#why am i so wordy

[hannahssimblr]

She’s on the bed, lamp on, curtains still open to the winter scene outside. The lights of Roskilde glitter in the distance. I expect to find her emotional, like in a movie, where the girl throws herself upon the bed sobbing, mopping her face with tissues. Astrid is impassive. She watches me enter her bedroom and says nothing. 

“Are you… alright?”

“There is something wrong with Mia. This is what she does. I’m fine, yes.” Indifferent and cool again, it is obvious she has remembered who she is supposed to be.

“Okay, because to be honest, that was a lot.” Rather intense piano noises float through the house and through the gaps in the door. Mia, beating the keys. 

“It’s not true, by the way, those things she said about me throwing the Matador board. I haven’t done that since I was a child.”

“We’ve all done that at one point, I’d say.” I sit down with her and hold her foot. Those stripy woollen socks are rough in my hand. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about it.”

“I’m not embarrassed. I just said I haven’t done it since I was a child, so I don’t associate myself with it.”

“Oh, right.”

She pauses and looks out the window for a while, eyes glazed with thoughts. “I don’t come home very much anymore because of her,” she says, then. “She’s so insufferable.”

“It’s fairly obvious you two don’t get along.”

“Well, never have.”

“Any reason?”

“No, she just hates me. She’s always resented me for being born. She loved being the youngest, and now she’s furious with me. So much so that she’ll never forgive me for being alive, I’m sure.”

“Ah.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” she says, turning those piercing eyes on me. “You were the youngest once, too. I’m certain you’d never act like this towards your sister.”

“Well, there were different dynamics. It’s not like Ivy stole my place in the family, or whatever. I didn’t get any joy out of being the only child. There was nothing she could take away from me.”

“It must be different with girls.” Mia launches into an especially insane passage of her piece and Astrid purses her lips. A little slice of the version I saw downstairs seeping out. “She’s so annoying. Horrible, jealous, and annoying. I can’t wait to go back to Berlin and get away from her.”

“A couple more days is all,” I say. “You can try your best to be civil, you know? Or just avoid her if it’s that bad.”

“It is that bad. She makes it impossible to be civil, I–” she bunches her fists into her eyes as the music crashes on, distracting from her train of thought. “Could you go down there and tell her to shut up, please?”

I laugh. “In those words?”

“Yes. I don’t care. Just make sure she stops playing so that I’m not tormented by her, even in my private space.”

“You really want that?”

“Yes.”

I hesitate. “It’s a bit awkward, no?”

“You can tell her I said it. I don’t care. Just make her stop. She knows she’s doing it to get to me. It’s one of her sly tricks. If it is you that tells her, she may actually listen.”

I leave and make my way down to the study, where Mia has left the door open. The sounds of the piano pour out into the hallway, rising and falling, tinkling chromatics, music that makes me feel like droplets of water are spilling down my back. An audio sensory feeling I’ve only had before from those special songs in my playlists. It’s nice, whatever it is, so for moments I stand in the door and watch her play. Her hands on the keyboard are fluid, fast. She sees me, but pretends not to. We both wait until she has finished, the last notes ringing out, giving way to quiet.

Still, with her face turned away, she hooks her thick hair behind her ears, chin high and proud. “She’s sent you here to make me stop.”

Awkward now, obviously. “Sorry.”

Mia hacks out a laugh. “She’s always hated when I play.”

“I thought it was very good.”

She looks at me now, guarded eyes searching my face for mocking or insincerity. “Well, it is my job to be good.”

“Yes, well,” I step inside and gently pull the door behind me. “I knew, like, on some level, you’d be good, with your degree and all, but hearing it in person is different.”

Her eyes follow me across the room toward an armchair by the window. “Thank you.”

“What was that song?”

“Liszt.”

“Ah.”

“You like his work?”

“Um,” I sit down, a good view of the keyboard and all its worn ivories. “I liked that. I don’t know his other stuff.”

“You say it like he’s released a series of pop albums.”

“Sorry, I don’t know the right way to talk about it. I just mostly thought that was cool, and kind of mad at the same time.”

“That was Hungarian Rhapsody. They aren’t all like that. I was just feeling a need to get out my frustration.”

“What else has he done?”

She purses her lips, and I know I’ve again said something the wrong way. Turning back to the piano, she plucks out a series of gentle notes while I follow her hands with rapt attention. “This is Liebestraum. Do you recognise it?”

“No.”

“It’s softer.”

The melody is lyrical, dreamy, flows like a heartfelt confession. Makes me feel like I’m longing for something. Reminds me I am pretty much always doing that, and isn’t that it? Life? Always yearning for the things you cannot have. “Jesus, you really are so good.” Mia just nods. “You know that, obviously,” I add. “I just wanted to repeat it.”

While she plays, and the lyrical sound fills the little room. Often, I have thought of the piano as something annoying, a sound that only meant my TV show or game would be interrupted. Something played reluctantly, the subject of a hundred arguments at home, but to listen to it like this is a pleasure. The swelling of sound, unexpected discord, then resolution. After the piece fades into silence like a dream fading to memory, I simply sit. 

“It’s complicated, isn’t it?” I say eventually. “It never really does what you think it’s going to do.”

“That’s why I like the romantics. They were breaking the rules and changing what music was.”

I nod, not knowing exactly what she means, but feeling as if I do. “My sister plays the piano.”

“Ah, yes?”

“Yeah, since she was six, though she’s not able to do all this.”

“You said she is eleven?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, no eleven-year-old can do this. Their hands are too small.”

I let out a small laugh, though Mia doesn’t seem to understand she was being funny. “Yeah,” I say, “well you’re right there. Hopefully, one day, she will.”

“If she works hard.”

“I don’t know about that. She’s pretty lazy.”

“Well, most people don’t want to play piano as kids. It’s a matter of making them do it because you can see the potential. I was serious always, I suppose, but for me it was all I really liked to do. I didn’t have other things I cared so much about.”

“Well, I’d love if she was good enough to play like that. I think I’d just sit and listen all day.”

Mia doesn’t know what to say. My compliments have made her uncomfortable. 

“Hey, so you do concerts on stage, right? That’s your job?”

“Yes.”

“Have you played in Berlin?”

“Not yet. I will be in the summer. I’m playing Rach 2 with the Berlin Phil.”

“Oh.”

A small eye roll, making fun of herself. “Rachmaninov’s second piano concerto, I mean. With the Berlin Philharmonic. They are an orchestra.”

“Ah, so a whole big thing.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Do you think if I brought my sister to that, you could talk to her about music and stuff?”

A smile tugs at her lips. “Yes, of course. I could give her a tour of the concert hall. I could let her try the piano and bring her backstage to show her what it is like.”

“You have that kind of power?”

“I am the soloist, Jude. I can do whatever I like.”

“Wow, yes, I mean, that’d be amazing. She would love that so much. That’s really kind of you.”

She shrugs and turns back to the piano, just to look at it instead of having to look at me. Perhaps remembering who I am by association. The boyfriend of the enemy. “If you want, you can tell Astrid I have finished playing. Tell her you told me to shut up, and I did.”

“I’m sorry, Mia. I really didn’t want to have to ask you.”

She flips her hair and stares up at a seascape painting, propped against the wall above the piano. “I’m sure she has told you already her version of things. About how horrible I am.”

“She hasn’t. She really doesn’t talk about that kind of thing with me. All I knew before coming here is that she has two sisters and a nephew.”

“Oh, so she’s still like that.”

“Like what?”

“Completely detached. That’s nice to know.”

I don’t know what to say. 

“You know it’s true what I was saying about her in the kitchen? She’ll tell you I was lying, but I wasn’t. She really did throw the board. She wanted to throw it tonight, but she remembered you were there.”

“It’s fine, really. I don’t care who threw the board.” 

“You don’t think it’s completely childish? That she acts like a twelve-year-old all the time?”

I massage my palm with my thumb. “What is it between you two, anyway? Is this just normal sibling stuff, or is there something else?”

“Something else.”

“Like, I dunno. Did you both like the same boy or something?”

Mia turns to face me, eyes incredulous. “That’s what you think? Sisters are fighting, so it must be something to do with us, men! They couldn’t possibly have anything else to be upset about?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, sorry.”

“It’s because Astrid gets everything she wants. Always has. She was six during our parents’ divorce, and she’s the one that cried the most about it. She learned that if she cried enough, she’d get whatever she wanted, just to make her shut up.”

“Mia, I mean, she was a small child.”

“You know she got her own bedroom? I had to share with Pernille, who was always using the phone to call her friends and her stupid boyfriends as I was trying to sleep, and smoking weed out the window. The smell gave me a headache. I hate that kind of thing. Astrid got her own room and all the toys she wanted. Oh, and this!” She throws her hand toward the piano. “I was the talented one. I worked hardest, and all I ever heard about was how Astrid was drawing such pretty pictures, that frankly, weren’t even that good. Everyone was just pretending. She thinks she’s so wonderful now, but it’s all based on lies. Everyone gave her an opinion of herself that was entirely unwarranted.”

“She’s good, though. You can’t deny that. They’re putting her ceramics in galleries.”

“Confidence and good looks get you everywhere. She knows it. God,” she scoffs, tension in her body as though decades of pent up fury is forcing its way to the surface. “And we worried so much about her, did you know? After that whole thing with the photographer. Do you think she ever apologised for that? No. She didn’t care. She only cares about herself.”

“The photographer?”

“Oh, God, of course you don’t know about that, either. You don’t know about any of it. I assumed she was in a normal relationship with you, seeing as you’re here, but it seems I was wrong. Do you know anything about her?”

I hesitate. “Not about her past.”

“She brought you here without telling you a thing about her? How weird. She’s so weird.”

“Well, in fairness, I was the one that asked to come. I didn’t want to go home for Christmas. She didn’t really have an option but to say yes.”

Rolling her eyes. “Okay, well, of course. The photographer was a man she met when she was seventeen. After the disaster with N–” she freezes. “You know about Nicklas?”

My heart skips. “No.”

“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” she says, before telling me anyway. “He lived nearby. Our mothers are friends. Helle, from today, would come here all the time for coffee and to talk. They were pregnant together, and then Astrid was born, and two weeks later, Nicklas. They grew up together. Helle took him with her to our house and let him play with us, and he and Astrid started school together at once. 

“Then, as they grew up, they would play together all the time. Climbing trees in the garden and things. He would cycle to see her and wait on the doorstep. So many times, I would come home to find him there waiting for her to come outside. I suppose he was her best friend or something.”

“And then?”

“Oh, then she was fourteen, and realised she was pretty. She befriended a group of horrible girls at school, who laughed too loudly at things just to make you feel excluded, and tried to get the attention of boys. Nicklas joined in with those boys, the ones that played football outside of school, just so she would pay attention to him again. It was sad, really. We all felt bad for him because he was so obviously having feelings for her. He was a teenage boy.

“And then one day…” Mia shrugs. “She finally came around. It was like she saw sense for the first time. Or maybe she liked how much he liked her. They dated when they were sixteen. He was so happy. She was happy. She was laughing all the time and holding hands and kissing in front of everybody. Helle and our mom were happy, too, because they’d always secretly wished for it. It was, I suppose, their idea of meant-to-be.”

“Obviously it wasn’t though, seeing as I’m here now.”

Mia shakes her head. “No, obviously not. They were together for a few months. I don’t know, not many. Then one day he broke up with her.”

“Why?”

“Maybe he realised the fantasy was better than the reality, I don’t know. She is not so easy to deal with. I’m sure there came a point where he had enough, and I can’t blame him. It devastated her. Oh, just crying all the time,” she rolls her eyes. “It was terrible, the turmoil. Locked up there in her bedroom all the time, refusing to eat. It was because she always thought she was better than him, and that she was doing him a great favour by being his girlfriend. She could not take it when he was the one to end things. At least that’s what I think about it. Poor little Astrid.”

I shouldn’t know about this. If Astrid had wanted me to know it, she would have told me, and yet I find myself unable to let it go. Like a starving man, grabbing at whatever he can get. Forcing my guilt aside for more. Yet the more I hear, the more my body protests. A sick feeling. Tightness in my chest, palms prickling with sweat. I swallow. “So, she got over it, right?”

“Hm.”

“This was, what, four, five years ago? Enough time to let it go, surely.”

“I haven’t asked her. I hope so, but it did something to her. She’s been strange ever since. Having strange relationships.”

“Like the photographer.”

“Oh, yes, that was the whole point. Him. He was one outcome of this. Astrid, and her need to show Nicklas she didn’t need him by dating all kinds of men. Never single, but always with this strange attitude, so closed off, acting like someone else. We worried. And then, oh, god, then came the holiday with a friend of hers and her parents to France. On the beach, she met this man who told her she could be a model. She believed him. He was twenty-nine, or something. Completely inappropriate. The parents of her school friend had to call our mother, panicked and upset because Astrid hadn’t come back to the hotel one evening. Turns out she was with this man and his friends, drinking, by the way, and–”

“No, hang on,” I say, guts churning, now. “I actually don’t think I can know any more. I don’t want to hear this.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Well, she won’t tell you on her own.”

“I know, it’s… maybe it’s one of those things better left in the past.” I want to stand up and leave. Go outside into the freezing wind and swallow lungfuls of it until I stop feeling so hot, but that’d be a weird thing to do. I’d have to explain myself. I sit, leg jumping as Mia stares at me, squinting her eyes like I’m a passage from a book she cannot decipher.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I think, really. I don’t want to know.”

“I know everything about her, Jude. You can ask me.”

A lurching feeling, like getting sick. “No, no. I want to respect… it’s not right that I know. I don’t want to. It might change things.”

She frowns. After a moment, her interest wanes, and she simply shrugs. “Okay,” she turns back to the piano, and picks another piece to play. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[residentialsinyomakai]

You'll never guess who the kinda primary subject of this yappost/doodle dump is

sigh. it always comes back

Freaky ahh bowl of rice...what's he on about

"But Yōmakai isn't this a maddiman post. Why are the first two things besides the intro not ma" IM GETTING THERE. PATIENCE

I redraw Kagemura every now and then to see if I improve!! :) Think I kinda ate w this one frfr

No me mires con tus estupidos ojos

UEgh. judging you btw

Expression stuff cause I love seeing different depictions both from other people and within my own mind

Mini thing based on a. Trend jm noticing LMAO

Also this Maddiman that scared some of my friends apparently 😔💔

AU shenanigans and this idiot again. HATE HIM BLOW HIM UP NOW!!!! Jkjk i wish people drew him more i love him :)

Anyways all done :) see you!!

[titaniumions]

regarding the story of oliver

so i think oliver fog's anecdote may have unexpectedly become one of my favourites and managed to get me emotionally invested ... so i'd like to talk about a certain aspect of it in more depth

a knight and oliver fog's dynamic definitely was what captivated me the most; through that anecdote we got to watch the progression of the way they interacted with each other, though they may have gotten off on the wrong foot and had a few misunderstandings, they grew to develop true respect for each other, but what makes it unique is the way they BOTH see their respective pasts in each other. it's a mixed bag of memories for them both, yet somehow it ended up becoming a basis for an actually positive bond

oliver already had a rather negative impression of a knight from the start. and the fact that a knight made a joke that directly reminded oliver of his own father--whom oliver wasn't exactly fond of--didn't exactly help make things better between them. however, the experience they had in the forest (which i will touch on more in later paragraphs) certainly improved things, enabling them both to warm up to each other

BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY a knight's final gesture toward him, putting his hand on oliver's shoulder to comfort him, is something i find very remarkable, and also symbolic of their development. that was, again, something that directly reminded oliver of his father, but oliver doesn't despise it this time, especially since this happened right after a knight had protected him and given him courage. knight had given oliver a reason to think highly of him. aside from that, he also got oliver to look at life (and death) through a new perspective. a knight could be the more ... positive paternal figure that oliver needed, and with time oliver's perspective on him can definitely shift from "he's just like my father (derogatory)" to "he's just like my father (affectionate)"

now onto a knight's side of things. he never wanted to cause oliver any trouble, and not only felt remorseful, but also had a protective instinct toward him. but most importantly he saw traits of his very own best friend and companion in oliver fog. an interesting but somewhat melancholic basis for a new friendship ...

AND THEN there's the fight scene, the moment where they were surrounded by critters in the forest. while that wasn't exactly something a knight would consider as a severe threat, seeing how swiftly he dealt with it, it sure did serve as a reminder of the roncevaux pass battle where he had died. surrounded by foes, standing side-by-side with an oliver. and again, while this isn't such a severe battle for a knight, to the rather combat-inexperienced oliver fog, this fight could as well have been his "roncevaux pass". there is also the fact that the overwhelming amount of critters reminded oliver of his own fog-related trauma. it's thanks to a knight's steadfastness and combat skills that they ultimately got out of it. a battle that didn't turn out so hopeless this time. a battle in which a knight was able to save someone else

a knight becoming a truly reliable person and offering hope to others, as demonstrated in this anecdote, is a testament to his growth. he was, after all, more reckless and troublesome during his lifetime, but the oliver of a knight's time had helped him grow as a person, and a knight acknowledged this thoroughly. his oliver had always been there for him and acted as his voice of reason, so now it's a knight's turn to be a steadfast and reliable figure to someone else; in this case a younger person to whom he can impart his wisdom and life experiences. in turn, a knight can learn a thing or two from oliver fog as well (and he did!)

i think a knight has become someone whom his oliver would have truly been proud of. there is this statement he made about how oliver will never truly die, which i take to mean as 1) the past oliver's spirit essentially living on through oliver fog and 2) a knight eternally preserving this oliver in his memories all throughout his new life. between the two of them he is the only one who is granted such a chance, after all. death and time may have parted them but memories allow oliver to continue to live on, in a way. either way it's ultimately a nice sentiment, a little bittersweet but a wonderful testament to his appreciation and love for what was once an important part of his past

in conclusion i find them to be an excellent duo. the interaction they had in the anecdote gave them even more depth as characters, as it enabled them to explore the way they think of the past, their personal pasts, and acknowledge the way those pasts define them as they are now. as well as the way they both got to experience something that mirrored both of their respective past experiences, and ended the interaction on a positive note. i am so glad they found each other

P.S.: if oliver fog somehow were to meet the oliver from knight's past, his father figure count would increase by 1. i'm just saying

[wtfuckevenknows]

Well, it's done but it's getting a beta read because 1.4k is not a quick 100 word drabble that might not need one 😂

Remember when I said 100-200 word prompt fills????

1133 words later and that damn line from the prompt still isn't in there 😩

[kingofthewilderwest]

Sometimes speaking to people with opposing viewpoints shouldn't be to change them. That's the mindset of posts I come across online, but I believe that default can breed dangerous narrow-mindedness. Sometimes speaking to people with opposing viewpoints should be to collect data. Sometimes it should be so you're made aware where you have incomplete information. Sometimes the result should be you practice humility, learn how to change your mind, increase your ability to handle and produce nuance, and grow.

Sometimes it should be learning to coexist and grow with people who have different philosophies, and learning they are neither the cardboard cutout villain media makes them out to be, or the more complex villain internet discourse says they are.

You aren't a missionary to those who think differently than you. If you go into every conversation believing you're right, you're never going to grow yourself. Realize the valuable complexity people truly are. Learn to listen and understand.

Anyone who says, "Yeah, except X group of people" isn't going in the direction I want to reflect upon in this microcosm of a thought, and isn't engaging with the meaning and intentions I want to focus on right now. Of course there are "excepts." We wouldn't be wise if we had no "excepts." But when we categorize everyone into "excepts," we run into that dangerous breed of narrow-mindedness.

There is much we can learn about people with challenging perspectives. It's valuable. I encourage you to enter conversations with an open-heart instead of a desire to convert. They are people with knowledge and character, just as you. And you don't know everything - not about them, and not about the world.

[musashi]

anyways, just a reminder to read my carrd before interacting with me.

as cases of "im just going to hardblock this friend/mutual with no discussion whatsoever" ramp up i need to remind people that you are traumatizing people. its easy for you to just hit the block button on someone who you've decided isn't worth your time, never have to worry about it again, but please take the time to really sit and think about what you might be doing to them.

i have bpd and i am autistic. abandonment is traumatic. thinking i am friends with someone and then finding i am blocked with no answers after years/months is traumatic.

learn to communicate, like a normal person or 2. do not follow me. i have no interest in befriending you if you think it is acceptable to just leave people like that.

i am honestly so tired of this. please be compassionate. where is the compassion?

[skitskatdacat63]

“Amore et Timore” - King Fernando I “El Animoso”

[rubberduckyrye]

The investigation and trial for case 1 alone is like 50k and I have the post trial chapter to write what the FUCK is happening to me

[seaslimes]

Finally have a queue system that works for me. AKA 10 posts across two hours. Good luck to anyone. Hope you like seeing silly stuff on your dashboard.

[nancywheeeler]

girl whose favorite part of the writing process is editing still believes every first draft she writes needs to be perfect. really embarrassing for her.

[nostalgia-tblr]

regretting convincing myself another multi-chapter was "a good idea" and "fun," stuck worrying about the need to update it and the need to finish it in a reasonable timeframe.

[wtfuckevenknows]

DONE!!!!

and, well, at 4k before editing and being beta-read, this is definitely the longest fic I've written to date (baker!tk and chef!carlos aside) 😅

1.2k in and TK and Carlos still not together in this scene 😂

[specialops]

Cat stop writing novels challenge

[iamnotlookingidonotseeit]

rks what happened to u bby...

[monstatart]

I've been re-reading my webtoon before releasing it because I just remembered I write like a traumatized AP Lang student.

[mymegumi]

sometimes i b writing n b like damn shawty stfu