the Achaeans, then towards the Trojans, then back and back again …

.

Book Five:

.

As Athena was rushing about the army, spurring on the warriors, she was also looking for her half-brother Ares. His influence on the mortal fighters was hindering her work.

Oh, there he was – personally slaying Achaeans left and right and generally being his bloodthirsty, mass-murdering self.

She snuck up on him, but he noticed her before she could startle him.

Athena ignored the spear to her face and said: “Hi to you too, brother.”

“For fuck's sake, what do you want?”, Ares spat.

“For you to retreat, Brotoloigos⁶, before father gets angry.”

“You're lying. He didn't send you”, he remarked.

Athena huffed: “Alright, if you want to be like that …”

Then she promptly grabbed him, threw him over her shoulder, carried him off like this (despite his very vocal protest) and dumped him onto a rock nearby the river Skamandros.

“Father will decide over the victory. You stay here, or else!”, she warned.

Then she went back, while Ares gawked after her, wondering what the heck just had happened.

.

Athena heard a prayer and quickly found Diomedes. He had just been wounded and was now praying for her assistance in avenging himself.

She poured courage and strength over him and also manipulated his sight.

“Now that you can tell gods and humans apart”, she whispered into his ear, “Remember this; do not fight the gods, you don't stand a chance – unless it's Aphrodite; she's a wimpy bitch.”

Diomedes, now powered up and high on adrenaline, immediately rushed back into battle and began to massacre Trojans left and right, as if he was Ares in disguise.

He quickly found the Trojan archer who had shot him in the shoulder and killed him.

His companion, a Trojan nobleman named Aineías, jumped off his chariot to defend the corpse of his fallen comrade, but Diomedes quickly grabbed a huge stone and knocked him out.

Aphrodite, who was Aineías' mother, saw this and came to rescue her son.

However, Diomedes decided (much to Athena's sadistic pleasure), that he'd have none of that and promptly chucked a spear at the goddess of love. It hit her wrist, tore through the skin and Ikhor splat everywhere. She screamed in shock, terror and pain like a little bitch (seriously, it was just a cut!), dropped her son and fled, followed by the taunting of her injurer.

Apollon came to Aineías' rescue instead and caught him, before he could hit the ground. When Diomedes – blinded by battle frenzy – began to attack him too, Apollon lost his patience and began to glow ominously.

“Back off, mortal! You are delusional, if you believe, that you can hold your own against me!”

Diomedes did the wise thing and obeyed.

.

Meanwhile Aphrodite was searching the field in panic, until someone seized her by the hand: Iris, the messenger of Hera, had taken pity on her and was now leading her away from the turmoil.

“Calm down, Aphrodite”, the goddess of the rainbow tried to soothe her, “Look, there is Ares!”

The goddess of love promptly rushed over to her lover, who was basically just chilling at the banks of the river Skamandros.

Ares was startled, when he was tackled by a hysterical love goddess.

“Whoa! Aphrodite?! What happened, why are you-?”

In tears she told him what had happened.

He scowled, but kept his composure. “Let me see the wound.”

When she did, he blinked. “Aphrodite, you kicked arse in the Gigantomakhia and now you're freaking out over a scratch? Alright, alright, I'm sorry”, he apologised, when she glared tearfully.

“Just give me your chariot!”, she wailed, “I want to go home as quickly as possible!”

“Sure”, he consented and kissed her forehead.

“And my son – my son!”

“Don't worry, Apollon's got him. See?”

She sobbed in relief, when she spotted Apollon carrying Aineías away to safety.

Then she mounted Ares' war chariot and Iris drove her back to Olympos.

When she got there, she was healed by Apollon's son Asklepios, who gave her kind words of comfort.⁷

But just a few minutes later, Athena and Hera returned from the battlefield and promptly proceeded to mock her relentlessly.

“If you don't mind, my dear father”, Athena said innocently, “Surely Aphrodite has been doing that thing again, where she tempted a Greek woman to run after a Trojan and cut her hand on the needle of a brooch, when she fixed the woman's dress!”

Hera cackled hysterically and Zeus chuckled in amusement.

“Good to see you all have so much fun at my expense!”, Aphrodite spat.

“Hey, you do it all the time, it's time we get a good laugh too!”, Hera retorted.

Zeus finally stopped snickering and put a hand on Aphrodite's shoulder. “Now, now, my dear aunt. You're simply past the time of your life, when you could kill a giant with one swing of your blade. Your sword has grown dusty and your battle prowess is in the past. We have two professional war deities and many others who have a function in war, myself included. You on the other hand have a far fairer profession: the works of love and marriage.”

.

Meanwhile, Apollon had brought the unconscious Trojan nobleman to his temple, where his mother Leto and Artemis tended to his wounds.

Okay, now where is Ares – oh for fuck's sake, is he still sitting there like a moron?!

Apollon huffed and marched over to the river, where Ares indeed was still lounging, as if there wasn't relentless slaughter going on.

“Ares!”, he snapped, making the older god jump. “Get your lazy arse up and rid the battlefield of that madman Diomedes! He hurt Aphrodite at the wrist, attacked even me and at this point it wouldn't surprise me, if he took on our father Zeus as well! That man is hardly human, he fights with the strength of a Daimon! He is dangerous! You're the god of terrible war! Stop him!”

“Alright, alright, I'm on it!”, Ares grumbled defensively, “Get off my dick, will ya?!”

Apollon responded maturely, by sticking his tongue at him, ere he returned to his temple.

.

Ares teleported himself onto a wall, taking the shape of a Thracian ruler he favoured.

With fiery words, he stirred up the fighting spirit of the Trojans and their allies.

With renewed vigour they threw themselves into battle, although their opponents held them back with united strength.

He decided to help them a little more and held his hand above the Trojans. Darkness came over the plain and Aineías rejoined the fray, which significantly boosted the morale of the Trojans.

Still they couldn't seem to break through; the Achaeans stood like a wall.

Damn , they really need my help! Somehow this must be the fault of Daddy's Owl … but where is she? Eh, who cares!

He decided to get back to what he had been doing before Athena had interfered.

Nearby were his twin-sister Enyo and his best friend Eris, sowing more belligerence and strife and riling up the mortals.

Oh, there was Hektor. He had come to aid his people and was slaying Achaeans left and right.

Ares laughed heartily and joined the Trojan hero.

.

On Olympos, Hera addressed Athena: “Athena, we need to do something! We promised Menélaos, that he could return to Sparta once he conquered Troy and took his wife Helena back, but my son and Hektor are about to ruin everything! It's time to go to war.”

Athena nodded grimly and while Hera ordered her daughter Hebe to ready her war chariot, she donned her armour and that of her father. Armed with her spear and her father's Aigis, which bore the horrid face of the Gorgon, she jumped onto the chariot with Hera.

Sometimes Athena nearly forgot Hera's war-ridden past, but as the Queen of the Gods came, in armour from head to toe and a long, heavy spear in one and the reins of her horses in the other hand, she was reminded, that Hera was a warrior at the core.

The Queen of the Skies spurred on her horses and the Horai tore the Gates of Olympos open to make way.

But then Hera spied Zeus, just lounging on a cloud and being his smug and very neutral self.

She held her horses and spoke to her husband: “Zeus! Ares is wreaking havoc down there. Doesn't it irritate you too, that he is slaying the best Achaeans down there, while Aphrodite and Apollon, who let him loose, are having a blast? Allow me to put an end to our son's murder spree and to give him a good beating!”

Zeus laughed heartily: “Go on, my dear wife! And sic Athena on him; she has experience in punishing him and as I see, in plundering too.”

Athena just grinned cheekily.

With Zeus approval secured, Hera's chariot descended to earth quicker than lightning. The two goddesses had joined the ranks of the Achaeans.

While Hera spurred them on with sharp and fiery words, Athena approached Diomedes.

The man had sat down to nurse the wound, which had been inflicted on him earlier and was now inflamed to the point where the pain was crippling his arm.

“What is this?!”, she demanded to know, “Some fine son Tydeus got himself there! I remember him so well; he was small in frame, but one of the greatest warriors I have ever known. You on the other hand! Ha! Were you half the man he was, you would be fighting the Trojans!”

Diomedes got defensive and reminded her, that she had told him not to attack any gods apart from Aphrodite. “Ares himself is leading the Trojans in battle. It's only because of your instructions that I made my troops draw back.”

Athena smirked, grabbed his face and her bright blue eyes were blazing with pugnacity and fire.

It was a testimony to the man's boundless bravery and faith in her, that he didn't even tremble, that her burning gaze didn't fill him with fear, though he knew exactly who was speaking to him.

“Yes, now I see him in you!”, she exclaimed, “You really are the son of your father! Fear not Ares or any of the other immortals, as long as I am with you. Once this sadistic madman promised his mother Hera and me to support the Achaeans. Now look at him helping the Trojans! He really needs a reality check. And …”, her smirk widened. “ … who could give it better than you?”

They mounted his chariot and rode into battle.

Athena knew, that to Diomedes Ares had to be horrifying; even to the other Olympians the blood-stained, untameable and murderous god of terrible war was a frightening sight to behold.

But as she had said before, the Argive had nothing to fear with her by his side.

.

Ares was busy robbing the corpse of someone he had just murdered. However, as he spied a shiny golden helmet, that could only belong to one person (Diomedes of Argos), he instantly dropped the corpse and dashed through the fray, his face a bloodthirsty grimace.

With a well-aimed throw, his spear flew towards the mortal, but … it missed?!

What the- how is that possible?! How?! How did I miss? I never miss!

Ares opted to use his second sight. This way he could sense a divine presence next to the mortal he wanted to kill.

“Daddy's Owl. I should have known it's you …”, he growled under his breath.

ARES, WATCH OUT!

What?

Diomedes' own spear flew and hit its target.

Ares' eyes widened.

The weapon had pierced clean through his stomach.

For a second Ares was too shocked to even register the pain.

Then Diomedes pulled his spear back out and it hit full force.

He screamed.

An unholy, rough and piercing roar, as if ten thousand men were screaming out of one throat.

It was so loud and so terrifying, that the warring mortals forgot what they were doing and clung to each other in fear and panic.

“You will pay!”, he choked and glared at the spot where he knew Athena's eyes to be. “You fucking bitch! You will pay!”

He summoned a whirlwind to carry him up into the sky and dragged himself all the way back to Olympos and into Zeus' throne room.

“Why is it”, he growled, as he showed his father the spear wound, “That everyone has to obey your command, while your daughter Athena can do whatever she wants?! While apparently I am not even allowed to do my fucking job?! She plays with all of us as she pleases – ngh! – and now she has sicced that arrogant fucker Diomedes on her fellow gods! That bastard sliced Aphrodite's hand open, assaulted Apollon and now this – ow, fuck! Had I not bailed, I would be lying under a pile of corpses or worse, be crippled – no offence, Hephaistos …”

“Some taken”, the smith replied drily.

Ares continued his rant: “And you, Zeus, just sit and watch, while she has the time of her life, pushing everyone else around! For the sake of your other children, for your whole family, dial it back with the favouritism and control her!”

But Zeus just replied scornfully: “Oh stop whining into my ears, you double-faced liar! Of all the gods that dwell here on Olympos, I despise you most. You have nothing but strife and bloodshed in your head, you're always looking for trouble – you got that from your mother. Were you not my son, I would have sent you to Tartaros a long time ago.”

“If I am the way I am”, Ares retorted coldly, “It's not because of the way my mother raised me, but it's because you didn't raise me any better – in fact, I don't remember you raising me at all. Also, I hate you too. I hate you so much.”

Zeus was visibly struggling to keep his composure (if the dark clouds outside hadn't made it obvious, his tense, stony face did), but only inhaled sharply and ordered for Asklepios to treat his son's injuries.

.

“I'm sorry for that”, the doctor later said, as he was applying healing salve to Ares' wound.

The war god's red eyes shifted to him. “What do you mean?”

His mien and tone were blank, but Asklepios could tell, that his uncle knew what he meant.

“What … what Zeus said earlier. I heard it all.”

“Spare me your pity, nephew”, Ares said coldly.

“What I feel for you isn't pity”, Asklepios contradicted. “Don't mistake compassion for pity. I too have suffered the wrath of Zeus; he killed me with a thunderbolt, back when I was a mortal and deified me only for my father's sake. But that happened quickly and only once. I do not like you, Ares, but no one deserves that kind of treatment.”

Ares chuckled wryly and (much to Asklepios' surprise) ruffled the doctor's blond head.

“You're a good kid. But don't waste your compassion on me”, the older god advised. “I don't need it. It has been this way for 38 000 years (that's how old I am) and it means nothing to me.”

Asklepios had the feeling, that the war god wasn't being completely honest, but he knew better than talking back to Ares.

“There”, he said instead, as the older man's injuries were closing. “Now a nice bath and some fresh clothing and you'll be as good as new. Shall I apply a salve to make the scar disappear?”

“No”, Ares chuckled, “It's just another scar in my collection. I don't mind it as much as I mind some of the others.”

.

When Hera and Athena came home a little later, they found Ares standing near Zeus' throne.

He had been perfectly patched up, was wearing fresh clothes and bore himself with an odd dignity.

Athena immediately realised, that he was attempting to keep his last shred of pride, with his perfectly blank and indifferent expression and aloof posture.

But when he looked up and saw her, his facade slipped just for a second.

His red eyes burned with unadulterated loathing, as they met her blue ones.

She responded with a similar glare, before resuming her own position at her father's side.

.

Book Seven:

.

Right after the gods had left the battlefield, Hektor and Paris joined their fellow Trojans and began to slaughter enemies left and right.

Apollon was watching them invisibly from the city walls, always the victory of the Trojans in his mind.

But when he saw Athena dash down from the sky with obvious intentions, he flew across the field to catch her.

“Are you meddling yet again?!”, he reproached her, “What is this, the fifth time today?! Look, I know you don't give a shit, that all those good Trojans are dying, but for once, can you just not?! Let us end the senseless bloodshed for today. Tomorrow is another day and surely you can't be in this much of a hurry to lay this great city to waste, can you?!”

Athena countered: “Actually, that was what I had in mind, when I came just now. But how do you plan to achieve a duel, Hekatos⁸?”

“Hektor”, Apollon replied coolly. “He's easy to persuade. A duel, one on one, a battle to the death. And if he demands one, it will compel the Achaeans to choose one out of their ranks to fight him.”

Athena had no objections to that.

So the god of prophecy sent a vision to Helenos, one of Hektor's brothers, to let him know the gods' intentions.

Not much later, Hektor was challenging the Achaeans to chose one of their ranks to fight him. His condition was that the loser's armour should go to the victor, but the corpse should be returned to their respective side.

The Achaeans were hesitant.

Finally Menélaos, revolted by everyone's cowardice, stepped forward, but was stopped by his brother Agamemnon, who warned him that there was no way he could win against Hektor.

Then the old king Nestor roasted everyone and several, grabbed by their honour, volunteered.

They drew lots and Ajax the Greater was chosen.

After a more or less respectful address, the two warriors began to duke it out.

Ajax quickly proved himself to be Hektor's equal.

Their combat was so vicious, that Apollon interfered and helped the Trojan prince up.

Then the two mortals forgot about their spears and shields and began a mortal sword fight.

Until two heralds stepped in and drew them apart.

“Enough!”, one of them spoke, “Let it be. Zeus favours you both equally. You have proven to him and us, what exceptional warriors you are. But cease it now. It's growing dark and it's better to call it a night.”

The opponents agreed to do that, complimented each other's battle prowess and exchanged gifts.

Apollon couldn't help but find it wonderful, how these two enemies set an example by respecting each other, both as warriors and people.

.

Meanwhile, several Trojans demanded, that Helene be given back to the Achaeans and many agreed.

Unfortunately, Paris refused to give her back, insisting that she was his wife now (even though she really wasn't), although he did offer to give back her treasure.

Priamos sighed and send a messenger to the Achaeans to let them know of it and ask for permission to bury their dead.

Of course they refused the offer of the treasures, but they agreed to stop all fighting, until the fallen warriors on both sides had been buried properly.

.

On Olympos, Poseidon had complaints.

The Achaeans had built a wall around their camps and now the Lord of the Seas was bothered by it being built without any sacrifices to him and that the wall he and Apollon once had built around Ilios would be forgot.

Zeus pinched his nose and spat: “Oh, for the love of me, do you have nothing else to worry about?! You can destroy that thing once the war is over and the Achaeans are gone, but now stop whining to me about it!”

Once their argument was settled, the King of the Gods retreated to his study and proceeded to spend the rest of the night plotting bale and doom for the warring people on earth.

Shortly after midnight a knock on the door pulled him from his plotting.

“Enter!”, he cried.

The door opened to reveal …

“Ares!” Zeus stood up. “What a surprise! It's been more than a century since you came to my office of your own volition! Do come in!”

Ares looked uncharacteristically modest, as he came in, which was even more surprising.

“My dear father”, he began, “I wish to apologise for earlier. And, if you will, discuss a few things with you?”

Zeus' interest was piqued.

“I'm all ears, my son and heir.”

Their conversation was short and almost business-like.

But at the end the King of the gods was laughing heartily: “Sometimes I forget just how much of me and your mother you have in you! Oh, if the others knew just how underhanded you can be in your spite, they would see you differently. Yet you're right with what you say and I see no harm in humouring you for a change. Your idea is a good one. Go to bed now, my son, and rest secure in the knowledge, that for once in your life, you beat your half-sister at her own game.”

.

Book Eight:

.

In the next morning, Zeus gathered his family in the assembly hall.

“From now on, I alone will guide the course of war on earth”, he announced. “None of you is allowed to interfere. No one. If you do, I will roast you with a thunderbolt. As you are gods, you won't be reduced to ashes, but Ares here can confirm, that the results are still really nasty.”

At these words, Ares, who was standing next to Zeus' throne, pushed back the bangs that were covering the left side of his face, revealing the hideous scar they were hiding. The sight made several of the attendants gasp.

Zeus went on: “As you can see, he still has that one, because not even Asklepios' healing arts would rid one of that kind of scar. And my thunderbolt just grazed him, so he was lucky. Imagine, what would happen to you, if I hit you full on. Or even better yet, I will throw you into Tartaros, if you disobey me. I'm sure my brother's face will be priceless, once I leave you to him.”

Everyone was gaping at him, speechless over those straightforward threats.

Athena was the first one to regain her speech.

“Dear father”, she began with a shaky voice, “We know that you are the strongest. If you wish, we won't interfere with the battle. But won't you at least allow us to give counsel? Hera, Poseidon and I can't help but pity the poor fighters, who have to deal with their imminent demise as best as they can. Won't you allow us to try and spare some in this manner?”

Zeus laughed, but quickly resumed his stern demeanour.

“This is as far as you all may go”, he accommodated. “Even you, my little Owl-Eye, will be punished, if you go against my orders.”

Athena bit her lip, but nodded.

.

Right after the assembly was ended, Zeus descended to earth to supervise the happenings down there.

Athena used the opportunity to go after Ares.

Barely holding back her anger, she followed him into a lone hallway and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“This is your doing, isn't it?”, she hissed.

Oh so slowly Ares turned around to face her. His butter-wouldn't-melt expression made her want to wring his neck.

“My dear sister”, he cooed, “I haven't the faintest idea what yer talkin' about!”

“Don't play that game with me!”, she snarled, “You put it into his head to force us to sit here and kick our heels like complete idiots, so he can hog the entire show and turn the war into a fucking board game!”

“Ya mean, he hasn't been doin' that before?”, Ares countered.

“Ares, I warn you! Don't think I didn't catch your disgusting smug grin earlier, when he threatened us all with what would happen, should we disobey him! How casually you let us see your scar, even though you grew your hair longer on the left side for the sake of hiding it?! How else could you of all gods be so calm and cavalier about this, if you weren't the one behind it?!”

The war god chuckled and swiped her hand off his shoulder.

“Ah, I wouldn't say that I'm behind it, although I might have a part in it.”

“What did you do?”, Athena growled.

He shrugged casually. “Eh, I just had a talk with him last night. From son to father, ya know. Resolvin' an argument we had after I came back from down there, doin' some business.”

“Doing some business!”, Athena echoed incredulously, “You persuaded him to stop everyone from interfering with the battle! How?! How did you do this?! You're anything but a man of eloquence!”

Ares laughed cruelly: “I didn't need to be. I just pointed out the obvious. If I'm not allowed to do my job, why should you – or anyone for that matter? I asked for justice and I got it.”

“Why, you-!”

He caught her fist, before she could hit him in the face.

“Now, now! No need to throw a hissy fit! I just gave you a taste of your own medicine!”

Athena was this close to deicide!

“What do you mean, a taste of my own medicine-”

She cried out in surprise, when he seized her by her chiton and pulled her close.

“How does it feel to not get your will, huh, Daddy's Owl?”, he growled, “That doesn't feel so great now, does it? This is what I have to bear with all the time. Although it probably stings you more than me … after all, you are his 'Little Owl-Eye'. It's probably way more mortifying, when you're used to always getting what you want. But that's not the case for me, which makes this whole thing just the sweeter!”

Forcefully he pushed her away, making her stagger a little.

“You injured me yesterday, both physically and psychologically”, he reminded her coldly. “You let a mortal pierce me with a spear and returned home in triumph with my mother, to gloat over how you two stopped me. And you expected for me to just let it go? No. I am spiteful like my mother. And if I want, I can be pretty damn underhanded, just like our daddy dearest.”

“Why should father listen to you?!”, she snarled, “To you of all gods!”

Ares smiled frigidly: “Sometimes he listens to me … because I'm his heir.”

Her blood ran cold.

Of course.

The Greek gods followed the principle of primogeniture, which required for a ruler to be succeeded by his oldest legitimate son.

And Ares, even though he was Zeus' least favourite son, was his only legitimate one.

The war god sighed and span around on his heel. “It's really sad, how you always forget that. But it doesn't matter. The Achaeans will conquer Troy eventually, but no one will be truly the victor. Of that I have taken care. Well, Thetis and I – don't wanna hog the whole credit, like you always do. But lighten up, Daddy's Owl; we both know our father, the prohibition won't last for that long. Sooner or later we'll all meddle with their mortal affairs again.”

He smirked at her over his right shoulder. “But right here and now, I am the winner. Not gonna lie, I hated having to be so underhanded, but it was worth it. And when your side lays Troy to waste, well, enjoy watchin' on as they commit war crimes so horrid, that you'll regret havin' supported them. This is the price you pay for your victory. Have a nice day, Daddy's Owl. Don't choke on that piece of humble pie, will ya?”

.

---

.

1) "Of the wrath sing, goddess, of Akhilleus, son of Peleus, his cursed wrath, which brought so much woe to the Achaeans (the Greeks) ..." The opening sentence of the Iliad. 2) If you have never heard of Mycenae, please look it up. For the context, it's one of the Greek main powers during that era and is ruled by Agamemnon (who is a fucking arsehole), the brother of Menélaos. The later Greek civilization considered itself a successor to the Mycenaean culture. 3) Smintheus: "Lord of the Mice/Rats", one of Apollon's epithets. 4) Danaoi: the Greeks, as referred to around the area of Troy. 5) Ioímios: "Lord of the Plagues", one of Apollon's epithets. Both of the aforementioned epithets refer to his function as god of pests and plagues. 6) Brotoloigos: "Slaughterer of Men/Manslaughtering", an epithet of Ares. 7) In the Iliad, she flees to her mother Dione, who treats her wound and comforts her. But I'm going with the account of Hesiod's Theogony, according to which Aphrodite has no mother. She sprung from Ouranos' severed testicles, that fell into the sea, after Kronos castrated him. So instead of Dione, in my version she is comforted by Asklepios, the divine doctor. As for Asklepios, in his place the Iliad mentions Paian as the doctor of the gods and as god of healing. But his identity isn't clear and Paian is also an epithets of several other gods with an association with healing (Paian means "Healer"). 8) Hekatos: "Worker from Afar", one of Apollon's epithets (in his function as god of archery and prophecy)

Bonus: Yes, I know that in the book Ares has nothing to do with Zeus' order for the gods to stay out of the fighting for now (I'm reading that damn thing for the 3rd time now!). I just thought, it would be funny if he used his few braincells for petty revenge in the most devious way he can think of. So that's my own invention, lol.

[ticktickblog]

Stop Being the Last-Minute Person

Everything You Need to Know about Procrastination

Understanding procrastination

Usually, we think of procrastination as a bad habit, but this might not be the case. Research by Burka and Yuen, authors of Procrastination: Why You Do It, What to Do About It Now, have found that procrastination is not a bad habit, but a psychological syndrome caused by one’s fear. In other words, procrastination is not purely a problem of time management. Instead, it concerns people's inner fears, expectations, doubts and pressures. 

There might be some people, like myself before, who’d always leave their tasks to the very last minute before the deadlines and look forward to a suddenly-bursted extraordinary performance, or a very best luck ever. Some even say the closer the DDLs are, the more productive they are.

So, is the deadline really a force to drive us forward in a positive way?

My answer is negative, although from the surface it may seem harmless to some people, and can to some extent be converted to motivator. However, deep inside, procrastination brings more harms than good for most of us.

Consequence of procrastination

1. On top of all the damages caused by procrastination: mental sufferings. Even though relaxing first brings instant joy, it’ll soon be replaced by overwhelmingly negative feelings: e.g. anxiety thinking, nagging pain, a guilt of not starting earlier, and etc. Not hard to imagine how painful it is to be trapped into this situation for a long period of time.

2. From the view regarding one’s physical health, there’s also detrimental consequence. Chasing DDLs usually means overworking at a late point. For example, burning the night oil in a row. If this continues as a habit, it will threaten one’s physical health as well.  

3. There might be consequences to other people as well, because people who procrastinate a lot may be bad at time management. For example, being late for a date because they’ve not started dressing up earlier, or being unable to submit a task on time because they’ve wasted a lot of time thinking. These could then make them easy to not be trusted by others, and people around them may also sometimes feel disappointed.  

Then, what at root drives us to procrastinate? What makes people consciously or unconsciously choose to procrastinate?

Reasons for procrastination

1. Excessive perfectionism

People who are perfectionists normally have very high standards to themselves and to the work they do. Therefore, they easily fall into the fear of not being able to reach these standards, or making mistakes on the way which will lead to undesirable results. By not getting started, the mistakes/failures will not happen, which means at this procrastinating point at least, they don’t have to worry too much. 

Also, many perfectionists may waste too much time thinking how to do instead of actually doing. They choose to wait till a perfect plan is ready. However, in fact there is neither a flawless plan nor a perfect outcome. Plus, it’s extremely hard for excessive perfectionists to be fully satisfied with what they’ve achieved no matter how good it is. 

2. The rewards are too far away. 

Studies have shown that the farther the due date is, the less binding force it may execute on us, and the easier it is for us to feel unmotivated to start. Compared to gaining rewards from a not-so-recent future, instant gratification is obviously much easier. 

This might be the very reason why many people choose to enjoy first and do later. For example, if the deadline for an assignment is 2 weeks from now, then spending 2 days watching a new series on Netflix doesn’t seem like a big deal. 

3. Fear of difficulty

Reason for this fear is we know the goal is too big and require hard work. Sometimes when we are given a big task, e.g. dissertation, we might be very likely to feel overwhelmed, not knowing where to start or how. The motivation then downgrades to 0. Similarly, when a monthly personal KPI has been given, even just thinking of it brings a lot of headache already, let alone start doing. 

4. Lack of awareness and skills of time management

Sad but true, I know:(  

For these ones, getting so used to an unstructured work/study style makes it even harder not to procrastinate. Never thinking of organizing or not knowing how, is a big hindrance to their productivity. But, it’s totally fine if you just enjoy the flow and do not worry about getting things done. However, for these who crave progression and success, then tackling procrastination and learning how to manage your time and organize things well is extremely important. Let TickTick help with that 🙌

5. Dislike of taking orders

As some of you might feel relatable, deadlines and dues are set usually by other people, either our professors or team leaders, to the tasks assigned. For those who have strong self-awareness and do not want to be tasked by others, they consciously or subconsciously resort to procrastination as a way to resist the order. Meanwhile, they try to declare some autonomy and freedom by refusing to do things at this moment and ignoring them till later.

Ways to fight against procrastination

The most painful part of procrastination is not working on the task, it is starting the work. Therefore, to beat procrastination, is actually to find out ways to get us started. 

Where to start

1. Set a realistic goal and fairly evaluate your ability

Make sure your goal is inspiring but also attainable, based on the evaluation of your ability now and its potential to grow, plus the time and effort needed in achieving your goal. 

For example, if I have three free weekends this month, then I probably establish a goal: finishing reading a book this month. Many procrastinators are too optimistic about their ability in the future and underestimate the time needed to complete the task. When deadlines approach, it’s just frightening and frustrating. 

2. Divide the goal into more achievable ones

If the goal seems too big to reach, then cut it into smaller pieces to reduce the fear of a sudden commitment. 

Going back to that book-reading example, to finish reading a book in a month, I may divide the task into reading ¼  every week, and then 10 pages each for working days and 20 pages each for unscheduled weekends. Compared to 1 book, 10 pages just sounds like a breeze. 

3. Trim the unnecessary and only keep the priorities

According to Pareto Principle, 20% of the things in life can determine 80% of the results. Therefore, when facing multiple tasks, sort them out based on urgency, importance, necessity and other indicators. Next, take the lead in dealing with high-priority things. This method can effectively help us abandon those low-value and insignificant activities, and rationally allocate limited time and energy for the maximum return.

4. Start from a small task 

Some may argue that starting from a hard task is better for time management. However, for a lagging person like myself before, starting is the most difficult part as I said. Therefore, an easy task can first “allure” me to start, and when finishing this, the rest of my day is then kept in a feeling-productive momentum.

Long-run strategies

1. Increase incentive mechanism 

The best way to do that is to bond the completion of a certain task with an instant reward. For example, if I finish writing my blog draft today, I’d be rewarded with 30 mins to play with my dog. If reading through all literature within scheduled time when writing a dissertation, I’ll treat myself with a big meal or an outing day. In this way, before each task starts, motivation will replace stress to activate your enthusiasm.

P.s. Please remember, what the reward for is always your hard work and progress, not the results.

2. Reduce the task aversion from a mental side: 

Go deeper into the given task and find/develop some parts you feel passionate about from it. If you’ve found out the joy of doing things, then a task will not be a task anymore, but a daily trivial, something like teeth-brushing. Those who work out consistently no matter how busy he/she is, are actually regarding working-out as a daily activity. This sounds a little bit like self-brainwashing, but believe me, it brings positive results in the long run.

Other possible solutions

1. Make use of visual tools 

Write the daily tasks down for enhanced execution force: Some research has found out that writing down your to-do tasks makes it easier for you to really complete it.

Check it done for enhanced encouragement: When I see the visual hints, e.g. a visual tick, like the logo of TickTick, that tells me I’ve achieved something, it is like an energy transferred into my body. Not only visually, it’s a mental encouragement I’ve got from the process.  

2. Create a co-supervising system

By inviting a friend/colleague to co-supervise each other, it may help you two to both keep on the right track. Also, in this co-supervision scheme, competitive people will hate to lose. By losing here actually means your friend finished her task while you didn’t. A positive competition vibe is formed here to probably give you a little gentle push.

Final words

Like what Mark Twain said,“The secret of getting ahead is getting started”. Although it’s not easy to completely beat procrastination, it’s still good to be less-procrastinated. Now is always better than later, stop being the last-minute person and get started now!

[2ofswords]

daniil learning more about town-on-gorkhon and how to live in it? trying to find a sense of home...

I got a bit carried away, so it is under a cut! Also I sure hope the story still fits the prompt... Thank you for it either way, I had a fun time writing this! ^^ 

The bartering in the town had always struck Dankovsky as a bare necessity. Sure, there seemed to be a tradition woven around it, but those were usually created to elevate a purpose. In a town torn from the rest of the country and dependant on regular trains, one had to rely on community in times of delay and the method of trading established such a network for basic needs quite smoothly. The days of plague showed as much albeit with a morbid connotation. One simply couldn't call children trading you morphine for needles the height of community values. Still he always imagined the tradition not to disappear but to… subdue. Yet, as always, his hypothesis was proven wrong and people cheerily bartered their sugar for meat the moment the trains continued their delivery. At first, continuing was more of a habit than anything else. There were still some raisins left in his pockets and Dankovsky himself never really had that much love for the small treats. The children were less enthusiastic about them as well, but he didn’t really need the soap they gave him, anyway. Then he remembered the beetles he had kept in his cabinet at Stillwater. An emergency stash he told himself, yet many such emergencies appeared and not a single insect left the house, unless as small tokens he uselessly carried around. A small sentimentality, reminding him that something beside the plague-ridden hell scape exists. Not that it actually mattered in the long run and now… Now he needed to move and the beetles… they would be hard to explain. So they had to go.

Finding a kid that would take them wasn’t very difficult. One of the small children wondered in awe at the collection, starstruck eyes staring at the delicate creatures while her fingers carefully danced over them and Daniil couldn’t help but notice the pull in his gut guiding his memory to times that had died long before his arrival in town. A happy and childish pounding, that broke his concentration long enough to not notice the kid question at first. “I asked, what you want for it.” “Oh… Um…” Maybe he should have thought about that. “You can just keep them. If you like them, they might be in good hands after all. Maybe add some to the collection. Or categorize them, that should probably be done…” The frown that graced her face signalled that his answer wasn’t quite adequate. Yes. This was still about tradition where trust in an equal trade was valued. One cannot disturb the children’s beetle and nut economy without repercussions, after all. “I have to give something back. I have to give you a part of my endurance after all. People say I have so much of it and I can hold my breath longest. Shall I show you?” “I believe you, it is fine. You do not need to… you are competing about holding your breath?” “U-huh. And I still have plenty of it until I reach second place. You seem like you could need some of it.” “… getting out of breath less often sound’s tempting.” He is getting too old for this and he still has a meeting with Burakh and Rubin in the afternoon. Now that the worst is over, he had proposed to take stock of the more harmless illnesses in town to order medicine, that hadn’t expired decades ago. “So you still have to say what you want. Aren’t you too young to always forget what I’m saying? Did the plague get to you?” “Watch your tongue, or you might really need that breath of yours.” “No need to get so defensive, old man. Geez. Don’t they teach you any manners?” Do they teach anyone manners? If someone ever bothered it didn’t have anything to do with the children in town. “So what do you have to give, little brat.” “Hm…” The child crossed her legs while contemplating the business deal. “I have a loaf of bread, I guess. These are a lot of beetles after all…”

A loaf of bread is acceptable. Or so it seemed, until he opens his mouth and noticed, how small exactly the arm was, that held the box of beetles protectively in her lap. How loosely the little dress hung from her body. A loaf of bread would sound fantastic, while he was starving or when there wasn't enough time to reach any of the stores. But this isn’t the case and he isn’t exactly in need of bread. “So do we have a deal or not?” He should close his mouth. Or better yet answer the question. “How about… you give me something else.” He couldn’t possibly take anything from a starving child. Shouldn’t. Ever, yet he had done so too many times. This has to stop, he shouldn’t be even considering it. He is a scientist and as far as he is concerned exploiting children wasn’t in the job description. “How about… a story.” Children like stories, right? They must be valuable in some way. “I mean”, he adds quickly, “the needs of our mind are as important as the basic needs of our body. So I demand you to accommodate my craving for… more intellectual affairs.” “I mean… sure. If you want to… grandpa.” At this point this kid was just testing his endurance. Motivating breathing exercises might also be a way to increase its capacity. “I do.” Her eyes wandered to the box and then back to Dankovsky. “I mean. Sure. Then let me tell you a story…”

He thought nothing of the trade at first. His beetles did after long last find their rightful heir. One objective cleared. Time to indulge in more important affairs. That belief lasted until evening, when he found one of the kids lurking at his doorstep. “Are you the doctor that trades in stories?” “I am the doctor. Are you hurt, is everything alright?” “Look, my friend has gotten himself a splinter in the foot! Walked on some wood, when we were trying to… ah never mind. Anyway, we –“ “Lead the way.” “- we only need some tweezers, but our shop didn’t have any to sell!” “I can remove the splinter. It’s a simple enough procedure and even a small wound needs to be properly disinfected.” “I don’t have anything on me. Maybe one of the buttons, but I only have three of them left. So I thought…” “It’s fine.” But it probably isn’t because everyone seems hell-bent on losing every small trinket in their possession. Does anyone even wear the charms that are made, they seem to change hands on a daily basis. “You can tell me the story while we are on our way. If it is a good one, I might not even tell your parents about it.” The child’s face lit up. “Then buckle up, because I do have a good one.”

The next day turned out to be a complete and utter mess. A mess made of excited whispers whirling hands frantically signing what words cannot convey and a lot of sugar filled food leaving his hands. “So. There once was this boy, who had a small wolf cub as his half …” “And then I saw this monster in the steppe! Not the Shabnak but an even bigger one!” “The bull talked! I swear it did!” “My granddad used to sew, you know, so I had a few needles at hand. And the guy really deserved it, so we –“ “Then a giant wave pulled us out of the facet and we all sat at the stairs, we were so surprised!” At some point in the afternoon he had to stock up on cookies and apples just to gain something to trade away. Utter nonsense. He should’ve demanded this madness to stop. The children were barely giving him enough space to move from place to place and their constant chatter did become… grating. Yet there he was, more sweets in hand, while his next unusual costumers were already waiting right before the shop. Do these brats even know, that he isn’t a walking garbage dispenser? Still. The thought about turning them away seemed just as wrong at this point. He was knee deep in this mess already. Might as well swim. And some of these stories were charming really. Somehow everyone seemed to have swallowed a poet whole and considering the local medicine that might not be that much off from the truth… Still. The constant talking was annoying. Distracting, really, a major inconvenience at best. Yet it was oddly charming to observe their desperate tries to up one another as if they expected Dankovsky to pull a secret cake out of his coat that only the best storyteller could get. They were trying. Inspiring one another, forming a chain of developing fantasies that were quite unreal – and quite frankly useless – but cheerful and… lively.

“There you are. I was looking for you.” “Aren’t you all?”, he answered before turning and noticing Clara leaning against a nearby building. Her smile was as knowing as ever. She couldn’t possibly look into other peoples minds, right? Of course not, utter rubbish. These story’s must have gotten to him after all. “What do you want?” “They say, you are giving out free candy.” “It’s not free. And if that is all, you might want to be on your way.” Of course she is following when he turns on his heels and tries to be on his way. “So, I have a story for you.” “I guessed as much.” He doesn’t even have to look at her to know she is pouting. When he finally does, she seems as happy as ever though. “There once was a prince who was locked outside of his house. When he wandered through the garden, he spotted a flower more gorgeous and beautiful then all of the rest. But the flower grew too large and everything that fell under his shadow withered and died away.” “That must have been quite the flower.” “Shh. I’m talking. So they send for a gardener, even if the prince had loved his flower very dearly. So he gave the flower his heart in order to protect it, when the time had come.” Ah. So that is where this was going. Charming. “And did he manage to save it?” “Of course not! What could a prince have done against the gardener’s shears? So the flower was destroyed and when it shattered the princes heart broke with it.” “… that isn’t a nice story. It doesn’t even have a satisfying conclusion.” “That is because the story isn’t over and you keep interrupting! Anyway, when the prince was left alone in the garden, he tore out the pieces of his heart and buried them into the ground for no one to see. He thought he had hidden it for good, but then it started raining and the pieces of his heart grew tine little stems and, slowly but surely, began to grow out of the ground.” By now they arrived at his doorstep. For a minute Dankovsky contemplated to invite the girl in. But that seemed a bit too forward. So he grabbed a small bag of sweets and some of the dried meat he had bought for himself. Who even knew how long Clara had lurked around town and when she really ate the last time. “So…”, this was getting uncomfortable. And quite frankly, ridiculous. “What did sprout out of the ground after all.” Her grin widened. “How about you tell me? I would trade to hear the end of that story.” “Hm… very well.” When he opened the door and looked back, Clara was already gone. Sighing he entered his own house and close the noise behind him. The town was still recovering, yet at this very day at least around the Bachelor it seemed to be filled with laughter, dreams and a future, where anything could be overcome with the right anecdote in mind. A piece of meat for a smile wasn’t such a bad trade after all. Still not a bare necessity… but something different. There was not really anything new to be heard. Not a real discussion no real bond to every single child who tried to steal his precious time. Still, there was meaning in a word spoken at the right space and time. There was meaning in the act of building sky castles together. Maybe he had once again underestimated the local custom.

[internetandnetwork]

All About Buyer Persona and How to Create It

The term “Buyer Persona” comes up within almost every marketing course, blog posts, and other informative materials. A lot of businesses might presume that everyone else already knows about it, has one, and is utilizing it.

Even existing companies have to redefine the profile of their customers every so often, let alone the newbies who are just about to build their GTM (go-to-market) strategy.

What Do You Understand by Buyer Persona?

Buyer Persona is a conceptual representation of an ideal customer, built around both quantitative as well as qualitative data collected from market/competition research and existing consumer profiles.

Although creating a buyer persona is not about explaining the brand’s potential customers, it is about developing a set of insights that the product, marketing, and sales department can use to make well-informed decisions and savvy investments.

Importance of Buyer Persona for Businesses

After conducting an initial market analysis, defining your buyer personas is the next sensible step in outlining your product development, marketing, and overall business strategy.

Ultimately, knowing your target audience is essential for the overall business development – from product creation to marketing activities, it plays a significant role in each stage. Buyer Personas help the businesses in deciding:

Where to lead product development

What types of content they should create

How they should follow up on leads

How they should deal with matters related to customer acquisition and retention

As a result, determining the target buyer personas will help your business grab a share of attention from high-value visitors, attract relevant leads, and accelerate their conversion and retention procedures.

Buyer Personas guide many important processes across an organization:

When crafting product guidelines, product development can depend on buyer persona insights. Target consumer profiles unveil what the audience wants or needs from the product or service. This allows the product development team to prioritize product modifications and get to know if there are any prominent changes that need to be made to the product.

Marketers utilize buyer personas to enhance marketing strategies and approaches. From keyword research to writing a copy to making external content placement decisions, with buyer persona insights, marketers are able to create the most effective promotional and advertising strategies for brands.

With buyer persona insights, we get to know the pain points or challenges our target audience is currently facing. This information can come handy to the sales team, who can then work on polishing their sales pitch and pointing out which features/aspects they should highlight.

The insights from buyer persona profiles can help the customer support team get better training, know in advance the problems their target audience is facing, and improve the services they offer.

How Buyer Personas Help in Making Strategic Marketing Decisions?

Buyer Persona insights are used to design more relevant messaging, customize content strategy, and develop highly focused and more personalized customer experiences.

Buyer Personas help the marketers in understanding their existing as well as prospective customers better and reveal what appeals the most to their target audience and makes them pick one brand or product over the other.

Be it email, digital, content, or social, knowing the key features of the buyer persona should benefit each and every marketing aspect. So how do marketers utilize these insights?

Let’s dive into the details.

Enable Better Customer Segmentation

Marketing to everybody does no good for your business. You might have a ready-to-use definition of your target audience, but the buyer personas can bring in intricate details that will enhance your marketing strategy and help capture more and better-qualified leads.

Provide Personalized Brand Experience

By knowing the pain points and challenges that your customers face, marketers are able to develop more targeted messaging, ensure effective content delivery, and facilitate customized offerings.

Identify where the high-value leads hang out

Content development is just the tip of the advertising iceberg; its distribution and reach are equally or even more important. Simply because if your distribution is not right, your content won’t reach the audience and get lost in the ocean of content online.

Typically, a buyer persona profile mentions where your high-value leads spend most of their time (online). This helps you get insights into which platforms and channels you need to target with high-quality, original, and engaging content to make sure it reaches them.

Cross-Marketing Alignment

To maintain alignment across different marketing teams, marketers can always return and review their defined buyer persona profiles to ensure that their efforts are fulfilling the needs of their consumers.

Finding Data to Create a Buyer Persona

Now that we know what buyer persona is, how important it is for businesses, and how it can improve our marketing strategies, it’s time to uncover how to find data to create a buyer persona. One of the best ways to acquire enough information to define your target audience is via existing customers’ data.

Interviewing the Existing Customers

Existing customers might like giving an interview to a brand they use or have a close connection with, especially if the brand offers them some extra bonus like a discount, voucher, gift coupon, and much more!

Moreover, interviewing your former customers can also be beneficial as they can provide insights into why they stopped using your product/service and which alternative they are currently using and why.

Using site forms and questionnaires can help marketers welcome a large segment of the audience who just follows your brand on social media or reads your blogs. This will help to find out what is stopping them from making a purchase and becoming the brand’s customer.

Taking insights from the sales team

Salespeople are the ones speaking to existing customers and potential buyers on behalf of the brand all day. Asking them can help marketers get to know a thing or two about the qualitative part of a buyer persona profile like customer’s pain points, expectations, challenges, values, needs, goals, and much more.

Collecting insights from business/digital data

For starters, Google Analytics is a source of extremely valuable information regarding both existing as well as potential customers. Along with this, using CRM (customer relationship management) tools and other technology-driven analytics software can help you get in-depth insights about the interests, behavioral patterns, habits, etc. of your target customers.

Merging Google Analytics insights with Facebook Audience Insights can help you acquire a lot of valuable research data.

Conclusion

Knowing your customers better has become a basic necessity for crafting a successful marketing strategy. Defining your buyer personas is an excellent way to make your business strategy better, improvise product development, and make better marketing and investment decisions.

Hariom Balhara is an inventive person who has been doing intensive research in particular topics and writing blogs and articles for E Global Soft Solutions. E Global Soft Solutions is a digital marketing, seo, smo, ppc and web development company that comes with massive experiences. We specialize in digital marketing, web designing and development, graphic design, and a lot more.

SOURCE : All About Buyer Persona and How to Create It

[mforpaul]

hi, do you take prompts? if you do, would you be able to do a barisi one inspired by the scene from road show with raul and brandon uranowitz? i don't know what is happening but they are on the floor and it is all very dramatic and raul hugs brandon. do you know which one i mean? anyway, thanks!

Barba doesn’t know how they have come to this, but they did. Finally what Barba thought would never happen did happen.

He had told Sonny to go.

It had been bold of Barba to go for the relationship in the first place. He knows himself. He likes company, but he is a loner. So inviting someone who’s presence he really enjoys to his heart had been more than foolish.

Go.

Just as foolish as the idea that Barba would be able to keep Sonny at armlength. It’s not just that Sonny is the wrong person for that. Barba’s heart had been weak even before they had started sleeping with each other. Once they had made that a habit it was only a matter of time until Barba was too hooked up on that incredible kindness, adorned with those blue eyes and sweetest dimples and not to mention quite impressive cooking skills.

Just go!

As soon as Barba realized he had fallen, he developed a plan. It cannot really be called a plan but more a necessity, not to mention that if Barba took an honest look back into his life he might have made a habit of this as well. He waited until Sonny would realize that Barba doesn’t want to give him what he wanted. 

Only that this never happened.

“You don’t really want me to go.”

Barba falls onto his knees. Muddy water splatters, but he cannot comprehend anything going on around him. 

All of this needs to happen in drizzle for some reason and Barba wants to curse Sonny for not going without at fight.

“Sonny, just leave. I’m begging you.”

“But I love you.”

Barba’s vision is blurry because of hot tears that sting into his eyes. It hurts, holding them back even more than having them in the first place.

“But I hurt you.”

Barba feels that Sonny knees down in front of him. And Barba closes his eyes. He cannot believe that after all the things Barba has done to him this man still reaches out his hands to touch Barba.

“Come on, Rafael, you love me. Say it out loud.”

He lets his head fall forward until it hits Sonny’s chest. Immediately, Sonny’s grip tightens. His arms wrap around his hand as if he was trying to hold him over distance.

“Yes, I love you. I have always loved you. Does that make us even?”

Of course it is the first time that Barba says this and the only thing that helps him in that moment is that he didn’t need to look Sonny in the eyes.

“Why don’t you want to be with me then?”

Barba crawls closer. He wants to explain to Sonny that this is not the problem. Nobody needs to explain to Barba that the problem is all himself. It is plain and obvious and Barba is ashamed that he has no way to avoid it. Of course it is him and no one else. He wants to be with him. He wants him. And he does love him, he really does. Just how far love can go, Barba has an idea that he doesn’t have an idea yet.

This right now is all about his own stupid idea in his head that if they tried and he would screw up, which he will most definetely at one point, that the pain would be too much. Barba wouldn’t be able to live with his own pain, he is sure of that but the possibility of hurting Sonny is too much to take.

“I don’t know if I am what you see in me.”

Maybe it’s that. That he thinks that it would feel too much like giving in, like giving up himself if Barba really opened up his heart and allowed Sonny to change him a little. 

But changing things about himself may not mean that he would change.

Sonny crawls forward. He cups Barba’s face and lifts it up so that Barba needs to look him in the eye.

“I love you and I’m not gonna go.”

The drizzel is cold and Barba realizes how dirty they must be. 

He stays.

There are moments, as rare as they are, where Barba finds the idea not so scary. It’s moment like these when it’s cold but he feels Sonny’s warmth.

“Let’s go home.”

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 17

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle.  It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes.  With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays.  Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3  |  Masterlist

—

The Gala, 2 / 3

The program portion of the evening passed in a haze, Rose barely listening to the speeches or paying attention to the silent auction – over the years she had developed a solid team to run the day-of items, leaving her free to enjoy the event.  Normally that was a good thing, but she needed something- anything- to take her mind off her worries. Too many things could go wrong, if she made a move and he rejected her.

“Rose,” Malcolm murmured, puncturing her bubble.  “Program’s over – shall we open the dancing portion of the evening?”

It was tradition at that point, so she nodded, watching as he stood and offered her his hand.  She took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet, and they stepped out onto the floor.  Taking their positions in the center of the floor, waiting for the music to start, it occurred to Rose for the first time to ask, “Do you know how to waltz because of the Estate?”

“Basically.”  The music started, and Malcolm began to effortlessly lead her around the dance floor.  “I spent a few summers out with Wallace as a teenager- most of them, actually, come to think of it- and he taught me a lot about the land, and the traditions…  We lived in Glasgow, as you know, just a normal family otherwise, modern.  Wally taught me to be proud of my Scottish heritage, what it meant.”

“That’s lovely,” she murmured, looking up at him.  When he kept staring over her head, avoiding her gaze, she frowned.  “What?  What’s wrong?”

He sighed, holding her a bit tighter.  “I suppose you ought to know… I don’t want you getting blindsided.  Those summers I went out to the countryside…”

It took a moment for her to understand.  “Missy went with you.”

Malcolm smiled wryly.  “Yeah.  We spent a lot of time wandering the fields, fooling around outside…  Not just- I mean, yeah, in that way but also…  And, uh, that’s where Clara was… you know.”

“Oh.”  Unreasonable jealousy tore through her chest, but she forcefully pushed it aside to focus on the humor of it.  “That might explain a lot about Clara's dating habits at uni.”  She smirked up at him, watching his expression change from confusion to horror.

“That’s not something a father needs to know!”

Rose snickered, relaxing against him slightly.  “I appreciate you telling me- those things sometimes having a way of coming up.”

“I want you to feel comfortable there, reasonably at home since we won’t be there much, and… no secrets.”

“Thank you.”  She considered telling him her secret, but ultimately decided against it – it was too nice swaying in his arms, and a not-small part of her wondered if it would be better to live with the possibility, of never knowing, versus taking a chance and failing.

You’re with him here and now.  Enjoy the moment.

-

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Rose turned, grinning at seeing who had addressed her.  “Hey, Dad, looking good.”

Pete joined her at the bar, as they waited for the bartender to reach them.  “You look wonderful,” he smiled wistfully.  “Feels like it wasn’t that long ago you were playing dress up and pretty princess.  Now here you are, a married woman hosting Galas.”

“Dad…”

“Time flies,” he shrugged one shoulder, cupping her cheek.  “You’ll see, when the time comes.”  His hand dropped.  “Don’t mind me, champers makes me maudlin, your mother says.”

“Mhmm.  She also says ‘red is for whores’.  Honestly, nothing makes her happy sometimes.”

“You do, love, you know that.  She’s just got a funny way of showing it, sometimes.”

They shared a knowing grin, and Rose rolled her eyes, laughing.

“That she does.”

The bartender stopped and took their orders, and when Rose glanced at her father again, he was watching her with a pensive frown.

“What?”

“How are you doing?”

Rose’s brows furrowed.  “Fine, why?”

“Just… with everything.  The marriage.”

“Dad-”  And then she understood.  “He told you.”

Pete made a noncommittal noise.  “He might have said something. Don’t worry, I haven’t told your mother and I won’t.  What is or isn’t happening… that’s between the two of you.”  Their drinks arrived then, and he escorted her over to an empty table.  “D’you want to talk about it?”

“I love him.”  The words escaped of their own volition, her eyes flying open wide in horror.  “Oh, God, I can’t believe I just said that.”

“I know you do,” Pete chuckled.  “We all do.  The only ones who don’t are you – and Malcolm.”

Rose turned in her seat, eyes searching him out.  He was still on the dance floor, this time with Clara, and she smiled as their laughter and smiles brightened the room.  For many reasons their relationship reminded her so much of her own with her father, and she was fiercely glad to have him – he’d almost died in a car accident when she was a baby, and she didn’t know how her life might have gone if he’d passed.  Doesn’t bear thinking about.

“I do love him,” she said softly, “but he doesn’t love me.”

“How do you know?”

She scoffed.  “Because he’s never said nor done anything to indicate that he does.  There’s no evidence.”

“Have you ever given him any?  Maybe you’re both being chicken.”

Rose bit her lip, still watching the duo on the dance floor.  It was just crazy enough an idea to possibly be true, and her father had never steered her wrong before.  “Maybe.”

Malcolm looked away from Clara then, eyes scanning the room as he twirled her, a wide smile spreading across his face when he spotted her.  She waved, flashing him a grin, and he nodded in response before returning his attention to his daughter.

“Thanks, Dad,” Rose refocused on the seat next to her, only to find it empty – he’d moved back to their table, trying to tempt Jackie away from her cake for a spin.  Watching as her mother relented, and their happy expressions as they started to dance, her heart felt a little lighter.

Anything is possible.

-

They were dancing together again, more casually now as the evening grew later and the songs more current, and Rose was laughing at Malcolm’s Dad-dancing when he stopped dead, storm clouds gathering in his eyes as he let out an impressive string of profanity.

“What?”  Straightening Rose turned, and saw what he had.  “Oh, fuck.”  Though simpler, it was said with as much passion as his mini-tirade, and as one they started towards their table as fast as they could without making a scene.

“Oi!” Malcolm snarled as soon as they were close, stalking right up to where Missy stood next to Jackie, so close his nose was almost brushing his ex-wife’s.  “What are you doing here?”

Missy stood tall, still barely clearing his chin even in her heeled boots.  “You invited me,” she said evenly, waving the invitation Rose had given her the week before when she’d turned up at the townhouse.  “Sorry I’m late.”

It was hard to believe only a few minutes ago they’d been smiling and laughing as they danced; Malcolm’s face was now incandescent with rage, his right hand squeezing an absent stress ball.  Then Rose looked at her mother, and a knot formed in her gut.

“Mum?”

Jackie turned to her slowly, shock morphing to anger.  “Tell me it’s not true,” she pleaded.  “Tell me you didn’t sell yourself to him.”

“What?  No.  What?  Mum-”

“Mum!”  Clara ran up then, wide eyes darting between her parents.  “What’re you doing here?”

“Rose, did you marry him for money?”

Jackie’s question was almost drowned out by Missy snarling, “I want what’s mine.”

“Missy-” Malcolm started, patience hanging by a thread, but she spoke over him.

“That title was supposed to be mine.  Who wasted their summers out in that hellhole?  Who gave up everything?  We had a deal, Malcolm Tucker, and you got to keep what you wanted.”  Missy’s pointed glance at her own daughter made Rose’s blood run cold, but thankfully the implication went over Clara’s head.

“Mum, you’re not making any sense.  Are you feeling alright?” she spoke to her like she was one of her students, in that soothing voice Clara used when trying to calm someone.

Missy stood her ground, holding Malcolm’s eye.  “You owe me.  I could destroy you, and I will, if you don’t make me whole.”

They were starting to attract attention, but Rose didn’t dare say anything, just gave an awkward wave and smile as the few guests that were looking in their direction.

“Missy,” Malcolm sighed, “there is nothing on Earth that could fill the hole inside your chest.  I certainly was never enough, and neither was anything I could have offered you.  I don’t know how you think a minor title that’s more technicality than anything could improve your life.  All you’ve ever wanted was to be free, so fly away, little birdie, and never come back.”

“Malcolm-”

“You’ve spent our entire lives taking advantage of me, and I let you even when I should know better- do know better.  You want nothing to do with your daughter and I want nothing to do with you.  I meant what I said on Monday.  Now fuck the fuck off.”

“You’re being unreasonable.”

He just shook his head.  “I’d say I’ve been more than reasonable over the years.  And besides, all of this was for nothing- you think Wallace would let you within a mile of everything he’s ever worked for?  If- not that this would ever happen- if we reunited, that would disqualify me from the Estate per his will.  So all of this has been a monumental waste of time and energy, and ruining a spectacular party.  Now leave, or I’ll have security escort you out.”

Missy’s jaw tightened.  “I love you.”

“And I actually believe that you do, at least as far as you’re capable of.  It changes nothing.  Go.”

She turned to her daughter.  “My love-”

“Go,” Clara cut her off, arms folded tightly across her chest, lower lip wobbling.  “Just… go.  Please.”

After a tense moment, Missy nodded.  Head held high she spun on her heel and stalked away, the whole group watching in silence until she disappeared through the doors.

Jackie broke the silence, turning to Rose.  “Did you marry him for money?”

“Oh, Mum,” Rose groaned, closing her eyes briefly.  “Of course not.”

“Wait,” Clara said, brow furrowing.  “What title?”

Malcolm threw his hands in the air and sighed heavily.  “Fine, fine, we’ll tell you everything.  Sit.”

So, they did.

-

“Tonight was a disaster,” Rose groaned, nuzzling her head deeper into Malcolm’s shoulder as they swayed.  “I can’t believe that happened – I’m just so glad it was late enough people had either left, or were drunk enough to not really notice or care.”

“I’m sorry,” he kissed her forehead, “I should’ve done that long ago, but… old habits die hard.  She’s Lucy, I’m Charlie Brown, and the idea of us is the bloody rugby ball.  American football.  Whatever.  I don’t even want the ball anymore, but… I see it, I need to try to kick it.  But I’m done.  Truly.”

Rose just nodded.

Malcolm eased her back enough to see her face, and she blinked up at him.  “I’m serious.  She’s… not the one I want.”  He brushed a loose tendril away from her face.  “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”  She waited for him to lean down and kiss her, but he just pulled her closer again, and they resumed swaying.  Maybe not.  Once again, her naïve and yearning heart had her hearing things he wasn’t saying.

His arms shifted around her, losing their somewhat stiff and formal hold in favor of just wrapping around her.

She wondered what they looked like to everyone else.

“Is Clara staying with us tonight?”

“No,” Rose sighed, inhaling the scent of his aftershave.  As always, it sent a thrill through her, muted by her sad longing.  “They’re going back to my- their flat from here.”

“So, just us, then.”

“Just us.”

Malcolm hummed, a not-unpleasant weight settling on her head; after a moment, she realized it was his chin.  “Good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.  I like that.  Just us.”

She did too.