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Topics - Athanasia Valenti

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1958 / watermelon sugar high | indiana
« on: 12/01/2019 at 16:22 »
at the bottom of the falls
a little after breakfast
wednesday, july 2nd, 1958

In her hands, Piedra de Sol, for, upon the recommendation of her younger sister too smart for her own good, she was reading more current literature and not just the 'stone age stuff'. To her left, and frighteningly within reach of one Indigo Amberghast situated very close to the water, Rupasi Bangla.

Her question—Do you speak any other languages?—died on her tongue when she looked up to catch his gaze, reminded of the fact that they hadn't really spoken since the party and that she was determined to keep it that way until he broke the silence. Because, obviously, it was his fault that they'd gotten into that whole ordeal and she'd been forced to leave him tied up in the kitchen alongside her fiancé.

Instead of speaking, she just stared, brows furrowed slightly in annoyance. One eyebrow raised, inviting him to speak on the matter untouched thus far.

1957 / not-quite paradise; open
« on: 08/21/2019 at 00:44 »
mid july
on the shores of odo island
a little after one pm

Odo Island, with its water that was too dark to be regarded with anything other than suspicion and small stretch of sand that was so small it barely qualified as a beach, was not and would never be considered an ideal spot to tan. At least not by Athanasia Valenti, a girl whose upbringing had set her standards far above average, especially when it came to locations. Spending half of your childhood in a house that jutted over the Mediterranean and the other in the heart of the Italian countryside would certainly do that to a person, particularly one who, even before she knew enough about others to understand that not everyone lived the way her family could afford to, had always believed she deserved the best.

Needless to say, Camp Loki was not it. The French theme last year had come close to meeting her standards. At the very least, the water had been suitable for swimming. The horror theme, however, had left her with few favored spots to read and tan, and essentially zero bodies of water worth her time. While nothing would've felt better on a hot day than a refreshing dip in one of the lakes, she could imagine no worse experience than brushing her toes against whatever creature was presumably lurking below the murky depths.

Contemplations and complaints pushed aside, she laid back on the baby blue towel she'd spread across the sand. Eyelids fluttered closed beneath black sunglasses. If she focused quite hard, she could pretend she was in Greece or back in France or really, anywhere else but there.

At least, until she felt a dark shadow fall over her.

Neither of her eyes opened to observe the culprit responsible for obstructing the sun's rays. Instead, "You mind?" The tone of her voice made it very clear that there was only one correct answer to her question; she minded a lot, obviously, and therefore they should too. "You're blocking my sun."

Freestyle Archives / she's american | nastie au
« on: 08/20/2019 at 03:35 »
somewhere within the confines of the university of pennsylvania
two weeks into spring semester of 2019
a little before six pm

It was by pure accident—and, she would insist, a massive stroke of luck—that she caught sight of him, Bastién Delacroix, walking in the opposite direction she was headed and looking entirely unapproachable. He was the TA for the Gender History and American Film class that she'd taken partly on a whim, partly because it interested her, and partly because her roommate had raved non-stop about it all of last spring.

More importantly, though, he was wrong.

A few moments later, once she'd caught up to him, she told him so. “You were wrong today, you know.” She fell into step beside him, struggling a bit to match his strides at first, but eventually managing to take up an easy, albeit quick, rhythm. “Frances Marion won an Academy Award for Best Writing, not one for Best Story, for The Big House.” She spared a cheeky glance up at him, a grin on her lips that truly resembled a cat after it’d caught the canary. “I guess someone didn’t do the reading.”

If he knew anything about the reading—and, since he was teaching the class almost half the time, she was positive he did—he would know that there was nothing about which one of Frances Marion’s films had won which award in the textbook. If he knew anything about her—and, since the semester had only just begun, she was positive he knew little to nothing about what she was like (unless, of course, he made a habit of chatting with other TAs, in which case, he might’ve heard that she was an absolute terror)— he would know that she had looked up the information herself just earlier that day.

His mistake had been revealed by a simple Google search, completed frantically in the first moment she'd gotten alone after class and based on the meager hunch that finally, finally, he’d produced a statement that was false. It was just her luck that this time—of course, this had happened before, but each time she’d tried to prove his shortcomings, it was her that came short—she’d actually managed to catch his slip up.

“Maybe I should be teaching the class.”

1957 / amidst the chaos
« on: 08/02/2019 at 02:55 »
half italian, half greek, one hundred percent pureblood princess

believes she is destined for some sort of greatness (even though she is so obviously destined for life as a glorified trophy wife); constantly craving control; slave to her massive ego; intentionally cruel; brilliant mind with very little tolerance for idiocracy; exceedingly passionate about things she cares for

summer things include getting betrothed to bryson rose, being the world's meanest and most unfair counselor—she will yell at you for breaking the rules while she breaks them herself—and working through her constantly expanding pile of books


seventeen, slytherin, seventh, pureblood, scorpio

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[span style="font-family:georgia;text-transform:uppercase;font-size:8px;letter-spacing:2px;color:#3c3c3a;"]FIRST NAME

[span style="font-family:georgia;text-transform:uppercase;font-size:7px;letter-spacing:2px;color:#3c3c3a;"]HOUSE. YEAR. BLOOD. ZODIAC.[/div]
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coded by IFR

1957 / honey, honey | ali
« on: 08/01/2019 at 15:12 »
friday, july 5th, 1957
athanasia’s cabin
past curfew

From amongst her pile of pillows, she aimed her wand at the door, effectively swinging and then locking it shut. Snake green eyes then shifted to regard her friend where she sat at the bottom of her bed.

A delicate pointer finger was aimed accusingly at Alice. “Your taste—“ In men wasn’t quite right because it wasn’t quite true, though since she wasn’t exactly sure what more appropriate word should take its place, she just left the blank empty entirely. “—is garbage.”

1957 / lovin' is bible | bria
« on: 08/01/2019 at 00:23 »
monday, july 1st, 1957
on a balcony of the palias garnier

She’d dragged him away only seconds after he’d stepped out of the fireplace. On her palm, pressed tight against his own, she could feel the chalky dust left behind from the Floo. It’d likely rub off on her skirt later, leaving gray stains across white linen, but that didn’t stop her from intertwining their fingers as she pulled him down one hallway and through a massive set of doors.

Eventually, she stopped, leaning her body up against a pillar the marked the start of one of the opera house's various balconies. It hadn't even been a whole week since she’d last seen him. Still, “I missed you.” Raising only slightly on the tips of her toes, she moved to press a kiss against his cheek.

As a smile began to split across her face, “Did you miss me?”

1957 / sorry not sorry | l.s.
« on: 07/31/2019 at 23:52 »
sunday, june 30th, 1957
on the edge of the lake
10:16 am

She’d been able to successfully avoid Lupin Sol for almost the entirety of counselor week. Not because she was scared of him—now that they were both counselors, he had nothing on her—but because she knew any conversation with him would only result in more harsh words, or worse, a drawn wand.

But then he’d gone and approached her, leaving her without the possibility of a subtle getaway and thus, forcing her to acknowledge him properly.

Instead of a greeting, she offered, “Professor Leighton never showed.”

Or maybe, he had, but had eventually decided that one hour and seventeen minutes was much too long to wait in the rain for just one student and gone back inside. Either way, when she’d finally emerged, twelve more dead ends and one hour and eighteen minutes of walking in circles later, Leighton was nowhere to be found.

1957 / pink lemonade | roma
« on: 07/31/2019 at 23:31 »
wednesday, july 3rd, 1957
athanasia’s cabin
a little past eleven

When she opened the door to her cabin, she’d been expecting a number of faces—Alice’s, one of her campers, Henry or Dolores’, Litchfield’s—but none of them belonging to Romero Hunt. She figured that after what he’d done (after what he’d been doing for a whole week and then some), he would’ve been smart enough to stay away. Clearly, he wasn’t.

Cold and distant—everything they hadn’t been before camp and everything she was intent on making them now—came her voice, delivering harsh words with an even harsher glare. “I didn’t invite you.” Her palm pressed hard against the wood of the door, preparing to slam it if he refused to turn and go. Her other hand gripped tight around the wood of her wand, preparing to raise it should she need to.

“That means leave, Romero.”

1957 / the hot-mess express
« on: 07/21/2019 at 22:02 »


my name is abby, but i'll also go by any of my character's names or nicknames (nasia, sia, charlie, etc.) i swear i’m really friendly so please always feel free to hit me up to talk and/or plot!

fun facts about me
- i was born and raised in the good ol south of the u.s.a babey
- i haven't got a southern accent (or at least i don't think i do) since i've always lived in a city
- i'm a libra sun, pisces moon, virgo rising
- i love horror movies
- i’m also a massive wimp who will spend half the movie with her hands over her eyes
- my wide(ish) range of music includes artists such as the 1975, frank ocean, cigarettes after ___, bleachers, post malone, sza, lorde, the aces, troye sivan, maggie rogers, and sara bareilles
- im always on the hunt for new music. i lovelovelove spotify playlists so feel free to send me recs!
- i'm addicted to crime shows, my favorites being criminal minds and law and order svu
- my favorite shows that you definitely should watch if you haven't (and if you have, talk to me about them!): schitts creek, dear white people, the good place, arrested development, how to get away with murder, shameless, orange is the new black, community
- reality tv is a massive obsession of mine. my favorites include love island (both the us and the uk version) and big brother
- i do theatre lighting! (so obviously, i love musicals) not professionally, but for small shows happening near me and the such. i'm pretty much obsessed with all things light related and i 100% will geek out to my friends about the lighting at concerts, shows, etc.
- i've got the worst sense of direction in the world

my babies

athanasia imelda pantazis-valenti
seventeen years old, pureblood, slytherin, scorpio
werewolf team counselor; pureblood princess; lover of books, eye rolls, and all things lavish; stubbornly proud; ever-expanding superiority-complex and ego; exsists in a state of annoyance; family is everything; betrothed to bryson rose

charlotte angelika jae pantazis
ten years old, pureblood, pisces
willing minion to vesper delacroix; will gladly do anything and everything you tell her (unless vesper tells her not to); sweetheart daddy's girl; bubblegum blonde; sheltered, naive, and way too gullible because of it

1956 / the book was better | camilla snaps
« on: 04/20/2019 at 15:59 »

sunday, july 8th 1956
a little after sunset
in the auditorium

The film was less than spectacular, but she'd read the book, East of Eden, last summer, and had wanted to see how the words translated into pictures from someone else's point of view. She thought about reaching out and poking Camilla, startling the girl's attention away from the disappointing show on the screen and redirecting it towards herself, but she knew she wouldn't like that so she didn't.


She liked Camilla, genuinely liked the way she spoke and the way she felt in her company. Athanasia liked pleasing the people she liked, liked keeping them happy.

"Camilla." Her eyes left the screen to find her companion's, hoping to discover that the gaze was returned. "I don't like it." She considered this. "I don't not like it, either. It's just different."

1956 / thnks fr th mmrs | rome
« on: 04/18/2019 at 19:00 »
Athanasia Valenti was having the worst day.

Usually, she rose early, grabbed a bite before the rest of the campers filtered in, and then disappeared to some obscure stretch of beach or far corner of camp where the others couldn’t reach her. Today, she’d woken up late, spilt tea on her new blouse, nearly combusted when she’d remembered she couldn’t use magic to spell it clean, snapped at one of her roommates for taking too long in the bathroom, and was now being forced to dine amidst the insufferable chatter of her classmates. It had been a ridiculously long and completely unbearable morning that, in her eyes, could not get any worse.

Leave it to Romero Hunt to do the impossible.

The moment they'd locked eyes she knew it was too late. It would’ve been easy to pretend she hadn’t seen him and move on. Had she been anyone else, she would’ve, but the way their eyes met felt like a challenge and Athanasia Pantazis-Valenti did not lose, especially not to people like him.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, please.” She was at his table now, seated in front of him and fixing him with one of her signature stares. “Do I even know you?”

1956 / portrait of a girl | téo
« on: 04/08/2019 at 23:05 »
the second week of camp
on the banks of the canal
3:47 pm

She’d been laying across a picnic blanket, nose characteristically buried deep in a book. Upon reading an especially profound line, she’d lifted her eyes off the page for just a moment, just long enough to catch her hypothetical breath and digest the information. It was in this second that she caught sight of another girl, a little ways away, who appeared to be painting. It captivated her.

Athanasia didn’t make a habit of approaching random kids at camp. Random was a strong word of choice since she’d been going to school with the lot of them for five years, but when one took into account that, while she could do a decent job of matching names to faces, she almost never took the effort to get to know them any further, it was fitting. The majority were no more familiar to her than a stranger.

But it was too late to turn back now. She’d already caught sight of the piece, and now that her interest was peaked she knew she wouldn't be able to focus on her novel. Before she could give it a second thought, she closed the book and pushed herself off the ground.

Usually, she would’ve never dared interrupt another’s concentration, knowing she would’ve expected the same courtesy had the roles been reversed, but trying to find the willpower to resist had her grasping at straws. It was like the painting had spoken to her, drawing her in and begging her to inquire further. An odd occurrence, but not completely unexplainable, given her affinity for exquisite things.

“Your work is… very good.” The compliment sounded weak, but coming from her it was high praise, especially considering she rarely showed appreciation for her peer's work.

Freestyle Archives / silver spoon has fed me good | cal
« on: 04/07/2019 at 03:44 »
villa ephrussi de rothschild
around 10 pm

When Athanasia had received the invitation via owl, she’d barely been able to keep the smile off her face. The rest of the day was spent exchanging letters with her grandmother, planning what to wear and gossiping about who they’d see. Athanasia couldn’t wait. She hadn’t attended a proper Pureblood event since the Christmas holidays, and, upon finding out she’d been sentenced to a summer at Camp Loki, was sure she’d have to wait a whole year to again.

The start of the evening had found her floating from group to group, dazzling party-goers and collecting compliments, mostly about her attire. The dress was v-necked with flowing butterfly sleeves that almost reached her elbows. It clung to her upper-body, cinched at the waist with a small bow, and then fanned out to pool effortlessly onto the floor. It was made of stunning blue chiffon, mixed with the slightest tint of turquoise to give it a pop. The fabric itself was already laced with fine sparkles, but Ioanna had insisted on using a charm to enhance their shine. When she moved, the dress glowed, like a sea of glitter cascading down her body before spilling out across the polished tile. It was perfect.

She was perfect. Or at least, she appeared that way, all done-up with her effortless hair and jewelry worth more than a flat in Italy. She was back in her element, untethered from the confines of camp and returned at last to the familiar comforts of her lifestyle. She lived for this.

Except tonight she didn’t care to. Instead of continuing to waltz around inside, showing off her enchanted dress and expensive jewelry, she had retreated to the balcony, like she was some pathetic wallflower who wilted at the idea of small talk and socialization. She’d never gawked at such tasks before— maybe as a child, but what six year old didn’t— so one could imagine the shock when accosted by a sudden desperate urge to flee. It became so overwhelming that eventually she’d been forced to excuse herself for air.

Lithe fingers reached up to fiddle with the diamond neckpiece she vaguely remembered her mother clasping around her neck earlier that day. It was a welcome contrasting cool to the heat of her hand. The free arm bent to rest an elbow on the railing and her chin fell snugly into the open palm. A heavy sigh escaped her, equal-parts wistful and distressed. Admittedly, it was a tad melodramatic, but it was permissible on the grounds that she felt it adequately summed-up her emotions about the night.

1956 / did you miss me? | pil
« on: 04/04/2019 at 04:54 »
the dining hall
9:25 am

Athanasia was absolutely over it. Hogwarts had taken her one of her favorite things and stuffed it so full of annoyances and unpleasantries that it was completely unbearable. They’d done such a fine job of it she was surprised they weren’t teaching a class: How to Ruin Summers 101. Or perhaps, she theorized, they’d already offered the class, and all of Hogwarts’ student body had signed up. Everyone except her had been in attendance, and together they had conspired to ruin her summer vacation. They insisted on doing awful things, like talking too loud and sleeping in the same room as her and being pointlessly boring. Some people could be so mind-numbingly dull it was a wonder they didn’t fall asleep just listening to themselves talk.

It was because of said boredom that, when out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Pilar Reina, she didn’t immediately turn and float the other way. Her eyes flickered to the opposite wall and then back to the brunette. She toyed with the idea for a moment, twirling it around her mind until, at the depressing realization she had no better way to fill the time, decided she was due a bit of excitement. She changed course, slightly, so it came across as absentminded and accidental, but well enough that their paths would cross.

There was just something about Pilar that made her want to throw all caution to the wind and just be nasty. She was so infuriating but equally familiar in a way that could almost be described as comforting. It was all so easy. They’d been rivals, though she hated that term —it was so childish— for so long it was like second-nature. When she was well within range, she tossed her head back, folded her arms across her chest, and plastered on one of her most dazzlingly artificial smiles.

“Pilar! Pil. I haven’t seen you since… well, the last thing I remember was you losing the Quidditch Cup.” Her smile widened, if that was even possible, though it failed to reach her eyes, which remained cool and challenging, almost cocky, in their stare.

“I know you’re probably very busy, but I just had to say, I find it so admirable, all this counselor work you’re doing. You must be working so hard, judging by the bags under your eyes.”

1956 / heard it through the grapevine | true
« on: 04/04/2019 at 02:36 »
on the beach
early afternoon
second week of camp

It was good that she’d made plans. Otherwise, she’d have spent the whole day underneath a tree again, nose buried in another one of the books her mother begrudgingly sent from home each week. It wasn’t a bad way to spend a day, at least not in her eyes. In fact, it ranked rather high on her list of ‘ways-to-spend-a-day-at-a-summer-camp-you-don’t-want-to-be-at-but-your-parents-are-forcing-you-to-attend’. It almost took the prize for first, second only to times when she was asleep and thus unconscious and blissfully unaware of her dreadful situation.

Unfortunately, her mother was slowly dwindling her book supply, likely in the hopes that Athanasia, left with no other aids to pass the time, would be compelled to spend her days in the presence of others. And it worked. To blow through all her reading material so early in the summer would surely be a tragedy so terrible she’d never recover from it, so she self-imposed some regulations and decided to limit her days spent in comfortable isolation to thrice a week.

It was just her luck that she’d bumped into True, a day, or maybe two —who could be bothered to remember details so pointless— ago. She’d invited her out to the beach for a tan and some aimless chatter.

On the bright sand were two light blue towels, one with small white flowers and one plain. Athanasia was stretched out across the later, propped up on her elbows, with her face barred to the sun and fitted in a plain, black, halter-neck one-piece. At the sound of what she believed to be footsteps, she swung her head about, casting a glance over her shoulder and lifting her shades to perch delicately atop her head.

“True.” She let her right-hand dangle loosely beside her shoulder and gently fluttered her fingers— her version of a greeting.

1956 / [you] make all the pretty girls cry | nasia
« on: 04/02/2019 at 15:43 »

While she was supposed to be spending the summer with her grandmother in Greece, her mother, upon finding out Athanasia had still yet to do the only thing she'd been sent to Hogwarts for, insisted she spend it with her classmates. Athanasia begrudgingly complied. She doesn't understand or care for the idea of "bonding". It's not like she'll be having to put up with these people post-graduation.

This summer she plans on spending her time with her nose in a book, tucked away somewhere beneath a tree or along a shore of sorts. And perhaps, if she finds the willpower, she'll do some of that dreaded "bonding" her mother likes to go on about. Or she'll just find another boy to sink her hooks into.

She seems to have developed a deep interest in the art of flirtation. She charms and giggles and twirls her hair until she feels she's adequately captured the attention of her object of interest. And then she leaves. Perhaps her method has left her without a first kiss, but their lips aren't really the thing she's after anyway. Just a healthy dose of attention and a slew of compliments and she's satisfied. Besides, it doesn't reflect too highly on her family if she's snogging everything in sight.

sixteen -- unknown -- pureblood
coded by rin hunter.

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