#also could write a lot about how so much of harrow's desire either of the body or gideon very much mirrors the writings of certain mystica | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aeondeug · 4 years

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Ok so I made a post about why I didn’t like Gideon initially and I’ve talked to others about it. And I’ve seen a lot of people having the reverse experience. Which is cool, I think. And one I’m not surprised by if I think about how the two characters are introduced initially. Like, maybe Gideon’s humor is dumb but also she’s not the one being like “Oh man, it is time to systematically destroy this woman’s hopes that she has finally done it and escaped from me and my hell planet,” at the start of the book. Harrow is though. Harrow’s intro is very...Harrow. It’s very fitting for what is learned about her later on.

Anyway. I feel a desire to like. Write about the other half of this equation. And why it was that I instantly latched onto Harrow so hard. So like I said in the first post. Harrow’s got STYLE. She’s got like bone jewelry and wears all black and has skull face paint. She uses her own blood as ink for her fountain pen (it being a fountain pen matters) and she gets said blood by stabbing herself in the cheek. Also she’s a necromancer, which is just icing on the cake. Harrow’s entire fashion statement appeals to me as someone raised by a goth who ended up like...Never goth fashion or subculture wise, but someone who was a kid that Dreamed of being goth fashion wise. Alas, I went to a boring uniform school and also was too nervous of such things.

Harrow just LOOKS cool. Harrow is the sort of person that a dumb 13 year old me would have found the coolest and have viewed as like. An Aspiration. Even though she’s kind of a dumbass and also a dick. I was an edgelord of a kid and an edgelord who knew who Bauhaus were before I could read.

So Harrow’s instantly got fashion on her side. And she’s got her attitude. Which is also important. She does things for style and looks. The narration, which is from Gideon’s perspective, describes the fountain pen filling thing as “one of Harrow’s favorite party tricks”, I believe is the quote. When asked about why there are suddenly skulls all over their room her sole answer to this question is “Ambiance”. And she clearly cares about how she looks. Her paint is often described and a point is made that Gideon’s is not as well put on hers. Also? Her outfit? She��s got like. The bone wrist circlet thingies and her bone studs and her bone choker and the fucking bone chest thing that I am forgetting the word for right now. Harrow cares about appearances.

Which also shows in like...She makes a good show of how well read she is. Takes pride in that fact not just privately, but lets people know it. She runs off and tries to stubbornly do a puzzle on her own. The thing to wake her up from her near death stupor from failing in that is something insinuating they are better than her. And she’s still half dying but takes the time to state that, no, SHE is the best necromancer. Harrow’s got an ego and that shows from early on. Through things like how she dresses, how she talks, how she treats Gideon...

And I saw that and I just kind of instantly latched on. While reading early in the book and seeing her do a bitchy thing, I once joked that “Has anyone ever hugged Harrow?” and then jokingly decided that “No. No one’s hugged Harrow before.” This was a joke that I had made as someone with a rather neglectful family in several respects. And as someone whose general well being in their home was decided by how good I appeared in comparison to the other kids. In that sort of situation, not having much else, I took great pride in my being well read. In being Smart. This eventually made me insufferable as hell and that was crushed into the dirt. Either way, depressing story time aside. I made a joke that indicated that, early on, I had pegged Harrow as someone similarly neglected. As someone with a similar lack of anything going on.

Turns out I was right. Her situation’s very different from my own because of course it is. This is a book about space necromancers, after all. But she was a neglected child. One who had to grow up far too fast and who had a very strict and overbearing religious upbringing. Does that sort of thing cause that sort of concern for aesthetics and bitchery? I dunno. But I made a guess, as a joke, and the guess appeared to be right.

Another thing that I made a bet on with this early on was like...The nature of the relationship. They are the only two of their generation on that planet. Gideon is made out immediately to be like an indentured servant of the family. While Harrow is immediately revealed to be a high status fancy nun queen with a fancy title. Harrow’s parents are dead by that point and had been dead for a while. But, I knew, that theoretically they were not dead at some point. A point which Gideon had to be old enough to remember, given some of the comments made. Based on their antagonism towards one another and this set up...

A part of me wondered if like they had in fact had like a Favorite and Unfavorite dynamic as kids. Or I guess not actively wondered but like. The thought was in mind. Because I had grown up as The Favorite in a terrible home which had an Unfavorite. And this makes you a terrible person as a kid. So I saw these very small signs at the start of a book which hides most of the cool Harrow facts and interactions in its latter sections. And was like, on some level like, “Ah. You’re a bitch to her because you’re The Favorite. In part.”

I am kind of always looking for abused and neglected Favorites in fiction. One of my favorite characters is Azula. And I’m very fond of Gamora. I have a tendency to find them and latch onto them because like...I am still working through things. A lot of things. Sometimes seeing it in the things I read makes the stuff I am working through less terrifying. Sometimes it gives me a sense of hope. Either way, seeing a thing that is at least somewhat similar helps. And I look out for it. And Harrow apparently just gave off. The Aura. From the very start.

Because lo and behold, she was neglected as fuck and, indeed, the Favorite while Gideon was an Unfavorite so unfavorited that she was viewed as basically cursed and horrifying. And then Harrow was a mean bastard of a child towards her. And then it turns out that Harrow has like 10,000 weird guilt issues. Some of which involve her treatment of Gideon now because...How on earth could you even like her when you grew up with her? Like. How.

But even before those reveals later on...I had been making my guesses. Enough so that one of my earlier jokes about the book was about how no one ever hugged Harrow and how she is out doing this shit for some sense of fucking acknowledgement for once. Because maybe if you’re acknowledged that like...Will count. As your Actual True Affection quota for the day. Harrow was not just stylish and mysterious. She also had little bits and bobs, either that she revealed herself in her few appearances in the early portion of GtN or which were revealed by way of how Gideon talks about her and acts about her, which hinted towards the basic idea of what Harrow’s deal even was.

I did not guess the exact specifics of Harrow’s deal because who the hell could divine that from the first act of the first book. But I did guess at the core idea laying behind the specifics of that deal. And the deal was that she was the neglected but favored child in a really shitty home, who has ended up with an ungodly amount of guilt issues for her behavior and general existence. And it made her mean, guarded, and protective of her image and it gave her an ego sky high. Which you can all see in the first portion of the book to an extent. Even though she is very scarce in said first portion. Which I think is either a tantalizing mystery of “What the fuck is even your problem, Harrow?” or like just enough info in just the right way for people with a similar experience to go “lol no one hugged you when you were a kid” with a knowing prescience.

#the locked tomb #harrowhark nonagesimus #my experience was basically my instantly pegging her for having the same sort of damage #and making fun of her for it #and then realizing i was right and feeling progressively sadder for her

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bitterlikesweets · 3 years

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Love Bites Ch 4

This is the fourth chapter of a modern/vampire AU ereri fanfic. You can also read it on Ao3.

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“Armin, what the fuck?”

Armin freezes in the doorway to Eren’s apartment, readjusting the massive stack of books in his arms as he looks up at his friend, confused.

“What?”

“Why did you bring an entire library with you?” Eren asks, moving out of the way so that his blond friend could come inside.

“Well, you said you wanted to talk about vampire stuff, so I thought it would be a good chance to go over what I’ve been researching. I just wasn’t sure what to focus on, so in the end, I brought everything.”

Armin smiles sheepishly, setting down the stack of books on the floor by the door. Eren's apartment is small—a desk, bed, bathroom, and a kitchenette. Armin's precariously stacked books nearly rise to the height of the desk they were placed beside. Eren shakes his head in disbelief, angling his head to scan the titles on the spines.

“I just… Got ahead of myself. We haven’t talked about it in detail since…”

Armin falters, biting his lip, and Eren kneels down by the books, in a hurry to find something to help him change the subject. One harrowing walk down memory lane was more than enough for Eren; he has no desire to lose his cool twice within one week.

His gaze locks on a book with an image of a pair of pale hands and a red apple on the book’s spine.

“Armin,” Eren says, wiggling the book to pull it out of the stack without sending the whole thing toppling to the floor. “You brought Twilight?”

Armin flushes pink, snatching the book out of Eren’s hand.

“I just—I needed to check everything, okay? If vampires are real, then it’s possible that any references in pop culture have some truth to them!”

Eren laughs and Armin throws the book at Eren’s shoulder, which just makes him laugh even more. Armin eventually sighs and settles onto the floor beside Eren, who is still examining the stack of books.

“You look better,” Armin says, and Eren tilts his head curiously when he turns to look at his friend.

“Better?”

“I mean, like, physically. You have a bit more… color.”

“Ah,” Eren says, and now it’s his turn to blush. He turns his head away, hoping his hair will hide his face from view. “I, uh… That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll explain when Mikasa gets here,” Eren says, grabbing an old copy of Dracula and running his fingers over the worn cover. He's cautious with the book, making sure to keep his grip light, wanting no repeats of anything like the table fiasco back at Kuchel's Kitchen.

He can feel Armin’s gaze on him, but Armin doesn’t ask for clarification just yet, so Eren breathes a sigh of relief.

“What exactly are you researching with all this stuff anyway?”

“I was just trying to contrast books and legends against what you actually experience,” Armin says.

Armin reaches towards the bottom of the stack, where a spiral notebook is trapped between the floor and the rest of the books, managing to pull it out, though the stack sways precariously for a moment.

Eren leans over Armin’s shoulder when he flips the notebook open.

“Sunlight and garlic are a danger to you,” Armin says, pointing to a list of possible dangers on the page.

Sunlight and garlic have little checkmarks next to them. Eren’s eyes quickly scan the list. He sees holy water, mirrors, and bricks listed, though he has no idea what special quality about bricks makes him more susceptible to them as a vampire.

“There’s the classic threat of wooden stakes,” Armin continues, his finger sliding down the page, “though we have no way to test that without risking your life.”

“Put a check next to that one,” Eren says.

Armin blinks and looks up at Eren with a frown.

“How do you know? What trouble did you get into in the week that I haven’t seen you?”

“No trouble!” Eren says quickly, but he winces and rephrases. “Not bad trouble anyway.”

Armin frowns and sets the notebook down on the floor, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Eren.”

“That’s also part of what I need to explain once Mikasa—”

He’s cut off by a sharp knock on the door, and Armin is the one who rushes to answer. Mikasa steps in with a grocery bag over her arm, though she frowns as she takes in Armin’s expression.

“What?” she asks, but Armin just whirls around to face Eren.

“Okay,” Armin says, “time for the explanation.”

Eren sighs, setting Dracula on his knee before gesturing for his friends to come closer.

“Sit down,” he says. “This might take a while.”

~ ~ ~

“I’ll do it,” Mikasa says as soon as Eren has finished his recap of the situation.

Eren frowns.

“Do what?”

“I’ll be your partner.”

“Oh.”

Eren stares dumbly at her, and Mikasa frowns, bunching her shirt in her fists.

“I mean, unless you’d rather not—”

“No! No, it’s not that, I just…” Eren takes a breath. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she replies with a firm nod. “I mean, you’re going to need blood either way. It might as well be me.”

“Me too!” Armin pipes up. “There’s no rule against multiple partners, is there?”

“I doubt it,” Eren says. “Levi didn’t say anything about it anyway.”

He thinks of their conversation, about concerns about drinking too much. Perhaps two people would even be better. He wouldn’t want anything to happen to them. Maybe they could alternate weeks, that way their blood would replenish, or however the fuck this worked.

“Uh,” Armin begins after a moment, “does it hurt?”

“Does it matter if it does?” Mikasa asks him, and Armin quickly shakes his head.

“I would help either way! I just… I mean, I would like to know if it does hurt. Just to be prepared.”

Eren reaches up to the scar on his neck, to the bite mark he knows is there. He doesn’t remember it that well. He also doesn’t know if there’s something different about biting just to drink and biting to turn.

He wonders if that’s why Levi is always offering his wrist instead of his neck.

“You’d have to ask Levi that,” Eren says eventually, and Mikasa scowls.

“I don’t trust that man.”

“What? Why?” Eren asks.

“I mean, you said he’s a vampire hunter. Why would he help you? What if he put garlic in your lasagna on purpose? He could’ve ignored that no garlic message from the waitress and just pretended he didn't understand. Maybe he’s just pretending to be innocent so he can kill you later.”

“He said he doesn’t hunt anymore,” Eren says. He unconsciously raised his voice and tries to tone it down, unsure why he’s trying so hard to defend the man he barely knows. “Why would he give me his blood if he was trying to hurt me?”

“All I’m saying,” Mikasa says, holding up her hands, “is that I doubt a vampire hunter would just quit and basically switch sides for no reason. Until we know that reason, I want you to be careful.”

“Why don’t we go with you next time?” Armin suggests. “We have questions we need to ask, and it’ll help Mikasa worry less.”

Eren casts a wary glance in Mikasa’s direction, but he eventually nods.

“When are you going?” Armin asks.

“He just said to come the next time I’m thirsty,” Eren says with a shrug.

“Then, let us know when that time comes,” Mikasa says, and Eren nods, though a frown pulls at his lips.

Eren thinks about the way he cried after talking about his mom, about the table he flung across the room after getting upset. Those are details he conveniently left out of his explanation—also Levi pretending to throw a massive stake at him—because he didn’t want to worry his friends too much. He doesn’t want to put his friends in any danger, especially while he still doesn’t know what he’s capable of.

“Actually,” he says after a moment, “can you guys hold off for a bit?”

Mikasa frowns.

“Why?”

“Because, uh…” He scrambles to think up an excuse. “Because I don’t want to spring it on him! I don’t really have any way to contact him, and I would prefer to warn him before I just bring people to our vampire lessons, you know?”

Mikasa continues to frown, unconvinced, but Armin nods, and Eren takes that as all the answer he needs.

“That’s fine,” Armin says, and he nudges Mikasa with his elbow. “Right, Mikasa?”

She huffs and looks away, but after a moment, she nods.

“If he hurts you,” Mikasa begins, her voice low, “I’m going to go over there and shove a stake right up his—”

“Anyways!” Armin exclaims loudly, pointedly ignoring Mikasa’s glare. “Since that’s settled, let’s talk vampires. What should we have Eren ask Levi?”

Armin flips to a new page in his notebook, pulling a pen from his pocket.

“Does being bit…” Armin mumbles as he writes, “hurt a lot? There.”

He hands the notebook and the pen to Mikasa.

“Are there any restrictions about numbers of partners?” she says as she writes, and Eren is genuinely surprised that her question doesn’t have any insult worked into it.

When the notebook is passed to him, Eren glances at the stack of books, skimming the titles. He knows so little about vampires that it’s hard to think of a single question.

A book he pulled from the stack earlier catches his eye, and Eren grins.

“How much of Twilight is accurate?”

“Eren!” Armin exclaims, snatching the notebook away.

Mikasa’s gaze shifts to the stack of books, her eyes settling on the novel in question.

“...Didn’t know you read that sort of thing, Armin,” she says.

“I don’t! It was for Eren that I even brought it!”

“Dracula makes sense to me,” Eren says, “but come on, Armin. Twilight?”

“Oh, Dracula!” Armin exclaims, his voice an octave higher as he frantically tries to change the subject. “You don’t need to be invited into buildings. I’ll cross that off the list.”

Armin moves to flip the page, but it’s Mikasa who takes the notebook into her hands to write something down.

“Do vampires get offended by humans who think Twilight is accurate?” she asks, the pen darting across the page.

“Mikasa, not you too!”

Armin lunges for the notebook, but she quickly passes it to Eren who holds it up and out of reach, laughing.

"Do vampires sparkle like they do in Twilight?" Eren asks, dancing out of the way of Armin, who is still desperately attempting to take the notebook back.

Mikasa picks up the book and skims through the pages, her subsequent hum sending Armin lunging at her next.

"Does a vampire's sense of smell work like it does in Twilight?" Mikasa manages to ask before Armin tackles her to the ground and sends her into a fit of laughter as they wrestle over the silly book. Eren grins and takes the chance to scribble all their idiotic questions into Armin's notebook.

“What other Twilight related questions could I ask…” Eren muses, tapping the pen against his chin.

A well aimed book is thrown at the back of Eren’s ankles, and despite the pain, Armin’s attack just makes Eren laugh even harder. The blond groans in frustration, burying his face into his hands.

“I’m never helping you with anything ever again!”

#ereri #riren #ereri riren #riren fanfic #ereri fanfic #fanfiction #just to be clear i don't ACTUALLY hate Twilight lol #oh and with this update we're all caught up with the chapters on Ao3

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taltos-seidmadr · 5 years

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I was tagged in a “Answer questions, tag people” thing by @apocalypticglitter so now I must oblige my civic duty! Thank you for tagging me!

Answer 17 questions (+1 because 18 is my favourite number) and tag 17 people (if you can)

Nickname: Sithi Sun sign: Sagittarius Height: I’m like... Three stacked cans of whoop ass. In a trench coat huge sweater. Hogwarts House: the valid one aka. Hufflepuff (Don’t @ me) Last thing I googled: BULL FROGS?! This is @mkingamess ‘s fault. I was curious how big they really are Favourite musicians: UHHHMM this is a super hard question for me to answer tbh cause my taste in music fluctuates daily. I will give a shoutout to some musicians/albums that I can think off the top of my head and imo don’t get enough recognition:

If you are into industrial metal/EDM type of shit, Hatari is really fucking lit. Some may know them from the Eurovision already. I just accidentally stumbled into them via the Discover Weekly on Spotify like half a year before the competition

The Magic Got Killed by Too Tangled - literally the two most attractive voices in the world, listening to this always makes me feel painfully bisexual

The self titled and only album of Fear and the Nervous System is is a curious experience. I have literally never heard anyone in my life sing with as much harrowing intensity and passion as this singer, to the point that I don’t even know if I would call it singing anymore... but it does work and fold into the instrumentals very well, creating a rather unique mood. Genuine “Let me wallow in my depression for an hour before I move on” kind of music. It might click with you, might not. But I do think it’s very underrated.

Pagans in this corner of tumblr I think would enjoy the shit out of Faun, they got many good songs but my absolute fave is Egil’s Saga

Song stuck in my head:

youtube

Probably best young scrolls track to date. Spits more fire than the Red Mountain, yo.

Following: around 300 Followers: just passed 1k(?! That’s a lot?! Should I do like, a giveaway or something) 🤔 Amount of sleep: What a weird question... I slept about 7 hours last night. Lucky number(s): 3, 7, 8, 18 Dream job(s): illegal back-alley cyberpunk prosthetics designer/repairman (dont have the qualifications or the technology but one can dream) bog body that starry-eyed semi-feral singers write songs about (possibly attainable?) village cryptid (probably already achieved the status but unfortunately not getting paid for it) artist (I’m doing this one, so hooray!) Wearing: I’m in my sleepwear already lol. It’s a pair of wide comfy black pants, and a big moss green shirt with a geometric pattern (there used to be gold and silver paint on it but that unfortunately faded out, now it’s just black). Favourite songs: My answer is same as above really... Idk harrass me in my askbox maybe I will recommend you some songs. Instruments played: I could play a little guitar at a time, but I’ve forgotten most of it.

Hey, this is only 15! I will add 3 more:

Something that I’m not good at but thoroughly enjoy: Videogames, hands down. My motoric skills and reaction times are less than desirable, lol. Nevertheless I’m a huge gamer and I just love to immerse myself in imaginary worlds. My favourite Halloween costume ever: I once recreated this dress from scratch with a fairly acceptable degree of accuracy My favourite myth of the god(s) I worship (if doesn’t apply, your favourite folk tale): I fear this is going to be an unoriginal answer, but seriously... could anything top Thrymskvidha?

Fun facts:

When I was born, I almost died.

In spite of my entire family being devout Christians, I remember believing in some form of reincarnation at such an early age that I had no business knowing what the word reincarnation even means. I was in fact very convinced at a time that I’m either one of my great-grandparents on my mother’s side, or from the generation before that. (Now that my religion is what it is, honestly I don’t really know if this is true or not. But I thought this back then for some reason.)

I’m left handed.

Before moving to Germany, I sang in choirs my entire life, some of which were fairly professional level, I guess? We would go to international competitions and stuff.

I don’t know if this was a weird coincidence or the spirit world itself shifted reality around me to protect me, but I somehow never heard the Frozen theme song in its entirety. In my life. Not one time. Not even when it was on the radio non-stop. If I managed to catch it somewhere, it was always when it was just about to end.

I used to want to be a professional animator, but when I grew up and researched about the profession more, it didn’t seem like it was worth the hassle. Regardless I’m still obsessed with animation, I watch cartoons all the time and I would like to teach myself how to animate even if just on an amateur level.

I have no idea how to tie a shoe with only one bunny ear. I was taught the two bunny ears method and that’s all I’ve ever known.

Some things that I associate with Loki that have absolutely nothing to do with the lore or anything include snow, a very specific shade of blue, roses, cherry (but only the scent or flavor, not the fruit) and various forms of iridescence.

Like probably all kids who are into metal, I also dreamed of becoming a rockstar a little bit, but more interestingly, in my fantasy I was going to be blindfolded on stage and I thought that would be my schtick as a performer, for some reason. Of course the cloth would have to be sheer in order for me to be able to see just enough to orient myself on stage. It’s somehow both hilarious and bone-chilling to look back on now, that another and actually kind of obvious solution to the orientation issue never occurred to me on my own

The green shirt mentioned above is the only green piece of clothing I own.

I don’t believe in astrology. :/ (Sorry...?)

When I was a kid, I entered a nationwide contest to write a faux folk tale and my tale made it to the semifinals.

The only “what is your favourite” type of question I can give a straightforward answer to is what my favourite book is. It’s The Neverending Story by Michael Ende (who would have thought!)

I knew I was nonbinary my entire life, but I only learned that there is a word for it when I was 25.

Besides my native Hungarian, English, and a little German that I speak, I also learned Japanese and Norwegian (in highschool and during university, respectively) both for 3 years each, and I was on roughly B1 (low intermediate) level in them at my best. I don’t remember much of Japanese, and I only understand a little Norwegian when it’s in front of me to read, but once German is no longer the priority, I would like to relearn them at least a little bit.

One of my completely useless talents is that if we talk to each other and I have a drink in my hand, I will somehow supernaturally detect it from your brainwaves when you are about to tell a funny joke and will attempt to drink just beforehand. This has happened so often that I can now suppress the instinctive urge to try to swallow the drink halfway wrong and choke on it. If you were planning to assassinate me this way, it would not work.

The reason why 18 is my favourite number is because my life seems to be entwined with it in a weird, almost supernatural way. For example an unnaturally large number of things that are important to me (including my birth) happened on the 18th of a month.

Since there is no Halloween party I’m going to this year, I don’t have a specific costume but I will definitely take my make up kit regardless and go absolutely feral with it just to be in the Halloween spirit a little bit.

Whew man... it was really tough to come up with 18. I’m more boring than i thought.

I tag:

@mkingamess @ragnarokfox @forest--walker @quietdedication @spellbookofthelostandfound @ast-heljar @cloudy-skyes @d-em-t @suilebhride @edderkopper

Anyone who wants to fill this out can consider themselves tagged as well. Tag my name in it too so I can read it.

#sithi's posts

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lunaraen · 5 years

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"We don't have to talk about it, but when you're ready... I'm here." with Radar trying to help out Aiden when he moves back to Beacontown?

Radar likes sunrises more thansunsets. Sunsets promise darkness and the looming need to sleep that'll end upgetting ignored about as long as he can ignore it, while sunrises promise fullnew days to continue what he knows and to experience different things and meetnew people.

But for every sunrise there's asunset, and he's not the only one feeling melancholy tonight.

There's only a little shame inadmitting to himself that he's focusing so much on the view so he won't have tofocus on Aiden's next sigh, the latest in a string of far too many.

Beacontown doesn't quietly slipoff into the darkness of night, hasn't in all the time Radar's worked here andeven before then, and it lights up in a different way once the sun sinks lowand the moon soars high. The maintained protections for people's creativitywhen building means there are a lot of different designs, but so much of thecity glows even at sunset.

Even the calmer districts andareas tend to have a number of sea lanterns and blocks of glowstone, gentle, in comparisonto the multicolored beacons and the beams reaching to the clouds at the center of the city, but still lit.

It makes the city that much saferwhen the sun can't protect them from mobs and it all looks stunning, chill bluesand warmer golden glows mixing together nicely and spiced up by the glowstinted by colored glass, the cooler neons of the night almost a trademark ofthe busier areas. It's impossible to see the intricate designs many of thelanterns have from here, but their smaller glows and tinted glass help theshops stand out.

It's another part of Beacontown'scharm.

Even when close up detail isn't available, it stands tall, beautiful, andsafe, radiating life and warmth as far and as loudly as it can.

(He can even see the glassencased lines of lava surrounding Ivor’s home, tubes of orange snaking theirway to the ground, the skull house itself used more for storage now thanliving, given Ivor’s well used room and lab in the temple.)

Radar might not like sunsets asmuch as sunrises, but he still likes them. It's hard to dislike something sopretty.

Night, as pretty as it is, hasfar more hate-able features, like wandering seas of monsters and bloodthirstycreatures, and it still brings sleep, serene moonlight nights, and skies full ofglittering stars.

He doesn't even hate night.

(It used to be his favorite timeof day, once, when he slept more often, probably more reasonably. Even when hewas being worked to the bone under Stella, he looked forward to sleeping assoon as he could, as soon as the quill was down and the paperwork finished.

Dreaming was his favorite thing,when he could be anybody and anywhere, before it became another distraction,another problem demanding attention and time.)

The hill is plainer, almostunremarkable save for the view it gives them and the way the city's colorsreflect off the grass, muted and soft.

It's like a beacon of peace.

Or loneliness.

(Radar needs to leave the poetryto Lukas.)

Beacon of everything or nothing,or both, it's treated all the same by Aiden, fingers plucking at some of thepurple-tinted blades of grass and one hand curling into the loose soil. His jawkeeps clenching and unclenching, and the fingers digging into the dirt mimicthe motion.

It's been a bad day.

(Maybe a bad week, or even amonth. Aiden's been more melancholy than usual lately, just a bit morewithdrawn and snarky, and there's no real telling how long he's been feelingdown.)

And Aiden stares.

He stares down at the city, atthe lights and the milling people, the same way Petra eyes an encroachingmonster horde or the way Ivor monitors a notoriously tricky potion.

There's a hunger in his eyes, a want, tempered by experience andexpectations.

They've been here before, whenRadar was first tasked with giving Aiden a tour of Beacontown and Aiden wasonly hesitantly trusted (and trusted at all much more by Jesse than by Lukas)to not try and pull anything. It was almost an entire season ago.

The walk here was meant to berelaxing, meant to be a chance for Aiden to vent, and he's just as relaxed asRadar is.

Radar, for the record, is notrelaxed in the slightest, doing his best to keep from rapid-fire tapping hisfoot against the ground while his fingers card through his hair in an almostfrantic manner and his mind keeps returning to reminders of paperwork stillunfinished and projects that need more attention.

He needs to diffuse thesituation, whatever it is, for both their sakes, to be a good friend and alsoto keep each of them from spiraling in silence.

(Having a panic attack on anondescript hill outside of town isn't what either of them needs.)

Radar almost rests a hand onAiden's shoulder before thinking better of it, hand instead resting on his own kneeas he sits cross-legged beside Aiden and foot tapping quietly against thegrass. From this angle, he can see the bottoms of his shoes are temporarilygrass stained, tinged green.

"We don't have to talk aboutit, but when you're ready... I'm here."

There's no real ideal or expectedresponse to that. Radar's ready to respect his answer, whether he spillseverything now, lets Radar know he's not ready now and may never be, or giveshim the silent treatment.

Aiden stays quiet just longenough for Radar to begin to suspect he's going with the third option.

"...there's not a lot todiscuss." The answer is as unfortunately unhelpful as expected and feared.The follow up helps only incrementally. "You've read Lukas's book– everybody here has. You already know what happened."

Trauma isn't easily coped withafter years of stewing and barely a season of healing. Guilt is just as hard.

And Radar is officially trainedfor none of this, though he's had plenty of unofficial on the job trainingthanks to the mountains of trauma trailing behind and hidden by the Order.

"And it's been kind ofterrifying, I won't lie. Knowing you did those things and that Jesse stillwanted you to come here, and live with us." Radar swallows, hoping itisn't as terribly loud as he thinks. More importantly, he worries this is justmaking Aiden feel worse, and Aiden doesn't look much more comforted by theadmission. "But Lukas doesn't seem to know much about what happened to youafter that, after you first got to Sky City, and he definitely never publishedanything on it. He changed your names for a reason."

Different names kept their livesfrom being any more stressful or rough upon returning to their own world, andkept Radar from knowing exactly who Aiden was or what relevance he had to Lukasand Jesse until they'd decided to clue him in.

Beyond the Order and the BlazeRods themselves, and him, no one knows the connection between the old Ocelotsand the harrowing Sky City adventure.

The only reaction Radar's seenfirsthand is the occasional surprise and excitement that Aiden, Maya, and Gillare back, having been gone so long but still being known for their fantasticand award winning building skills, and none of them have reported any harsherinteractions.

"Yeah, well, all theexciting stuff ended pretty much when the Order left. What you read was allthat was worth reading." It's hard for Radar, sometimes, to see Aiden asthe monster from Lukas's retelling. He thinks whatever personal growth Aidenhad before writing his letter to Jesse would be much more interesting to read,more enlightening and less horrifying. "Gill got slammed, once, with abrick. He was bleeding pretty bad– he's lucky it only ended up leaving him aconcussion. We're lucky."

"...you aren't worried aboutanyone here doing something like that, are you?"

Aiden says nothing.

He almost speaks, for a moment,mouth opening before it shuts and he shrugs, looking away from Radar. His nosescrunches slightly as he gives a hollow half-grin, a tired huff, his fingersbrushing his hair back and only almost getting tangled in it.

The Yeah, I mean, come on goes unspoken, and Radar has to swallow again.

The paranoia's understandable,and it's terrifying.

And Radar has always protectedhimself with knowledge in the face of terror, when he has no shield to bash,because sometimes it feels cowardly but it's comforting in the end to knowthings will likely turn out okay and how, because Jesse almost never fails andgets up every rare time she does.

"There are few areas in townas well protected as the temple, and people here don't have the same connectionto what happened as people who actually lived in Sky City. You can always goback to living with us if you don't feel safe." Aiden's shoulders hunch,and Radar has the dismal realization that he's not helping yet, too blunt ortoo intense in his desire to help fix everything. He forces any dismay at thisrealization out of his voice, letting it relax as he also forces himself tobreathe. "If anyone here has a problem, all they have to do is see that theOrder's already forgiven you guys. It's done, it's over, and the Order wouldn'thave you living here if they didn't trust you."

The look Aiden levels him isalmost blank, unamused and flat before he raises an eyebrow.

"They kept Cassie."

(Okay, so that's one other personwho knows their actual involvement in Sky City.)

"Who's been making her ownprogress!" Aiden's expression doesn't change much, while Radar's wilts."I don't think she's murdered anybody recently."

Aiden snorts, his bangs fallinginto his eyes as he shakes his head.

"Right, there are just giantrats and disappearing spider colonies actually mutilating bodies in those cavespeople keep somehow wandering into. That might fool a couple of reporters, butI don't think it's really got the press duped either. Not all the way."

It definitely doesn't fool Radar,if only because he's sat in on a number of conversations about Cassie's meansof disposal.

As much as they could beconversations, with Cassie disregarding them.

And while Aiden hasn't sat in on anyof those yet, he's smart enough to have figured it out, especially when everynamed body, the few not mutilated past the point of recognition, ends up linkedto some plot to overthrow or harm the Order.

And he's smart enough to knowRadar knows better too.

"I don't think she'smurdered anybody who didn't have it coming?"

Maybe letting Cassie into theirlives, their home and headquarters, was a questionable decision, but it wasJesse's, and Cassie defends herself by pointing out that she only attacks peoplewho she has good reason to believe are a serious danger to the Order orBeacontown.

Her "interventions" arerare and occasional enough, not to mention helpful. The shadier parts of BadLuck Alley are understandably more fearful, more cautious, and Radar thinksthey're all the better for it.

(He's admittedly not much of afan of Bad Luck Alley, as much as he likes Jack and Nurm, because people living"off the grid" more often than not seem to think they're above orbelow the rules enough to not worry about them, and that includes basic stufflike "please don't try to overthrow the Order that saved the worldmultiple times". This way, no matter why they're pulling that kind ofstuff less, they're safer from Cassie.)

It comes down to Jesse being really nice to a lot of people in waysRadar doesn't understand and in ways he's kind of okay with neverunderstanding.

He doesn't understand it any morethan how he understands why Jesse's good with forgiving him for his occasionalslip ups and lost forms even when it costs them so much time and stress.Jesse's done so much for so many people, and if she wants to do more, who'sgoing to stop her?

(There should probably be adifference between her forgiving him for screwing up on the job and activelytaking serial killers and old tormentors into their temple, but it's Jesse. She knows what she's doing.Well enough to somehow pull it all off, anyway.)

And he's right, but that's notthe right thing to say. Not with how Aiden tenses up, eyeing him more critically before relaxing his hands.

Radar isn't sure when they curledinto fists in the first place.

"Would I have it coming?Would Maya? Would Gill?" Radar doesn't have a good answer, and Aiden knowsit. He doesn't pause long, gaze drawn to the scarlet sunlight bouncing andshimmering off the rooftops and windows of Beacontown. "If you didn't knowus, only knew we tried to kill the Order, that I tried to kill Jesse, and Cassie thought we were some kindof threat? Would it be okay then?"

Heck of a question to ask.

(Radar's first thought is thatAiden is perhaps unfairly charitable towards Maya and Gill, happy as Radar iswith all of their progress, and that Maya and Gill don't view themselves theway Aiden does and actually kind of hate it when he blames himself foreverything that happened.

They've made it clear they're asguilty as he is, not more and not less.

But he doesn't want Aiden, with abad history of being angry near edges, to nudge him off the cliff here and now,and he doesn't want him to storm away, so Radar doesn't bring it up.)

"...morals are hard whereCassie's concerned."

Aiden's look softens, half-smilehumorless before he sighs.

"Yeah, I get that. And Idon't know if I can really blame her for it. But... the idea that some peopleearn that kind of stuff, getting attacked, because they're suspicious enough ordid bad enough things before is what got us so much hell in New Sky City. Gillgot more than just a brick chucked at his head, you know."

He knows.

"...sorry."

"Nah. Don't– don't worryabout it. It's just– everybody thinks they're doing the right thing. Even ifthey're throwing junk at people's heads, or attacking them from shady cornersand dark alleys, or burning cities to the ground."

It's a good thing Aiden doesn'tsmoke or drink, because he looks ready for either, and Radar isn't planning ondriving him further down that path.

"We try to avoid doing thatsort of thing here. It's not really good for making people feel safe, and itjust kills tourism."

It doesn't quite get a laugh outof Aiden, but the snort sounds amused.

"Smart."

"...do you feel like you'redoing the right thing?" Radar doesn't mean to contribute to Aiden'scrisis, or whatever it is that he's exactly grappling with, which might just bea moral dilemma topped with trauma. He just gets the feeling that he is, andAiden's guarded look prompts him to clarify. "Now that you're here?"

Maybe that's not the point.

Maybe he's missing something.

Maybe Aiden doesn't even know,stuck in the past and still clawing his way into the future.

"Hell of a lot better thanwhere we were." Aiden shrugs, tilting his head to the side as he looksaway from Radar and up at the gathering wispy clouds above them. "...itfeels too good and I'm scared of messing it up. Jesse trusting us doesn't meananything– sure, it's nice and all, but she's Jesse. Cassie offers protection, but Jesse took in Romeo too–and she pretty much has to teachhim how to be human again. Us being here doesn't make it all better, doesn'tmake us seem like anything other than scumbags she's feeling sorry for. I don'tactually have to worry about walking on eggshells around her, but I'm halfafraid she's going to wake up and realize she has no reason to trust us, orthat we're a threat to her city and her people. There were no powers to takefrom us, no fancy gauntlet to guarantee everyone’s safety."

(Radar might still not fullyunderstand the story, but it sounds to him like they lost plenty of power whenAiden tried to kill Jesse and she came back, when she had him at sword pointand spared him.)

It's complicated.

Radar knows from experience thatthings that are complicated tend toultimately just be good fuel for thinking in circles.

He's no Jesse, but he'll have todo.

"You're not a threat–you're getting a second chance, doing your best with it, and Jesse knows it.And if you're worried about other people seeing you that way, then you'll justhave to show them that you're not taking it for granted, that you are trying tomake it better." Radar dusts off the knees of his pants as he stands,shrugging as he picks a bit of fuzz off his vest. "We've seen a lot ofweird things here. Even if everybody knew who you were, what you really did, Idon't think it'd shake or bother too many people. You're not hiding here– you're making amends."

"It's probably not a goodidea to just shout it out, anyway."

"Probably not." Theidea of Aiden doing that, running down the streets and just snapping from thepressure, isn't realistic. It still gets a smile out of Radar. "But Idon't think you were planning on that– or bringing it up at work for fun. Itdoesn't sound like great lunch break small talk."

What Aiden talks with hiscoworkers about is his business, but bringing up past failed attempts to murderOrder members or an entire city hardly seems his style. However justified hisparanoia is or isn't, for himself and for Maya and Gill, he's careful and smartenough to take care of himself and not test Radar's theory over how badlypeople might react. Aiden's history as an award winning builder sounds likesomething he'd be more likely to bring up at work or get ribbed for.

"Not really."

Jesse's secret, Radar suspects,is that she's too good at forgiving others because she knows they need help.

It's not out of any ignorance, orblind hope that they'll get better, but the sheer determination that they can be better people and that she can helpthem do less damage, be less cruel to others and themselves, while working outwhat they want their lives to be. It works well enough, from what he's seen,and few worlds will complain about having less serial killers and megalomaniacsto worry about.

Jesse has that sort of inspiringeffect on people.

There's no reason Radar can'thelp with the healing process, and Aiden doesn't scare him the way Cassie does.

"You know, you can spend thenight at the temple with us." It's been a while since Aiden's stayed longwith the Order, visiting regularly after moving into his own place nearby butvisits rarely going over an hour at a time. Walks around town like this havebeen only a bit more common and a smidgen longer. "Ivor makes pretty goodhot chocolate."

"Is there anybody that triedto personally kill Jesse who didn't end up forgiven?"

"I mean, a couple, but it's ashort list." One was an evil supercomputer, and two others werepower-happy maniacs who didn't know when to ask for forgiveness from someonewho's nearly an endless well of it. "And that's not an answer."

It might be because of hispersonal experience, or lack thereof, with them, but Radar thinks he likesAiden much better.

"Sure. Let's go get cavitiesor sugar crashes or whatever that stuff will give us."

In Radar's experience, Ivor's hotcocoa is great for getting good rest, helped by the right amount of sleepingpotion mixed into it, and he knows that the last time Aiden tried it, he endedup taking an impromptu several-hour nap on their couch.

A repeat performance might not benecessary, but it's probably tempting.

Besides, if Radar actually endsup getting to sleep at a reasonable time tonight, he's taking Aiden with him.

#My Stuff #fanfiction #mcsm #Minecraft Story Mode #mcsm Romeo #Anonymous

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fyrapartnersearch · 5 years

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[M//] [NOVELLA] [WORLD-BUILDING] [DOUBLING] MEDIEVAL FANTASY/DARK FAIRYTALE

| Ros | 21 | CST | Third person ; Novella ; Four paragraphs BARE minimum| [email protected] |

Adventure, romance, drama, tragedy, well-rounded characters, fantastical settings, prophecies, detailed world-building, character growth… and more!

If any of that caught your eye, we could be a match! I’ve never written fantasy before, which is shocking to me because I hold it so close to my heart. I will forewarn you that despite having next to nothing in mind while making this ad, I am extremely focused on plot and world-building. I’ve had partners in the past say they’re big on world-building but either contribute next to nothing or only have a vague outline of the world we’re working with before diving into things, so if you’re one of those types, we might not click! I want a story filled with plot and subplots and a living, breathing world for us to explore through our characters, which is partly why I don’t have a proposed world to work with right from the start. I want us to be able to build something together!

I’m a big chatter OOC, so you can expect me linking songs or playlists or making moodboards revolving around our characters or world. I’m very creatively driven, so when something’s on my mind, I want to rave about it! I’d love equal enthusiasm from a partner. I can work with or without face claims, too, so let me know if they’re something you want and I’ll be more than happy to dig around for some. (No anime, of course; real people.) If you aren’t into them, I’m equally happy to run with written descriptions. Any and everything is good in my book.

Seeing as it’s fantasy, I am definitely gearing more toward the high medieval fantasy than low fantasy. I want there to be absurdity! Dragons, magic, old gods, divine magic, mythological beings, palaces built of ice and snow, fantasy beings, ancient tomes, floating cities sustained by magic, demigods, crystal caverns, underwater kingdoms, generational curses, war, political tension… Fantastical, unreal, extravagant. I want a wondrous world and a harrowing adventure for our characters to journey on. I DO want there to be some kind of prophecy or destiny involved, whether we subvert it or stick with it or something else entirely; I want there to be a bigger picture in mind for our characters. Maybe we have a Chosen One. Maybe we have a not-so-Chosen-One; maybe the Chosen One died and someone is left to fill their shoes. Maybe a God has bestowed their powers to an earthly vessel, or maybe a character or two are the only connection to a presumably dead race or magic. The possibilities are endless.

Like! My point here is I really want a fantasy adventure and world and conflict bigger than our characters! I’m so ready for brainstorming!!!

As for the characters, I adore writing casts, so doubling is a must. I am perfectly fine writing two M// relationships or just one with two secondary characters uninvolved romantically with one another, or perhaps even an M// and F// couple! I do not enjoy writing M/F relationships. The point is that writing multiple characters is a requirement. I’ve never written more than two mains, but I’d be more than happy to try it out! I want something like a party on a grand quest, destined to be drawn alongside one another – or even a slew of ill-suited randos roped in on something bigger than them that they never signed up for. I love character drama, introspection, and the eventual family-like dynamic they slot into. Or even a betrayal or two! Maybe a character defects to the Other Side. Maybe that was their intention all along, but they got caught up in getting emotionally invested in everyone else, which makes their betrayal all the more heart-wrenching.

(Note: all characters will be adults! I don’t write minors. We also don’t need to stick to the “every character is 20-25” unspoken rule I’ve seen a lot where every character is never older than 26 for some reason; different ages are more than welcome! Just no weirdly big age gaps, keep it within reason and not far off developmentally.)

Romance is, as I mentioned, a staple. I am a fan of every trope, with every character combination. Childhood/close friends, mutual pining (if it’s got bone-deep yearning and a litany of almosts in the quiet night, I’m there), opposites attract, forbidden romance, arranged marriage drama (duty vs desire)… Royal/Commoner, Royal/Knight, Commoner/Knight, Commoner/Warrior, etc etc etc! Anything you like, I’m game for it. While romance is there alongside the plot, it is something I greatly want to focus on.

I write smut and prefer not to fade to black. I also write switch characters, period. Been burned too many times in the past with strict top/bottom roles. However, I am a fan of subverting expectations and flipping a coin on its head, so I can be swayed with tough/physically imposing bottoms or unassuming tops. Otherwise I adhere strictly to writing switch roles. My limits are noncom or dubcon, BDSM, mpreg, master/slave dynamics, incest, underage, sexual abuse, toilet play, vore/gore, and foot fetishes.

What I want from you: tell me your name, age, time zone, average post length, limits, and any ideas you’ve got or if you’d just like to brainstorm together. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve just gotten “I want to RP with you” messages from people; I delete those right off the bat. I’m not asking for much, just some basic information of who you are, how you go about things, and what you’re looking for. Also, please keep in mind that I DO greatly prefer someone who writes novella style like I do. I write a lot (as you can tell. lmfao), like nine-15 paragraphs depending on the scene, even 20+ if it’s more extensive. I am definitely NOT stingy about multiple replies a day or even a week given the style of writing, so if you write more casually with just 2-3 paragraphs or so I don’t think we’ll fit. I’m definitely much more fine with a shorter length if the scene isn’t intensive or big, of course, lol. Just write at least three-four paragraphs on average if you don’t write novella specifically and we’ll be golden! I’m not a quantity over quality person, I just prefer we have an equal give and take.

And that’s all I’ve got for now! If you’re interested, email me and we can move on from there. :) I also plot, chat OOC, and roleplay strictly through email; I don’t use discord or kik or even gchat, email is the only place I’ll get things done! I’d be down for a shared GDoc for world-building or characters or just anything for a point of reference, though. Anyway, hope to hear from you!!! <3

#oc rp #multiple paragraph #long term #email #smut rp #submission

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childrenofathoria-rp-blog · 7 years

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◆ Out Of Character Information ◆

Name/Age: Nana/20 Preferred Pronouns: She/Her Timezone: GMT Desired Character: Zadkiel

◆ Character Information ◆

(1) What pronouns will your character be using? Would you like to list their sexuality at this time?: She/her, Zadkiel will be pansexual.

(2) Any changes or comments? I want to headcanon that Zadkiel uses her vessel’s name sometimes, depending on the characters she encounters during the game. I hope this is okay.

(3) Why this character? I’ve never played an angel before. Like honestly, how cool is THAT? I’m super excited to explore this species for the first time. In addition to this, I have to admit that I’ve never played a character who is as driven by a cause as Zadkiel either. I’m incredibly smitten by her sense of justice and goodness. At this point, what really intrigued me about her biography the most though was, that she would do anything for her cause. I want to know where exactly her limits are and what she would do upon meeting them.

(4) Interpret this character: When I read Zadkiel’s biography and history for the first time, I immediately thought that jealousy and bitterness might be major qualities of her character. If you consider her age and the events she’s been through, it would make sense. As a Power/Authority within the heavenly realm, it has always been her task to execute fatal judgement over her fellow kin. For this reason, I’d like to believe that there is no one (except God himself) who knows as much about their own species as Zadkiel. Thus, there is no one more aware of their own limitations than Zadkiel as well. Painfully so. Although angels are said to have a will of their own, it is in fact not as free as it sounds. As angels, her kin is supposed to serve the Lord above anything else. Humans on the contrary though, who were also created by God, did not have such boundaries and truly had a free will of their own. If they made a mistake or submitted to sins, there was no immediate punishment waiting for them at the end of the road. They did not have to wear burdens upon their shoulders and bear the responsibility of watching over a whole world in its own.

Hence, if you follow this train of thought, one might think that having to watch over humanity for as long as Zadkiel did must have made her overcome with jealousy. Angry even, at how unfair the differences between the two races were or how easily humans allowed themselves to become and do evil; that they were evil.

The more I thought about her character however, the more I came to the realization that Zadkiel has never harbored any ill or bad feelings toward humanity at all. If she did, she would have long joined Lucifer’s Army; but she fought against it, which says a lot about her. I’m not suggesting that there wasn’t a time when she didn’t feel at least a silver of bitterness about her kin’s situation, though Lucifer’s Rebellion made her erase any doubtful sentiments entirely early on. As a matter of fact, I want to headcanon that his mistakes had caused her to see the true value of humans and the potential they held. That they were genuinely something precious, something that was meant to be protected because it could so easily be influenced and could not protect itself. Perhaps their existence served as a grander plan even, but such matters were none of her business. As a consequence, Zadkiel grew to care deeply for humans.

She was probably extremely curious about their world when she had left Heaven for the first time, as well as filled by an overwhelming feeling of duty and honor. All those years of merely watching were frustrating to her and when she was finally tasked with a mission that allowed her to act, to become active rather than passive, she was definitely one hell of a happy angelic bean. To finally be able to break through the emotional turmoil her harrowing journey has wrought – you better bet that she is going to take this mission very seriously.

Since her duty is to eradicate any threat that shows itself in front of her (aka anything of demonic nature), it goes without saying that Zadkiel has a fierce personality. She is a warrior who has fought many battles and must have seen and experienced things no one could put into words, ever. Consequently, I want her to be tough and strong, a little exasperated from time to time too – but also inherently good and full of love (even at the expense of a headache or an annoyed groan). While she might not like you for example, she would still safe you nevertheless. Not for the sake of fame or the glory, but because she cares, in the simplest and most sincere ways. And this is what makes her beautiful in my eyes. I JUST LOVE HER.

About Zadkiel’s holy dagger: Although I have no concrete image for it in mind yet (this will probably take me a good while), I want Zadkiel to be the only one who is able to wield it. Only she should be able to activate it’s power of measuring one’s Karma, as it is her domain. Hence, if anyone else but Zadkiel should try to use it, it will be nothing more but a normal dagger. An ugly one even, seemingly rusty and old, as I’d like to imagine that it would also only be in its physical glory in the angel’s hands as well.

As a last comment, I imagine that encounters with vampires will probably be the most conflicting for her, especially if the said vampires were turned against their will.

◆ Interview Questions ◆

(1) Question One: Is it difficult to manage your vessel when you have always resided in Heaven? Is something in particular about the vessel incredibly annoying?

“It has… needs. It requires an abundance of care. It restricts me in many ways.” Zadkiel made an annoyed gesture with her hands. Who would have thought that a human body could be this exhausting? If Lucifer had known as much all those thousand years ago, perhaps he wouldn’t have started a rebellion. A self-depreciating smile bends her lips as she was lost in thought. “I hate to admit it, but I was lucky to have found such an attractive vessel. It is frightening how important physical appearances are in this world. You must never refrain from hygiene, which brings me back to my first point.”

(2) Question Two: Now that you are on Earth and are witnessing humanity live on with free will, did your task in Heaven involving casting judgement upon your kin wound you more deeply?

For once, the angel knew of no immediate reply or quip. Not because she was hesitant to reply but because she was searching for the right words to say. She’d spend a lot of time thinking about similar questions already. Though at some point, she’d also come to terms with her way of life. She’d concluded that everything and everyone was unique in their own ways, and that this was the only way to keep balance between the worlds. “No.” At last, her answer was simple but final, spoken in a way which did not allow room for more questions. Her good will would never be shaken twice.

◆ Writing Sample ◆

When Zadkiel decended from Heaven, the Earthen plane sighed deeply. The world that had once been far was suddenly close; it shuddered underneath the angel’s holy presence, just as did she. Gone was her familiar environment and sanctuary. Gone was she for the purpose of one divine mission – completely and irrevocably in the name of the Lord until her orders would change.

It turned out that she had landed in Crescent Grove, amidst a row of beautifully blooming orchid trees. Darkness surrounded her and for the first time in her existence, Zadkiel found herself trapped in time. It changed down here. Day became night and night became day in a seemingly endless circle, though she knew better. This was the realm of mortality. Nothing here was meant to last forever, really. It was entirely different from her own and herself – she was created and born into immortality. Thus, an alien feeling clawed at her being. She felt strangely incomplete.

Considering the village’s old history, it came as no surprise that it was the first place the angel was made to visit. Great bloodshed had taken place on its very soil and the stories and legends which remained of it served as a reminder. A reminder of how frail and fickle the human free will was. While it was certainly not her task to sway and influence the minds of the humans who resided on Earth, she’d be damned if she allowed the scales to shift in Hell’s favor. These thoughts weighed heavily upon her shoulders and caused her to move forward.

Although her quest for a compatible vessel had been a short one, it was also one of fate. Her vessel was a woman named Naza. True to her name, which meant honesty, purity and justice, Naza turned out to be someone whose heart was in the right place – yet lacked power. For only moments before their fortunate encounter, she had gotten herself in a dangerous situation by risking the wrath of a vampire. The vampire had forced himself on a woman and Naza attempted to stop him. With her being only a human though, the situation became dire. And that was precisely when Zadkiel found her and reached out to her. A blinding stream of light seemed to transition into her body. Both of them strived for the same goals and needed each other just as equally.

Who are you? What are you?

My name is Zadkiel. I can help you. I want to help you. Become one with me.

Fueled by Naza’s wish for permanent retribution and Zadkiel’s will to protect, they bonded instantly and unleashed a rain of flames, burning the vampire to tiny ashes until he was no more. It was also that night, that rumors started to spread about a powerful witch from Crescent Grove who was capable of wielding fire magic like no other.

Therefore, one could say that Zadkiel’s arrival on Earth was a literal blast, though not one which would have an end to it for as long as there were threats to her Father’s precious creation.

#welcome back!#accepted

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psychic2tarotcom · 6 years

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Coping with Divorce: What Celebrity Breakups Can Teach Us

Celebrities lead the types of lives most of us wish for. Fame and fortune, adoring fans — few of us get to experience that in our own lives, which is why following your favorite celebs can be such a fun experience, especially when they tie the knot in at a fairytale wedding destination.

But if there’s one thing that we do have in common with our famous idols, it’s the fact that not every fairytale wedding has a storybook ending.

While lots of celebrity marriages go the distance, plenty of them don’t last — and they end up coping with divorce just like us non-famous people.

The constant pressures of being on the go all the time and having the public watch your every move can pile on enough pressure to break up even the perfect couple.

See also: How compatible are you with your love interest?

How compatible are we?

Coping with breakup and moving on afterwards is never going to be easy for anyone. It’s harder still for celebrities, as they live very public lives. Yet the fact that these celebrities go through the effects of a bad breakup under full public scrutiny means that their heartbreak is our own — and that we can also share their triumphs when they end up back on top.

We can learn a lot from the way celebrities handle coping with a breakup and come back stronger than ever.

Our favourite role models are people too, and if they can rebuild their lives while coping with divorce, so can we.

Here’s what celebrity breakups can teach us about coping with divorce in our own lives, either personally or when it happens to a close friend or family member.

Surviving Divorce through Something Bigger Than Yourself

The dissolution of a relationship can feel like the end of the world. In more than one way, it can be — realizing that your partnership is not working the way it needs to and not being able to repair the damage to the point where things are better is a soul-crushing feeling.

Even if you’ve been living apart from your spouse for some time, when it comes time to sign that official paperwork, the finality of the experience is unavoidable. It’s enough to strip the joy and light from even the brightest of souls, and this makes coping with divorce when you don’t want it a major trauma.

Yet the end of a relationship, as terrible and soul-stripping as it can be, isn’t necessarily the end of your world. The idea that the Universe doesn’t close a door without opening a window means that while this chapter of your past is now quite closed, there are opportunities on the horizon that you can now examine specifically because of your divorce.

This is especially true if both you and your partner are dedicated to something bigger than yourselves. In many cases, this can come from the overriding desire to provide a safe, loving, and happy environment for your children.

Just because you’re no longer romantically involved with one another doesn’t mean that you and your partner aren’t still parents. It’s absolutely possible to cope with divorce and still be there for your children in ways that ensure they remain happy and well-loved.

A prime example of this is how Chris Pratt and Anna Faris, once thought to be Hollywood’s unbreakable couple, filed for divorce in 2018.

Yet despite the breakup — which shocked the entire world, considering how these two genuine, sparkling, light-filled people obviously cared so much for each other and their young son, Jack, they’re left coping with separation and divorce nonetheless.

Still, the pressures of celebrity life can split even the most steadfast couple.

Yet Pratt and Faris knew what was truly important and made sure that they put Jack first in all things.

They both waived their right to spousal support, agreed to live within 5 miles of one another until Jack reaches 6th grade, and show all signs of being the most dedicated co-parents ever, supporting each other as friends even though they are no longer together as a couple.

In fact, Faris was so overwhelmed with joy at Pratt’s recent engagement to Katherine Schwarzenegger that she even offered to officiate their wedding ceremony!

When the Writing on the Wall Is in Big, Fat, Black Letters

Sometimes, like in the case of Anna Faris and Chris Pratt, the entire world is shocked at a divorce.

When a couple seems perfect for each other and is obviously committed, a breakup can send ripples of anxiety throughout the entire world because nobody saw it coming.

However, sometimes the writing is on the wall when it comes to an impending breakup — and when that writing is in big, fat letters six inches high written in black magic marker, it’s often more of a surprise if a couple doesn’t split up than if they do.

In times like these, it’s important to remember that if everyone has seen your breakup coming except you, don’t feel like you’ve missed the boat.

The worst place to evaluate your own relationship status is often right there in the middle of it, as you lack the proper perspective to understand what’s going on and how the things you’re experiencing could be signs that your marriage may be in trouble.

The truth is that there is likely one of two things going on: either everyone but you sees it and is trying to warn you, or there are some very negative people in your life that don’t approve of your happiness.

Telling the difference between these two can be hard sometimes, as there are plenty of things that can muddy the water.

Think about how Justin Bieber’s recent marriage to Hailey Baldwin has lit the world on fire!

How many Beliebers out there are ready to plot bloody murder against Baldwin for taking their heartthrob away from them? Instead of coping with divorce, they’re coping with marriage! It’s only natural that there’s going to be a lot of blowback against this celebrity marriage for that reason alone.

At the same time, it’s simply not realistic to gloss over some important facts that could jeopardize this new celebrity marriage.

Since he was just a young teenager, Justin Bieber has been under the kinds of celebrity pressure that can easily destroy a person completely. While most teens were worried about getting a date for the prom and figuring out how to pass algebra, Bieber was headlining world tours.

Unless he’s dedicated to working on himself — and Baldwin is willing to be there for him unconditionally — it’s going to be a rough road for these young newlyweds.

Predictions that this marriage won’t last could be right on the money unless they both dig deep.

Not Even the Longest-Lasting Celebrity Marriage Lasts Forever

Sometimes, with a little luck and a lot of hard work on the part of both you and your partner, you can make a marriage last. Yet even couples that have been together for decades can end up going splitsville — and it’s not as uncommon as you might think. In fact, as difficult as it might be to sever a bond that’s been in the making for double digits, sometimes it’s for the best.

It’s hard to walk away from a life that you’ve built with someone else over the years.

Working together, raising children together, and helping each other succeed in your respective careers builds a lifelong trust. The constant companionship isn’t bad either. But sometimes, somewhere over the years, one (or both) of you can go astray.

Sometimes you can point a finger, like catching them in bed with your best friend; sometimes two people just grow apart instead of growing together.

Celebrities experience this as much as anyone. Just like us, they don’t want to give up on something special unless they don’t have a choice.

That’s why Danny Devito and Rhea Perlman separated in 2012 after more than 30 years of marriage, citing rumours of Devito’s womanizing ways. While the two got back together, it wouldn’t last — in 2018, Rhea threw in the towel once again to the tune of a $140 million divorce settlement.

Asking Rhea how to deal with a lying spouse during divorce and she’ll probably tell you that whatever approach you take, it’s going to hurt.

You know that there’s got to be some real love when a couple has been together for three decades or more.

Yet this doesn’t mean that people in love with one another can’t make mistakes, as Rhea obviously thinks Devito did. Even one betrayal is enough to send most marriages into a tailspin but Rhea ultimately gave her husband a second chance — one it looks like he squandered.

The stakes might not be as high for your own marriage, but she did the right thing by cutting ties before she was hurt again, no matter how much it must have been.

When a Divorce Might Be the Best Move You Can Make

Relationships are hard, there’s no doubt about that.

Even two people that are unfailingly dedicated to one another find that, sometimes, love just isn’t enough. When you’ve got to cope with a breakup because the stars seem to have simply aligned against your marriage it can lead to feelings of helplessness and disappointment, especially after you and your partner truly tried your best.

Yet for every pair of star-crossed lovers kept apart by the cruelties of Fate, there are dozens more that truly had no business being together.

In this case, splitting up might be the best move you can make to preserve your mental and emotional health.

In all too many cases, you may also need to seek a separation because you need to preserve your physical health as well.

There are no instances where abuse of any kind is ever acceptable. Having your spirit destroyed through gaslighting and emotional abuse might not leave the same bruises and scars as being physically battered will, but the damage can be even longer-lasting.

If you’ve been on the receiving end of months or even years of any kind of abuse, leaving an abusive partner can be one of the most difficult and harrowing experiences of your life.

That’s why you’ve got to respect Amber Heard for splitting from Johnny Depp in 2016, just 15 months after the two were married.

It’s obviously hard to believe that a beloved actor like Depp could be capable of such terrible things, yet regardless of whether you think Heard’s accusations of abuse against her ex-husband are true or not, she obviously felt unsafe in the relationship and took steps to end it in order to protect herself.

This is the lesson to be learned here: no matter how hard it might be, you need to protect yourself if you’re in a toxic relationship.

If this means ending the relationship completely and even getting the authorities involved, no price to pay is too high for your own safety.

Tragedy Can Alter Your Life Trajectory as Well

No one likes to think about it, but the world can be a cruel and unfeeling place sometimes.

Nowhere is that more obvious when the bond of a married couple is severed unwillingly by tragedy. Whether it’s due to prolonged illness or sudden accident, the Wheel of Fate sometimes lands on a bad outcome for an otherwise loving and happy couple.

There are too many examples to count when it comes to the tragic end of a strong and loving marriage.

Unfortunately, celebrity marriages end this way as much as any other.

When actor and comedian Patton Oswalt’s wife, acclaimed true crime writer Michelle McNamara, passed in her sleep suddenly in 2016, she left both him and their seven-year-old daughter behind. The entire world mourned with him as he, very publicly, has recounted his struggles coming to grips with the sudden tragedy.

Yet Patton’s outgoing and brutally honest grief, on display for those who wished to see it, shows the resilience of the man, his dedication to remembering his wife with love and honour, and raising his daughter to do the same. He’s an excellent example of good men coping with divorce and widowing.

Even at his darkest, he never lost hope — and today he’s emerged from what is likely to have been the bleakest period of his life to return to happiness.

Now remarried to Meredith Salenger, both he and Meredith claim that the spirit of Michelle herself helped to orchestrate the meeting and approves of the relationship from the Great Beyond.

What worked for Patton doesn’t necessarily have to work for you.

Sometimes it can take years or even decades to deal with the death of a partner. Sometimes you never truly recover and don’t seek out love or marriage again.

Whatever the answer is for you it’s the right one, no matter what other people might say.

There’s no wrong way when it comes to dealing with grief and healing. The lesson here is the following: take as much time as you need, no matter how much (or how little) time that ends up being.

Sometimes, Love and Marriage Don’t Need to Go Hand in Hand

Marriage is the ultimate symbol of commitment. Pledging your undying love and devotion to just one other person before the Powers That Be (and your 500 closest friends and relatives) is as symbolic as it gets.

Yet there are plenty of couples that don’t feel the need to have the pomp and circumstance of a traditional wedding ceremony — or even the institution of marriage — intrude on their relationship.

There are a number of reasons why a couple, no matter how devoted they are to each other, choose not to get hitched.

This can be either because they’ve been married in the past and have no desire to slip on the old ball-and-chain once more, or simply because they just don’t see the need for what is, essentially, a legal contract for the distribution of property and assets.

For some people, love is enough, and that’s okay.

If there’s one celebrity couple that can be held up as a shining example of this, it’s Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell.

These two superstars, which met on the set of a movie in 1966, have been Hollywood’s love match since they got together in 1983.

Both had been recently divorced, both had kids of their own, and both knew that the secret to their deep love would be to build a family together without the trappings of being legally bonded to each other.

They’ve been together ever since, up to and through the matching stars they received on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in 2017.

There’s a great lesson to be learned here, especially if you’re recovering from a previous marriage that ended in divorce and you’re looking to get back to searching for love and companionship.

If marriage didn’t work for you in the past, you aren’t compelled to try it again if you don’t want to.

If you’ve never been married and you’re still capable of holding deep, meaningful, and long-term relationships with others, then what do you need marriage for in the first place? Goldie and Kurt sure don’t — and it’s okay if you don’t want it either.

Getting Back in the Saddle While Coping With Divorce

It can certainly be traumatic to call it quits on any serious relationship, especially one where there are lawyers involved. Once the dust settles on your own divorce, you’re likely to feel more than just a little lost. Yet divorce doesn’t have to be the end of the line, not for you — and certainly not for celebrities!

There are plenty of celebrities that, after their split, didn’t let their newly-single status hold them back from conquering their own worlds.

The famous breakup of Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman in 2001 didn’t slow down either of these super-celebs, with Cruise going on to star in what seems like a billion different spy movies and Kidman taking a more thoughtful art-house approach, accepting elegant roles that let her showcase her amazing acting skills.

Romantically, both Cruise and Kidman went on to remarry after their breakup.

While Tom ultimately chose to go solo once again after a six-year marriage to Katie Holmes, Nicole and her new hubby Keith Urban got together in 2006 and haven’t looked back since. Both of these talented thespians haven’t lost a step, not letting a little thing like divorce hold them back from both achieving their professional goals and their personal ones — and that’s a lesson we can take with us in our own lives as a result.

Deciding Whether It’s Time to Move On From a Dysfunctional Relationship

The personal lives of celebrities, which are ironically often on display for so many of their fans, are just as varied as our own lives.

They run the gamut between pedestrian and adventurous, family-oriented and outrageous, or wholesome and scandalous. Each one is different, and each one will either work or not.

What we can be sure of, though, is that there are as many different approaches to marriage, divorce, and how to deal with divorce as there are drops of water in the ocean.

You can rest assured, however, that no one, celebrity or fan alike, ever made the decision to get divorced on a whim.

Even the most dysfunctional relationships can sometimes appear to be preferable to being alone, even in the case of celebrity marriages where financial security usually isn’t one of the things you have to worry about if you call it quits. The pitfalls of coping with divorce make it a hard decision to make to be sure!

It’s a winning bet that every celebrity couple out there that ever split had to burn the midnight oil before coming to the decision to divorce. Even when it seems obvious that you should pull the plug on a failing relationship, memories of the good times can often stay your hand. If you and your partner tried your hardest and did your best to patch things up and recapture the magic that made you fall in love with each other in the first place only to find that this magic simply isn’t there anymore, you need not regret your decision in the least.

Sometimes, though, you don’t have a choice. And that’s fine, too.

If you’re in an abusive relationship, if you’ve caught your spouse cheating, or if there’s a tragic illness or accident, you’ll find the decision is a matter of self-preservation, self-respect, or simply out of your hands altogether. Nobody expects you to mend fences while they’re on fire. Coping with divorce is better than coping with infidelity or the risk of personal harm. And if your responsibility goes further than yourself — if you’re safeguarding your children from harm — then the path is even more clear.

The end result is that you can’t let anyone bring you down for getting divorced, being widowed, or remarrying after your first relationship comes to an end.

Coping with a divorce can be as simple as holding your head up high like your favourite celebrity.

Channel their energy and embrace their persona to lend you the strength you need to greet the world with a smile on your face and a confident attitude that will silence the haters.

Coping With Divorce Requires Support

You might think that the hardest part of breaking up with a long-time partner is the divorce itself.

But coping with divorce is more than just dealing with the immediate event.

What are you supposed to do after a divorce, after the papers have been signed and you’ve extricated yourselves from one another?

The silence can be deafening, especially if you’ve been together for a long time — suddenly, this other presence in your life that you’ve become accustomed to having around is no longer there.

In the days, weeks, and months after a divorce, it’s only natural to feel completely unmoored. Coping with a breakup of this magnitude is going to take more than a couple of ill-conceived nights out on the town (or if you’re really feeling self-destructive, a couple of one-night stands) before you start feeling like yourself again.

It’s certainly not the best way to get support after a divorce, but there are worse ways.

What can you do to get over a divorce?

Use this opportunity to begin exploring yourself and your own identity in a safer, judgment-free environment.

If you’ve always wanted to travel to someplace or enjoy a hobby that your partner didn’t enjoy or approve of, now is the time to stretch your legs a little.

Learn how to scuba dive.

Get that tattoo you always wanted — or maybe remove that tattoo with your ex’s name on it!

Read, listen to music, watch movies, or do anything that makes you feel like you’re expanding into the person you can now grow to be, coping with divorce can be like a hermit crab moving into a new shell.

At this time, you may also find yourself gravitating towards your community for support.

Whether it’s your family, your friends (the ones you kept in the divorce, anyway), or other community groups, having this support network on your side can be a major boon to reclaiming your identity and growing into the person you were meant to become.

You can be sure that all your favourite celebrities who divorced went through the same exact processes, though there might be a couple more bottles of champagne tossed around on private jets during their growth process than in yours!

Have a Little Faith — Believe in Magic

One of the biggest forms of support that people can turn to while healing after divorce can be seeking things bigger than yourself.

In many ways, this can represent a return to the faith of your younger years or a rekindling of your current belief.

Chris Pratt, for instance, is famously unshy in crediting his personal and professional successes to his own unshakeable faith.

While it might not be for you it certainly works for him just fine, so who are we to judge?

To that end, you can rest assured that finding your own path and developing your own set of beliefs can help you heal from the wounds of any divorce.

Turning to yoga and meditation is a well-known choice, as it has any number of benefits in exercising the body while also calming and soothing a troubled mind and heart.

Let’s not forget that Gwyneth Paltrow, famous for her acting as much as her notoriously granola way of life, has had several high-profile celebrity breakups under her belt including Brad Pitt, Ben Affleck, and Coldplay frontman Chris Martin.

When it comes to coping with divorce, the end result is that no matter what type of relationship trauma you’ve just experienced, there’s not just one way to put your life back together again and get back on your feet. Some people hit the gym like it’s their job; others decide now is the best time to learn how to build a boat in their basement.

Others still donate their time and money to Habitat for Humanity or open up a yoga studio for cats. As long as you’re not hurting yourself or someone else, there’s no wrong way to cope — and you never know, sometimes believing in a little magic is what you need to make your life magical again.

Reach Out and Touch Someone

Whatever you decide, think about incorporating some good, old-fashioned conversation into your life if you’re coping with divorce.

This doesn’t necessarily have to be something that’s scheduled and codified, though it can be — speaking to a therapist regularly can help you sort through the jumbled thoughts and emotions left over while coping with divorce.

This can be either one-on-one or group therapy, and it can also be in either formal environments or simply with friends and loved ones over coffee.

In fact, it matters less how you reach out and to whom you reach out than the act of doing so in the first place. Putting that energy into the universe of wanting to understand who you are now and what you can do with your life is an overwhelmingly positive step towards continued growth and recovery. You’ll see that the universe responds, oftentimes providing you with positive energy back threefold (or even more).

But you don’t have to take our word for it when it comes to coping with divorce.

The ties that bind your favourite celebrities together in an interconnected web of energy are the same ones that bind us all — you included.

Expand your horizons and reach out to the universe for light and love and even people you’ve never met can feel it. You can see this firsthand for yourself — get a Tarot card reading over the phone today and you’ll be surprised at how insightful the cards can be — and how they respond to the vibrations you’re emitting, even as you cope with your own breakup and become the person you were always meant to be.

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The post Coping with Divorce: What Celebrity Breakups Can Teach Us appeared first on Psychic 2 Tarot.

from Psychic 2 Tarot https://www.psychic2tarot.com/blog/relationships/coping-with-divorce-what-celebrity-breakups-can-teach-us/

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anamsaorreads · 7 years

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Allow Me to Introduce Myself

Hi there. My name is Edel and I've decided to try my hand at writing a book blog. Who knows if anyone will read it, but perhaps it could be a place where I can find my voice. At any rate, I'm unlikely to find it if I don't start speaking. The following is a fairly longwinded account of my life's reading journey so far — feel free to skip it, I'll try to be more succinct in future posts.

My mother has always described me as a big reader, always with a book, always reading something. For the most part I agree with her, but I'm also a relatively slow reader (I think, I've never definitively tested my wpm reading speed), and I've had lulls, and great chasms of readinglessness, throughout my life. To be fair, many of the lulls or pauses or dragged out perusals have occurred whilst I've been studying, either in school or university, and although I read a lot for those courses, the reading involved was of the kind that was extra slow, and always, always, put me to sleep. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my courses — mostly — and although the assigned texts were interesting in their own ways, they were rarely something to get excited about (with a few exceptions). Actually, I must now confess that many of the books I was assigned were never finished, or even started, during the time frames of their respective courses. I have since read and enjoyed some, and others are on my current reading list (someday, I will finish The Iliad!).

As a child, I remember frequenting my local library quite a bit. Writing this has brought back a memory of using it to research a project on St. Brigid - Irish princess-goddess-saint — when I was 8 or 9. I vaguely recall a small, tattered, dark green, hard-covered book from which I copied the interesting facts and folklore (my research/essay-writing hasn't changed much since then...). A couple of years after joining, I began to notice a pattern of not finishing the books I checked out, and not remembering their titles after a few months (the latter frustrated me more I think, because I had an otherwise excellent memory for a 7 year old), so I tended to only check out Asterix and Obelix and Horrible Histories volumes, and read the novels and storybooks that I already had at home (a faded pink-covered illustrated Grimm's Fairy Tales springs to mind) or that I bought. The first book I ever fell in love with was a Don Conroy book about an owl. I can still see it gliding through the night air and grasping up an unsuspecting field-mouse in its talons. Fabulous imagery!

In my teens I got more into fantasy. I adored the Old Kingdom Trilogy (there were only three when I read it and I haven't read the others in the series so to me it's still a trilogy) by Garth Nix. I felt empowered by the strong female protagonists and escaped into the vivid descriptions of landscapes and monsters (the Dead), magic, and hot, naked, petrified men. I remember almost gagging as one of the books described the movements of the Dead, and feeling like I (me, personally) had to turn it into a movie. I haven't. Yet. I also read a few Eoin Colfer books — the code along the bottom of the pages of the Artemis Fowl books were always fun — and dabbled in Discworld. Later, I got into some slightly pretentious, wordy, philosophical books like The Picture of Dorian Grey, which I think I understood, and Catch-22, which I did not, even though I wrote a review of it for the school magazine.

I took English in my first year at university and we were assigned an array of wonderful classic novels to read when it finally came to studying prose fiction, many of which I'm still working on. After an entire semester studying Wordsworth's "Daffodils" for one course and learning how to study, research, and write about it for another, one would think one would be dying to get one's teeth to some variety. However, perhaps irrevocably bored with the course, discouraged by the difference in my first semester grades between English and my other subjects, or as a consequence of struggling to adapt to college life, I ended up reading the bare minimum: Pride and Prejudice and *some* of Joyce's Dubliners. While I immensely enjoyed reading, and even studying and writing about these books, I must say I enjoyed re-reading Dubliners last year, and re-watching the BBC and movie adaptations of Pride and Prejudice far more.

The course did introduce me to titles I probably wouldn't have picked up as soon but am glad I did — Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, among others I'm looking forward to — and it certainly encouraged my love of books. My other subjects did as well, of course. I picked up Fiche Blian ag Fás for my one of my Irish courses and still haven't put it down, largely because I'm taking an age to read it. One of my Bibstudz (Masters in Biblical Studies) lecturers assigned The Iliad as one of our *weekly* reading and I'm still working on that one, too (he did acknowledge that that was a slightly ridiculous expectation).

Since finishing my Masters, and subsequently deciding that maybe I should take a wee break from formal education for at least a few years I have been making more of a conscious effort to read more, both in terms of volume of books, and variety. I don't think I've ever read more than 4 or 5 books in a year until recently. In 2015, while on an internship with TG4 in the back arse of nowhere, I managed around 5 or 6. One was Baudolino by Umberto Eco, which although fantastical, interesting, and thought-provoking, took at least three months for me to get through. Another was The Road by Cormac McCarthy, which I read in two sittings, in roughly 7 hours. By way of a harrowing journey, through poetic prose, beautifully bleak and vivid imagery and description, panic and *a lot* of tears, it quickly became my (current) favourite book.

Now, when I say a lot of tears I mean A LOT. After beginning to weep about 50 pages in (if you've read it you'll know the point I'm referring to), and continuing to cry constantly for the rest of the Sunday afternoon I had chosen to start reading it, I hadn't quite finished it by the time I had to go to sleep. Since I had only roughly 50 pages left, had read the rest of it pretty quickly, and it wasn't very busy in the office that morning — and since I had decided that I absolutely could not wait 8 hours until I got home, or even the 4 hours until lunch — I decided that I could hide in the library and finish it before any pressing work came up. So I did. And I bawled my eyes out for those last 50 pages. I would have gotten away with it too if it weren't for that pesky colleague. He didn't say anything but he definitely saw me crying, with my puffy red eyes and my sniffling. I just hope he saw the book and didn't think I was in there crying because I was upset for a real-life reason (I'm sure he would have offered assistance if that were the case, he seemed like a nice guy).

Last year, I blew my personal reading record out of the water. I read 14 books, including another Eco tome, and I enjoyed most of them. Of course I had to read Brooklyn and Room (otherwise how was I ever going to be able to watch the films) and both were fantastic. I have to say though, I really struggled to get into Brooklyn at first, but for an unusual reason. I started reading it the December before around the time the film came out here, or just before that. I read the first 20 or 50 pages and while I liked it, it made me slightly uncomfortable. I felt like Eilis, the protagonist, was very much like me. Too much like me. Not in the sense that she possessed those traits which I admire in myself (we all like to identify with a protagonist by relating to those aspects of their personality which drive the story, or by seeing in them someone we would one day like to become, or be like), nor was it in the sense that I think a lot of people might identify with the not so desirable characteristics of someone like Holden Caulfield (he is a little gobshite, really), but know that we're probably not quite that bad. Rather it was that, in those aspects of her personality that drove the first part of the book mostly strongly — her reticence, her thinly veiled anxiety — I saw a mirror image that I didn't see changing any time soon. I think it may have irked me even more as she did begin to transform, that I was not changing in step with her.

A friend of mine, who hasn't read the book, but saw the film and did a review of it for his local radio station, mentioned to me that he had seen someone who reminded him of me in the cinema. I flirtatiously replied "Was she pretty?" Of course he clarified that it was more a personality reminiscence and that the girl was on the screen, not in the audience. I knew who he was talking about. I finished the book shortly after Christmas last year and eventually watched the film. To me, book-Eilis is more similar to me than film-Eilis, but it's interesting to see how I may seem to other people.

I'm not really sure why I've given you my entire reading history but I guess that brings me to roughly to beginning of 2016. I don't want to make this post any longer than it already is, so I'll fill you in on what I read during the rest of last year in a future post.

I'd like to use this blog as somewhere to talk about books I've read and want to read — I aim to read 24 books this year, which in comparison to other book-bloggers and -tubers is pretty modest — books I love and didn't, and somewhere to share my thoughts on some of my other bookish interests like languages, Irish history and mythology, movies and TV, photography, the Internet, adventures and more (I know, I'm really carving a niche here).

If you've read this far I'd love if you stay and explore more, say hi, and most importantly, give me your recommendations on books and blogs I should read, movies, TV shows, and YouTube channels I should watch, and anything else you think I should know about.

My plan for the time being is to produce one main post per week, so be sure to follow me and come back next week! (Keep an eye out for random bonus posts! — No promises there though ;) )

Thanks for reading

Edel

#booklr #reading #introduction #hello #mine #bookworm #bookblogger #book photography #books #booklover #bookblog #books and libraries #bookish #booknerd #book addict #lit #literature

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ecotone99 · 5 years

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[SF] The Dog Men of Cannon Mountain

Hey guys, wrote this a while back and forgot about it. Was really trying to write it in the style of good old H.P Lovecraft while also trying out some of my own style, so if you're wondering why things are vague or strange that's why. Submitted it for a writers contest recently because hey why not. anyhow, if you could all give me some criticism on how to improve or if it was good or not, what you liked/hated, that'd be swell. Thanks.

The Dog Men Of Cannon Mountain:

It is with a painful recollection that i attempt to tell this tale. Even now the fever of the mind plagues my psyche in trying to recollect that horrid encounter in that dreadful cabin on that cursed mountain in nineteen forty eight. Had i been a man of greater foresight or perhaps a time traveler i would have warned myself of the grievous travesty my small circle of friends and i were doomed to bring to fruition. My name is Edward Phillips, this is my tale of terror.

In the early days of fall the Eastern coast of the United States begins to change. The leaves on the trees shift into a state of beautiful decay, causing the ever present greenery to descend into a blissful amber and many a man can be seen gawking in the general upward direction of these sights. Accompanying the intricate differences in fauna comes the drastic shift in climate temperature that spreads like an icy weed over the coastline and inevitably inward toward the greater United States. The cold. The Snow. That dreaded ice giant that stumbles out of the nothing to bring with it a cold so deep and unforgiving that it permeates the countryside far longer than wanted or expected.

With such a bleak and even harrowing description of the East coast one wonders why a man may choose to live in a place so damn unforgiving. The truth is, that the men and women who populate this area of America are of great resilience to their mother nature, and are some of the most pleasant individuals one can come across in life, if you’ll believe it. They work hard for what they earn, and ring true to the image of the ideal American. Many from outside the parameters of this area would insist that the man of the east challenges the great winter giant on a yearly basis, belittling and poking fun at the angry beast that controls his environment. Like a badge of honor, the hardy people of the eastern seaboard take great pride in the innumerable downsides of their habitat, and none i dare say are as kind hearted as the ones who reside in the great state of New Hampshire, where my tale unfolds.

New Hampshire, compared to a majority of other states is a dismally small blip on the map geographically speaking. However if one were to find themselves within the expanse of its mountain ranges they’d swear the place had no borders, only an endless realm of untamed wilderness and beauty, a frontier of palpable primordial spectacles. No different from the rest of the state is the town of Franconia, who resides nearest to Echo lake along the highway ninety three with very little as far as population goes. I was not a denizen of this area but rather from the neighboring state of Massachusetts within the town of Marblehead. My close friend and esteemed colleague of Emerson College also located in Massachusetts, Daniel Barker, had been birthed in the town of Revere. Daniel however, was gifted with the luxury of both parental figures originating from a wealthy area in Rhode Island, whose name eludes me. Daniel had always had a modestly rich family, one who would probably look down upon my company as a man simply for my choices in clothing and of course, my wealth, or in this instance lack thereof. They had always been an uptight lot of people with serpent like qualities of character. Daniel was cut from a different slab. He was everything his family was not, to say that which he was a kind, charitable and above all else entrepid youth of twenty with an appreciation for the stillness and serenity of nature.

During our studies at Emerson College we had both found a mutual interest in the confines of books and storytelling to the greatest degree of friendship despite our societal hierarchy being on opposite ends of the spectrum. He was a tall, handsome fellow with a squared jaw, a barreled chest, strikingly perfect hair and unmistakable charisma. I myself was a bookish lad of nineteen with circular spectacles, combed over brown hair and an average build. While some may say my features are handsome i will never define myself in such a manner, as i no longer look in the mirror for fear of something looking back at me. Peculiar it was that daniel and i would become so closely bonded over our time in school together that once a year, for the past three years at least, we would all venture up toward his families luxurious cabin up in the hills of Cannon Mountain and enjoy the sights, drink a variety of different ales and liquors, and of course, write to our heart's content without the indignation of outside parties. The festivities occured much to the chagrin of his mother and father, who swore up and down that myself and our other good friend Henry would corrupt his character. This current year however, the family was quite adamant about allowing us time together, insisting that we get away for a while.

This time we had decided the trip would take place in January. All of us were in concurrence with the notion and planning began in early December. While the trip itself only ever lasted three or four days at best, it was of the utmost importance to be prepared for an extended visitation should the weather change for the worse. This time of year the snow falls heavily and consistently, burying the vast majority of the state in a blanket of fresh and clean crystalized powder. We had ample provisions stashed away in anticipation of our endeavour to the cabin, myself having prepared a large pack with various warm clothes, wool socks, a small box filled with miscellaneous medical supplies in case a member of our three man party should sustain an unforeseen injury, and of course, a hefty amount of stationary implements for my intended writing. Daniel was a well prepared lad who had brought a variety of different tools for survival in the great outdoors such as flint, a folding shovel, matches, a barbaric looking survival knife, and of course a Krag Jorgensen carbine. This cut down Norwegian weapon had been a gift from Daniel's grandfather when he had turned seventeen, and while i personally had no interest or notion of knowledge toward firearms, it made us all feel safer when alone in the woods should some bear creature take too close a curiosity with us. Henry, of course, brought with him tools of inebriation. While only a man of twenty himself he had developed a habitual liking into the bottle, not so much that it controlled him, but closely enough for people to assume it all the same. Of course, each of us brought a respective pair of snowshoes.

The drive was a slow and daunting one, Daniels automobile, while something neither Henry or myself could dream to afford in the near future was indeed an advantage, it was a treacherous drive riddled with uneasiness and a certain questioning of the mechanical dependency with which we transported ourselves, at least for Henry and myself. Daniel, as always had maintained his supreme confidence and capabilities of mobility, never once calling into question his ability to take the icy roads by storm at speeds reasonably less safe than preferable.

We parked the automobile in a dirt and snow covered lot several miles south of our desired location, taking by foot into the hills and ascending into the mountains with gusto. So enthralled I felt by the winter surroundings that lavished the countryside, So carefully placed did the icicles form from the tips of trees. So fresh the air was. So quiet and vast was the land we tread. So foolish i was to allow my friends the fate they would soon be given.

After an hour or so of tiresome walking we came to the cabin, which rested in between a somewhat open fielded area at the base of one of Cannon mountain and a thickly forested void. It was a splendid sight to see, two floors in total were it’s structure, with only two doors, one on either end, and a long window overlooking the entirety of the valley like landscape before us on one side. That night the chimney plumed with the smoke of aged wood prepared and chopped by Daniel a month prior, and the cabin was alight with pleasant conversation between the best of friends. Merriments were had and stories we all knew and had retold infinite times prior were brought up in their endless cycle of humorous repetition as friends do. That night, i turned in early do to exhaustion from the hike here. As i ascended the immaculate wooden staircase I peered down to Henry and Daniel, who of course were still going on about their travels and lives, pasts and futures. Had i known this would be the last night of solace we would all share together, I'd have at least stayed longer than i had.

That night, i lay in my small guest bedroom, sitting up and gazing thoughtfully out the circular window at the bluish hue the moon cast upon the frigid wasteland that enveloped us. The trees were like golems of wood in the distance, still and undisturbed by our playful antics. Strangely, in all that vast stillness on the horizon my eye was caught with the scarcest bit of movement within the far off tree line. Blinking several times to adjust my eyes, perhaps seeing something that wasn’t there, i focused outward again. There it was. Slow moving and large. A misshapen apparition haunted the distance. At the time i had attempted to rationalize with myself, being a boy of many anxieties in childhood. A hunter perhaps. Man of the woods who stalked it’s denizens for sport. That had to be it. Just then as i found myself coming to terms with my conclusion, the bulky anomaly halted. It was said once by my father that a man can feel when he is being watched regardless of distance, and up until this moment in time i had thought my father a fool for believing he had such superhuman senses. Yet here i was, feeling as though despite the ludicrous space between us, that this nameless thing had seen me, had locked eyes with me and had stared back without the slightest notion of fear. Somewhere down stairs a bottle broke, followed by laughter, startling me enough to pull my eyes from the window temporarily. Naturally when i looked back I could make out no apparition or strange being gazing menacingly off in the snow somewhere. The only notion of difference now was that the wind had picked up considerably. I laid myself down to rest and thought no more of it.

The next morning i awoke relatively early as the sun came up. Walking quietly downstairs to the larger living quarters, i notice Henry lazily passed out on the old, long sofa that took up the most space in the cabin. Daniel was standing in the doorway, scratching his head. As i approached him to figure out why he looked so perplexed my senses were bombarded by the stench of death. I pause momentarily to analyze the scent which viciously overtook my nostrils. Reaching the door, Daniel was staring down at the carcass of some type of animal on the porch. A very young deer perhaps. I had to turn away for a brief interlude, trying not to expel whatever remained in my stomach from the night prior. Daniel stared at the poor creature with remorse and disgust simultaneously. I looked back once more at the amalgamation of dead flesh. It was a sickly sight, the animals limbs were bent and contorted in disproportionate, painful and unnatural ways. It’s stomach had been spilled by several large slash marks on the visible parts of the belly. The throat flapped and leaked dark blood. The Fawn had a variety of misshapen sticks pushed into its body that it’s snapped legs were wrapped around and it’s long, pulpy tongue stuck out of its mouth with a sickly deep purple. No longer could i hold back, i ran past Daniel and into the snow, releasing my innards and tainting the white with bile. Soon Henry had stirred and risen to much the same reaction as myself. He and Daniel removed the carcass soon after that, disposing of it in the thicket of woods not far away.

That afternoon the snow began to fall very quickly. The skys greyed within minutes and the wind howled ferociously. We came to the conclusion that whatever had performed that sickening display of torture could not have been some simple animal, the injuries were too brutal for a simple minded predator to perform with such needless hate. This had to have been the doing of a man, a cruel man. surely. We decided that it would be best to head back to the vehicle first thing in the morning, and return with haste to our respective homes for fear of some further harassment in the form of pointless cruelty. There was no telling of tales that night by the fire. No jostling of humorous intent that we all wanted. Only an eerie suspicion that we were being watched from afar, and while any man could attest that no living human could survive the blizzard outside and live to tell of it, I had a feeling in my gut that it was something beyond human that circled our cabin like prey. As we all drifted into uncomfortable sleep that night by the dying fire, uneasiness spread over us like a cancer.

A dream came to me that night, one of great looming fear. Out in the cold distance, beneath the trees, I could see eyes. No ordinary eyes of man were these. They were a sickening red that had a dull lifelessness about them. A stare of foreboding utterances and dark promises. It knew I was scared, and it welcomed the idea, relished it even. This apparition sat motionless, cloaked in the shadow of the trees. Behind it, more eyes similar to the first opened up. A cluster of hateful and predatory vision cast itself at me, on me, into me. I could hear strange whispers in the dark of no known language, as if some ancient tongue shared between these faceless monstrosities was speaking and planning. But of what i know not. The feeling of being watched by some hateful pack of things lasted far longer in dream than I’d ever known a dream to last, as i felt i would spend an eternity locked in gaze with these creatures. A violent scream tore me from my mental prison.

Henry, who was thrashing on the couch next to Daniel had begun wailing in pain and fear. Both Daniel and I had sprung up immediately in confusion to try and awake him from his nightmare, only to find the normally quite skinny and frail lad to be overwhelmingly strong in his erratic movements. He began to shout.

“They’re coming! They’re coming! They’re out there! They’re coming!” he shouted.

Daniel and I were both attempting to keep our composure, but managed to restrain our friend and shake him awake after the better part of five minutes had passed. When he finally awoke he broke down into tears. We had little to offer him as far as comfort went, as Daniel and I found ourselves lost in a sense of directionless fear. When questioned as to what happened, he spoke of a vivid dream, or better nightmare that he was trapped in for some amount of time. He went on about The Hounds of the hills, the things he saw attempt to take him in his mind. It all made very little sense to us until he had mentioned something about the eyes in the distance, to which i felt a sense of icy recollection wash over me. Henry and i had experienced something of a similar experience, except his was far more long lasting and detailed. Daniels complexion had been made pale by our friends ramblings, and as we both went into the small kitchen to get Henry something to drink, i questioned him about if he had had a similar dream. We were left dumbfounded when we both came to the realization that all three of us had shared a similar night terror. That simply did not happen. Apparently my experience had been the least harrowing of the three of us, with mine only reaching climax at the beginning of Daniels ordeal which apparently had lasted hours, which begs to question just how long Henry was trapped in his own mind. Daniel was feeling a bit ill weathered, and i had noticed his hair looked longer and out of place, perhaps the result of his frightful sleep escapade.

Upon return, Henry was curled up in the corner of the room, rambling on and on about the Primordial Pack who sought new flesh for their growing family, the Dog Men of the Mountain who had been here long before the world of man, the ones who had terrorized the Native Americans, who had lived within the mountain for eons until they desired new blood, who would call to those unfortunate enough to hear their dream howls. At once i felt a mixture of emotions stirring in my mind. I simultaneously found myself pitying poor Henry for having such horrid visions forced into his gulliver, and yet, a sense of relief that i had not been as unfortunate as him. He would not take the glass of water. He would not hear anything we said. He was not even here.

Just as we were preparing to set Henry back to sleep on the couch, a powerful thud landed on the front door. Then another. And then another, the third accompanied by a horrifying noise. So inhuman and evil was the gurgling bellow that i found myself sweating at a cyclic rate, backing away from the door. Henry had begun to clutch his temples and opened his mouth as though he were screaming, but no noise escaped him. Daniel quickly retrieved and loaded his rifle, pointing it at the door. I had no weapon what to defend myself with. What felt like hours passed. Henry was still mumbling something to himself.

“Don’t fall asleep Daniel.” he said. “That’s how they turn you. Don’t fall asleep. They want you Daniel.”

I rushed over and plugged Henry’s mouth with my hand for fear of Daniel shooting him. His madness had truly driven him to a deep insanity, but there was no denying i felt the urge to heed his words. By the time Daniel had lowered his rifle, it was somewhere around one in the morning, and we were suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion. The wind still echoed eerily in the distance outside. My mind swirled with possibilities and the faint possibility that our death was approaching and yet i found my eyelids curiously heavy. Daniel was resting his back against the fireplace which now housed only hot embers. I attempted to keep Henry awake, as I noticed he had already drifted to sleep, his lips still chattering wordlessly. Shaking him did no good, slapping him had no effect. I turned to Daniel. If we were going to come out of this, the person with the gun would be the best one to remain sane. I crawled over to him with great effort, trying so hard not to pass out, my limbs held the weight of someone three times my size. Daniel had begun to flutter at the eyelids, and as I found myself too weak to reach him i lay my face down, catching a glimpse of something watching me in the window as my eyes shut on their own, my screams internalized due to the helpless state my physical body had been left in.

I dreamed again, drifting through the endless mire of the mind. Now the eyes in the distance became clearer. The misshapen denizens of the mountain took a step out of the darkness, perhaps finally piercing the last mental barrier that held them back, and approached our sanctum of the cabin. Slowly they came, some walking upright and dignified, others on all fours more akin to the beasts they looked like. They were not always proportionate, and were in some areas sickly thin while others muscular and strapping. The darkness still shrouded them almost entirely, making features hard to distinguish with exception to the large ears and hellish red eyes transfixed on myself and my friends, who were staring motionless out in front of the porch, unable to move our bodies in the slightest. They were everywhere and from all angles. The closer they came through the howling wind and snow the more I found myself growing colder and colder. The pale moon somehow shining its light upon the beasts made only worse our situation, as blindness would have been preferable to watching your doom encroach.

Just before the pack closed in completely, outstretching their clawed hands and exposing a set of jagged sharp teeth from a mouth so unnaturally wide, I awoke. I was back in the guest bedroom. At once i threw myself out of the comfort of my bed and looked out the window. Nothing, not even the wind.but i was not convinced. There was no possible dream so vivid as this, so deep with memory and detail. Unless i was still asleep. I’m not sure to this day what was a dream and what was not. I cautiously walked down the stairs, praying for some form of relief in the sight of my friends. Hoping against hope that they were of sound mind and body.

Henry lay motionless on the couch in sleep. The rifle rest against the fireplace. The door was partially open. Daniel was nowhere to be seen. Hurriedly i rushed over to shut the door to seperate ourselves from the frozen hellscape. I walked over to the other side of the cabin where the largest window was and attempted to pour myself a glass of water from the small kitchen. It was a much welcomed drink. I gaze out the large glass window, feeling a sense of what i hesitated to call relief. There were still many questions to be answered, most prominent of them all was our friend Daniels whereabouts. The only logical explanation was that Daniel had awoken before myself and Henry, and decided to put us both to sleep in our respective beds. That was just like him, a kind man even in such a dismal, bleak scenario. But where was he?

A large, clawed hand slapped against the thick glass of the cabin window, causing me to jump back. Raising itself to level with my vision, my greatest fear was made reality, the eyes and teeth of the dream beast had focused on me yet again, this time i finally got a good look at the thing, though in all my mind i wish i hadn’t. It was a hideous, primeval creature, it’s skin was a dark oily blue with even darker blue patches of long mangey hair. It’s large ears were canine in nature, but not like that of a lycan of myth but something more unnatural and gut wrenching. It’s flat face exhibited small nasal passages and it carried with it a sickly smile on it’s outstretched maw. Many of them began to appear on the window, slamming their powerful hands against the glass in anger and hateful frustration. The now wavering, cracked glass was the only thing that seperated my frail mortal body from these ancient monstrosities. They growled and gurgled and howled into the night as the glass was soon to give way. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and I made back to the living room where Henry was still asleep. I attempted to wake him in vain yet again, only for the front door to fly off its hinges.

It was Daniel. Or at least, what had become of Daniel. His arms were stretched out thin and long, covered in tufts of blueish hair with hands ending in long nailed fingers, his mouth was not his. The jaw of my friend was now unhinged and stretched downward in a sickening display of dripping, boiling salivation and rows upon rows of strong sharp teeth. His shirt was torn and tattered and his shoes were absent. Daniel attempted to writhe and stumble forward toward us, gripping at his temple with one hand and stretching out the other in a grabbing gesture, as if half his mind were fighting the other half to retain his humanity. I called out to him, pleaded with him to resist, to stop. He did not. He lurched forward, eyes disproportionately twitching involuntarily, one sad and somber the other sunken, red, and straining forward with an indescribable pain.

A crack pierced the air and Daniel dropped to the floor, blood oozing from a silver dollar sized hole in his skull. To my shock i turned to see Henry, Brandishing our friends rifle and twitching uncontrollably. He turned the rifle toward me in a fit of frightened retaliation should i have met a similar fate as Daniel. I had not. We stared at each other for a brief interlude and he lowered the gun.

“T-They got Him, Edward. They got him. They wanted him. I-I’m sorry.” He spoke in such a somber tone, racked with guilt for his murderous deed. He began to cry.

“...I’m sorry too Henry.” I said somberly.

The glass in the kitchen finally gave way, much to our surprise. From within the cramped kitchen now scrambled a horrific, thrashing mess of the predatory assailants, surely coming to either eviscerate us, or worse, turn us into one of them. Henry fired another shot into the kitchen.

“Run Edward! For god's sakes, run for the car!” Henry screamed at me as he continued to fire into the mound of hellish beast men. I didn’t hesitate, and for this reason alone i consider myself a coward. I turned and ran out the from door, only for Daniel to grab at my leg, somehow still alive after a bullet through the cranium. His touch was one of icy hellish hands that sent a splintering pain into my body. With the knife in hand, i slashed at his hand in a fury of strikes, screaming, nearly severing my former friend at the wrist and rushed out into the blizzard, behind me the unnatural wailing of hate and bellowing of monstrosities was matched with the ever prevalent gunshot. As i faded into the blinding snow and headed down the mountain through the moonlit darkness, the sounds of Henry firing the rifle faded into nothingness.

I ran for what must have been hours, aimless and lost in a north eastern blizzard without so much as a jacket to prevent my untimely demise. Far behind me, the echoes of the Dog men filled the night. They were after me for sure. It was only when i reached a road of unspecified origin that a passing policeman had found me. I was a hyperthermia riddle pale ghost of a man clutching a bloody knife in a snowstorm, rambling about monsters and the death of my friends.

When i was finally subdued and brought into hospital care, i was questioned by the police about what had transpired on the mountainside. The tale I told, this one, was enough to land me within the psychiatric ward of greater Massachusetts until the trial for my friends disappearance and subsequent murder, which i fear i will most certainly be found guilty of, takes place in the following weeks. The police returned to the cabin several days later, only to find it completely empty, albeit with signs of a struggle and broken glass littering the ground. Sitting in my padded cell, i hesitate to sleep for fear of what i may become. I have been disowned by my family for my madness and ostracized by society, but I know. I know what lurks out in the wilderness, and I know that i will never be free of the image of that thing that plagues my mind. What purpose they serve eludes me. They are beyond my or your understanding. Their motives are their own. I will always fear them, for the remainder of my days. Those ancient, evil earth devils. Those hateful, unnatural things. The Hounds of the Hills, the Eyes in the Distance, The Dog Men of Cannon Mountain.

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wolfwalkerstudios-blog · 7 years

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The Compass of Balance and Order

More concept art for Lustre Zeal. While attempting to try and develop the look and feel of the world the characters interact with I've also been trying to learn how to balance the aesthetics that I enjoyed while growing up with more modern sensibilities as copying the past because it was a simpler time won't necessarily make you a better artist. If anything it just makes you look dated. Also development log.

Development Log 7.21.17

So between working on various pictures and time spent trying to piece my psyche back together, apparently the development of the self and the deconstruction of the ego can be arrested at various stages in the individuation process leading to psychoses that I've no doubt Freud would have had a field day with, I've been developing a model of thought based on the nature of the Artistic Identity, the use of Inner Vision and our relationship to the social forces present in Emotional Economies to achieve what Jung would term 'a level of psychic functioning' that allows me to 'try and reach for an idea' without relying on the Extension of Self, Embodied Presence, the Avatar State, or the Panopticon Effect.

Don't know what any of those things are? Good, that saves me the trouble of trying to explain them because doing so would involve talking about higher-order thinking and metastrategic knowledge and I don't feel like being here all day. Suffice it to say that the two most prevalent processes I've come across in terms of communicating the means by which an artist experiences the creative forces analogous to the ones they seek to convey is Method Acting and Stanislavski's System, and I don't think I need to tell you which is the one that I prefer. Or maybe I do because quite frankly Method Acting has some very scary side effects and has caused many an actor to come back as something other then themselves. Think Alia from Dune when she gives Baron Harkonnen a place in her mind after speaking with him in other memory. Yeah, not pretty. Anyway back to talking about Artistic Identities and whatnot. Because working on Lustre Zeal has involved making so many freaking design decisions, I've lost count at this point as the sheer complexity of the processes involved has forced me to seek out even greater levels of organization then the one's I already rely on, I've had to focus more on a core set of techniques rather then my usual experimental and iterative explorations of various form languages. Good god that sentence was an absolute mouthful. Let's try that again shall we. Because I prefer to draw characters with more realistic looking anatomy and proportions, I've had to focus on things like the Reilly Method of drawing for my use of construction, gesture drawing for establishing the pose, Frazetta's Emotional Core for my relationships and blah, blah, blah for everything else. Seriously, do you think I'd actually sit here and list off every single artist, actor, animator or director whose work that I've studied in order to form the very foundation that I reach for when I sit down to draw? Well, I could, but it would be a fairly long list and a lot of the names would be Japanese so let's just stick with the whole Artistic Identity and whatnot as the degree of knowledge involved in achieving the level of realism I desire is fairly high and requires an obscene amount of investment in terms of time and energy to actually learn. Having said that, because of the desire to establish one's self both emotionally and mentally is a process of self-actualization, I figured that something similar must be happening whenever artists sit down to draw, writers write or musicians compose, if not only because such an identity allows us to establish our own individual presence in an Emotional Economy but because it also allows us to recognize the visual appeal of our work as well as further understand and define the form language we use to communicate our ideas with both our audience and our peers. A matter which is not helped much by the fact that the rites of passage artists undergo and the harrowing that we experience while setting out on such a path tend to have the unfortunate effect of either destroying our egos utterly or leaving us completely disillusioned by the nature of the realities we choose to engage with. The fact that I scare the absolute shit out of most people when I talk normally is something I've had to live with my entire life, so imagine my surprise when the art that I sought to create and the stories I started to tell became a reflection of the self I'd long sought to hide in order to pass off as normal. I don't doubt Jung would refer to that as the Shadow seeking to express itself in an otherwise healthy way, but then again my pursuit of finding my own Self amidst the ruins of a life ruled over by the fear of what others cannot possibly imagine has been motivated more by a desire to end such intellectual isolation then anything else. Anyway, as an Artist and a Writer I have the freedom to act and think as I want without hindrance or restraint, but balance that with the need for a Persona which to embody and the need for an Artistic Identity becomes both an ego defence mechanism and a means of self expression. There are of course countless downsides to this as dissociation and supplantation can and do occur, watching that happen to celebrities is disturbing to say the least, but then knowing the risks lessens the dangers so there is that. That said the purpose that I had in seeking out the concept of the Artistic Identity was because I wanted a way to discuss the idea of developing one's own Inner Vision without having to rely on the words 'feeling' or 'style' due to the incredibly vague connotations already associated with their use. Seriously, I hear those words used to describe everything related to art and it just grates against my mind because of how hollow and meaningless they are because if Art Deco is a style then no matter how much I may love it it isn't my 'style' its a style that I 'identify' with. Don't even get me started on 'feeling,' hoo boy, sensation is a much better word because not only can I externalize the concepts involved, I can internalize the information being gathered without harming my psyche in the process. But back to what I was originally saying, if we have an Internal Monologue, which can only be reported to exist as I know of no actual means by which to prove it exists save for maybe some form of telepresence or mind to machine transfer system, which in turn begs the question of machine learning and machine consciousness, it stands to reason that we also possess some form of Inner vision. By definition that would mean that if an Internal Monologue is about thinking in words, then Inner Vision is about thinking in pictures. Oh screw trying to dumb it down, there's a mode of meditation used in Vajrayana Buddhism that uses fully realized forms and sophisticated visualization techniques to create art. The fact it can also be used to achieve a substitution effect using imagined experiences that evoke the same cognitive and phsyiological consequences as their corresponding real world counterparts is in my mind an unintended bonus. Though not one I would personally prefer to try and teach someone as you can see by anything I try to draw, its a process that leaves little room for error and can seriously mess you up if you aren't aware of what the hell you're doing and what's going on. Seriously, ten years spent practicing a technique to achieve what people can experience in five minutes after eating a handful of mushrooms. Grumble, grumble, grumble . . . anyway, in order to differentiate one's own Inner Vision from, say, Mental Images or Mental Representation, its important to begin by distinguishing the idea of Inner Vision from the mathematical models and the spatial awareness skills we use to visualize objects as when attempting to represent an imaginary object rather then say, trying to recollect an object from memory in order to construct it, we rely on different visual processes to access and interact with the information in question. Which is to say that copying, transferring, transposing and transubstantiation all describe varying levels and degrees of the qualities we wish to ascribe to an object or form. Or in other words a sword can change its appearance to match its setting without altering its basic properties and still be recognized as a sword in spite of the differences between the artist's mental image of a sword and the way it appears in their own Inner Vision. And if that sounded confusing try applying the concept to architecture and you'll start to understand why so many artists default to the known forms that they've grown up with if only because doing so prevents them from experiencing the kind of trepidation and fear that comes from crossing through Liminal Space. Even I struggle with that one as the number of social constructs and intergenerational gaps that have created new and unprecedented chilling effects increase I find myself wondering what fresh new hell the masses have decided to pass off as popular opinion and commonly held belief. But then again the conflict that exists between attempting to establish one's own identity by rejecting the value systems of those who came before and the realization of one's own agency in a vanishing world is nothing new, its simply happening much faster now. Anyway, back to my point about developing one's Inner Vision, when we look for the primary influences that serve as the basis for the way we attempt to visualize objects, I found that focusing on those experiences that serve as our introduction to a work tend to form the foundation we unconsciously reach for when we draw as not only do they often have largest amount of emotional investiture but the degree of familiarity with the subject matter cannot be matched by the increasingly complex mental and emotional needs imposed upon us by the realities present in an adult world. Or in other words, the reason why the things we enjoyed as children absorbed us so completely is because the fabric of the social realities they presented us with served as a means of translating the elaborate social constructs of the adult worlds around us in a way that allowed us to relate to the events and forces that were shaping the geopolitical landscape of the time. The reason that I say this is because when I look back at many of the cartoons I grew up with I find myself seeing references to things that only those of us who were adults at the time would've recognized or even cared about. And this is in no way an isolated phenomena as not only is it present in my own work, but a few of the more recent cartoons that I've seen seem to be trying to reach a point where they appeal to both children and adults in a way that encourages parents to watch them with their kids so something to root for I suppose. That said, whenever I try to reach for an image in my mind that fits the parameters I've set in terms of design, I've found that comparing and contrasting it against things that already exist in reality is the only way to anchor the idea in a tangible way as asking myself to try and direct my own attention towards a certain emotion, theme, mood or even concept is all but impossible without associating my intent with some other established work. I suppose if I were to try and put it into words, its basically the difference between drawing, designing, and development. When I draw, I work from memory, when I design something I work from either an emotional intent or a previously established concept, when developing a novel or an illustration, I work with either a composition in mind or a set of parameters that in turn serve to define the work. Case in point when trying to visualize the Tower of Zeal I needed something that was simple enough to draw over and over again, and yet different enough from the rest of the surrounding architecture that no one would ever mistake it for having been built by the local population. Seeing that in my own mind on the other hand meant I couldn't rely on simply trying to copy pre-existing objects or styles even though doing so helps to familiarize us with the form language that human's use to try and express concepts like reverence and worship. That and ornamentation, people love ornamentation to the point that it is rare to see a truly blank surface anywhere in art or architecture. Anyway, I think that's enough rambling from me. As I said I'm still trying to develop the concept of the Artistic Identity and the function of Inner Vision so if I'm even less coherent then usual that would be why. Until next time folks, have a good one.

#concept art #Black and White #Lustre Zeal #fantasy

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theliteraturenerd · 7 years

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How To Write Teen Girl Characters

By Nora Zelevansky for Lithub

There are moments when I forget that I’m not 15 years old.

I’ll be walking down a New York City street and, suddenly, I’ll hear the sound of a basketball rebounding off the pavement, skateboard wheels skidding across uneven cement or the giggles of huddled girls; and I’ll whip around, expecting to see a teenage crush or my group of posturing best friends. Then, confronted with baby-faced strangers, I remember at once that I’m an adult: I already lived through precalculus and college applications, dorm parties in black light and classes on hungover mornings, assistant jobs and early twenty-something lostness. I planned a wedding, gave birth, wrote a novel or two. That’s when I sigh and move on with my life.

Maybe that’s why, in 2012, when I first sat down to write Will You Won’t You Want Me?, I thought I could do it without research. True, I was envisioning one of my central characters somewhere between the ages of 10 and 14, but I figured I could handle it. I’ve been a preteen before: I’ve navigated the turbulent seas of middle school dances and first kisses, algebra homework and French verb conjugation, bungled makeup attempts and first sips of alcohol. And yet, when I tried to put pen to paper (well, fingertips to keyboard), I realized that there was a lot I didn’t know about teenagers these days: I wondered, at what age do they get cell phones and start dating? Do they all listen to Justin Bieber? What are the cool and lame brands? Do they still use words like “lame”?

The book’s protagonist, Marjorie Plum, is 28 years old, and, so, close enough to my age that I could still conjure up that experience of flailing. She didn’t pose much of a problem. But the character that would be Belinda—a brainy Brooklyn-based nearly 12-year-old with quick wit, but a naive worldview—was proving tricky. I didn’t want to get her wrong.

I decided to call in reinforcements in the form of some preteen and teenage girls. I would talk to as many as necessary until I felt like I had a real understanding of that age, specifically in 2012. I know most people despise teenagers, and perhaps I’ll learn to feel that way too once my own daughter is possessed by that demonic set of hormones, but I’ve always really liked them. They’re creative and interesting, and their impulses—however unchecked—make sense to me. Why not spend all day obsessing over a crush while eating junk food and sampling the occasional illicit drug? Isn’t that what we’d all be doing if we didn’t have society to keep us in line?

I started with my 12-year-old cousin, Georgia, who lives in New York City, since I too grew up on the Upper West Side. In a moment of total projection, I went in expecting serious dish from her. She’s beautiful and blonde and social, and she was coming of age in my old neighborhood—she had to be creating some trouble, right?

Nope. She was happily enjoying school, playing soccer, hanging with her friends and being an all around good kid. Preteens, as it turned out, could be upbeat and positive, and even follow the rules. Probably the most important thing I learned from Georgia was that kids do have a shorter leash at an older age these days, even with mellow parents like hers. (Of course, I should have realized that, as I started walking to school by myself at 6 years old—albeit with my father following secretly behind.) Times have changed a bit and maybe that means more delayed delinquency. Either way, the upshot was that I started to envision Belinda with more protective parents, who might not let her loose as much as she wished.

Next I reached out to my California cousins, sisters Noa and Eden, who I knew would be happy to share the dirty details. They’re also well-behaved kids, so figured that they wouldn’t reveal anything too harrowing, but I also knew I’d get the real deal. They were both predictably excited to share, and I mined some very important details from them:

1. Nobody in high school smokes cigarettes anymore. At least not in California. Pot, yes. Alcohol, sure. Cigarettes, barely.

2. What we used to call “indie” kids or even “goth” kids, they called “urbs” as in “urban.”

3. They still said “cool” but definitely not “dope.”

4. They listened to mainstream pop and wore mainstream clothing lines without apology. (There was no subculture like hip hop or grunge rendering that uncool.)

5. Once you get them going, teenage girls love to talk. And they have lots of insights.

I was starting to get somewhere. I could begin to hear Belinda’s voice.

That’s when my husband and I went out to brunch with a friend of his, who brought his son and his 10-year-old daughter, Sandy. My immediate takeaway from that brunch was simple: Ten year olds are still 100 percent children. Sandy was adorable, sweet and giggly and totally unaware of her own beauty. There was little chance that she liked boys yet—not romantically anyway. She reminded me of a puppy with oversized paws. If I wanted Belinda to feel part-child, part-teen, then she would have to be a little bit older.

Last, I chatted via phone to Lily, who was 13 and lived in downtown Manhattan. She confirmed that, even in New York City, there wasn’t as much cigarette smoking going on. (Why did that shock me so much?) But she had a different attitude towards culture than the West Coast and uptown girls. For Lily—who was clearly very studious, as she copped to spending the majority of her time on homework—indie music introduced via her father was more interesting than anything Lady Gaga. She sounded almost adult as she waxed about bands like Modest Mouse and Death Cab for Cutie that she said no one else at school knew about or liked. I realized I wanted Belinda to be quirky like that too: 11 years old and going on 35, and a little bit on her own tip.

Ultimately, each interview helped shape Belinda’s character more. And, as I expected, life for kids that age has changed some. But, more importantly, chatting with these smart and precocious young women dropped me back inside the emotional vulnerability of that time—the glimpses of openness and self-protectiveness, the desire to share and the fear of sharing too much, the need to fit in but also assert individuality.

These glimpses into their lives allowed me to embody that feeling of being a kid, to envision a character with what I hope is authentic dimension and to channel, with clarity, a former version of myself—all for more than a fleeting moment on the street.

#write #writing #writing advice #writing tips #literature #research #character #characters #character development

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t-cnews-blog · 8 years

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Aesthetic magazine Toronto. Dec 16

You may think you know Tom Chaplin. His soaring, emotional voice lay at the center of Keane, the anthemic, multi-million selling UK band who scored five number one albums in the UK between 2004 and 2013 – including two that landed on the Billboard 200, delivering such unforgettable hits as “Everybody’s Changing,” “Is It Any Wonder” and “Somewhere Only We Know.” But even at the height of his fame, there was a side to the singer hidden from the world. Now, after a three-year journey to hell and back, Tom Chaplin returns with his solo debut album, The Wave, a self-penned album revealing the real man behind the songs. It is a journey from utter despair to redemption, love and self-acceptance, told with enormous, emotional pop music. The voice is the same. The songs tell a whole new story. The Wave is a powerful collection of songs of self-destruction and recovery. Yet it is far from a harrowing listening experience, glittering with the rich melody, anthemic drive and high production values that people have come to expect from Keane, this is the first time Tom Chaplin has stepped outside of Keane, with Chaplin’s unmistakable voice driving all eleven tracks with a range of emotions, never previously scaled. In our new interview, Chaplin details the making of The Wave, his destructive path of cocaine addiction, and eventual recovery, how he’s fighting against the stigma of mental illness, and more. Your new album, The Wave, is described as “not being a concept album, but it has a narrative arc”. Tell me the story the album tells. So they are really my stories from the last three or four years and where that begins was when I decided to take some time out from Keane and I had this idea of wanting to do something on my own in terms of taking control of the writing, which is not something I did in Keane, and just to pursue a different journey for a bit, which was something entirely impossible to ignore. So I said to the guys that I wanted to take some time out to do this, and I set out to do so with gusto and enthusiasm and actually very quickly ended up stuck and did hit a wall creatively. This coincided with the return of my problems with drug addiction and at the same time I had a kid, so it was a whole mixture of different sort of experiences which put a lot of stress on me as a human being. And I went to a really dark place and you know the kind of extent of my problems with drugs, really, really killed me and pretty much destroyed all the good things in my life. So I found myself at the end of 2014 being in this hole and I did have an epiphany kind of moment where I just realized I couldn’t go on any longer and I had to start turning things around. It was actually the moment when I had been on a three-day drug binge without sleep, and living at a friend’s house but on my own. I thought I was about to drop dead but I just said to myself if I wake up tomorrow and I am still here, I have to do something about this. It’s been going on, off and on for 10-15 years really. I woke up the next day and I felt the need to change, and it’s been quite an amazing journey from that point onwards. I obviously had to repair a lot of the relationships that I broke in my life and particularly the relationship with myself. Knowing who I was again. So the album kind of documents all of that stuff really, and as you said it does loosely have a concept which was never the intention but it’s just the way the cards fell. So it starts in this very dark place the song “Still Waiting”, which is all about kind of being stuck in a hellish nightmare of addiction and wanting to escape and not knowing that I could. All the way through to the closing two songs which are “See It So Clear” and “The Wave”, which are songs about discovering inner peace, finding a sense of resolution and you know everything else on the record tells the story along the way which has been my process in the last couple of years. Your 19 years in Keane and now setting off on your own, what was the transition like singing Tim [Rice-Oxley]’s songs in Keane, to now writing your own material? I’ve always written songs and I contributed songs to Keane in our earlier days. Tim and I would split the songwriting 50/50, but two or three years before Keane’s first record, Hopes and Fears, which obviously was a very surprising success for us as a band, Tim just started writing all of these incredible songs and I just thought that I can’t keep up with this…I can’t…I didn’t believe I was capable of writing songs of that consistency. But I also didn’t have the kind of motivation and desire to do it either, which I think is kind of a lot of the job. So I kind of referred to his greater skills in that respect, and let him get on with it. And over the years that part of me, that creative part of me, wanted an outlet and it grew, grew and grew, and I thought I got to give this part of me a voice. What I realized was just how incredibly hard it is to do, in terms of writing the songs and how much work goes into writing a record. It’s not just that you kind of throw out 10 or 12 perfect songs and that’s that. You have to go through a very painstaking process of very hard work. I ended up writing a good 40 songs to try to find something good, so are the perks of this album. But this time around I did have the motivation, desire, and the right things to talk about. And to try articulate in the songs something that had a real energy to it, so I was willing to put in the hard work and I guess I surprised myself in a way. I didn’t know if I was up to it, and I didn’t know if I was capable of writing songs good enough. I felt that at the end of the process of writing this record that I had done myself justice and even kind of exceeded my expectations. I really enjoyed it and It’s the first time in my career where you are actually getting more of the external voice, a sort of singing voice but also sort of but you’re also getting this internal voice this part of me that’s never been articulated before and marry those two things, because it’s been very liberating for me as a person and as an artist. Tom Chaplin will release his debut solo album, The Wave, on January 13th. Tom Chaplin will release his debut solo album, The Wave, on January 13th. In the past, artists have said that by doing drugs they become more creative. Do you think drugs and creativity are compatible in that sense? Well, it depends… I think when they are done in moderation and when it’s certain types of drugs they can kind of create a doorway. I suppose like the 60’s is always what people tend to look to in that respect. Acid and marijuana obviously drugs that, you know, open something up and you can hear it in the music of that particular generation. But I do think as a general rule particularly the kind of drugs I took became my main type of poison but they generally destroy you to a great degree. I think from my experience with coke is that it actually destroys that vital window into your soul, it numbs you as a person. It closes you off to your emotional world and if you cannot access that place then you’ll never write good songs. You have to be very well to write good songs. So for me, and I think probably it would apply to most artists, that I think drugs in moderation and the right kind of things can be helpful but once they reach the self-destructive levels, that my drug use reached it actually has the opposite effect, you just can’t access that place anymore. So yeah, don’t do drugs kids! What are some ways that people can help remove the stigma of mental illness? What’s so interesting is the first time I went into rehab 10 years ago, you know it was quite a big story in the U.K., and I was kind of pilloried for it, a kind of ‘Oh here we go again’…you know. Another kind of things where he’s ended up a mess and it’s a real cliché and all of that stuff. And there was a lot, quite sort of dazing, superficial and mocking the things written about the situation I was in. I think that was the climate of the time, in the respect at the time about any mental health problems, it’s either something you laugh at or something considered as weird. Yes, it felt like there was still a really big stigma attached to it. The distinction I feel now having spoken about, I’ve become open about the problems I’ve experienced. I’m sensing that the landscape has really changed, and it’s now being recognized and the answer to the problems with mental health, that we have in western society in particular is that the antidote to it is to open up, talk about these things and to sort of lift the veil. And not to condemn this stuff to such a shameful place that we don’t really talk about it because actually that attitude is not getting our society anywhere. It’s very interesting reading about Adele, she was talking openly about postpartum depression and feeling completely hopeless after having her kid. And I think that kind of thing, you know It’s funny because when my wife and I had our daughter, my wife experienced postpartum depression for a while after my daughter was born. And she said, “no one ever told me this could happen, there’s talk of the baby blues but no one told me quite how awful or terrible I could feel and how much this thing is meant to be a dream and glorious thing”. To feel so shit, haha. Anyone in which I can use my platform or any of use can use our platform to talk about these things more openly to kind of be vulnerable and to realize that’s not actually weak, it’s actually courageous. A courageous attitude to adopt. I think It’s really helpful, there are so many people in our world that are struggling and who find it hard to talk about their problems. As hard as it is to feel, talking about our problems is the best thing that we can do. You know in my own small way if I can do that with the record I’ve made and the way I talk about, you know I feel like that is an achievement. Absolutely and the things you know you could have easily as just swept it under the rug, written happy Pop songs about love or whatever. That’s the next record, haha. I think what I find most admirable is how many people are sort of just suffering in silence and you know, how people like yourself in the public eye are going through these types of things. Plus the scrutiny of the media and everything, I couldn’t imagine going through something like that. I think the thing for me is that I was always frightened about admitting my problems, and I always wanted to keep them under wraps. I think the reason being a lot of shame is attached to these things and I’ve noticed in Britain anyway, that there’s kind of stiff upper lip attitude in this country. And that’s always the problem I had, oh I don’t want to admit these things out of fear. But actually now with a bit more experience under my belt I’ve realized that life is way too short to worry about what people might think. We all have fragile parts of ourselves, frailties and things that we feel anxious about or ashamed about. Like I said the antidote to that is to get it out there to express that and convey it to another human being. You know you don’t have to do it the way I have and tell the world but just to find a therapist or a confidante in your life you can express that stuff to is really liberating. Instead of carrying around a whole load of crap you think about every single day, you just let someone know and suddenly that problem is moved from a place that’s just locked inside yourself to a safe place that’s out there in the real world. And it kind of defuses is somehow, you know that notion a problem shared is a problem halved is kind of a cliched old term but it makes real sense to me. I do wish that we all did more of it. My experience of doing that, much along resisted it for a long time..has..I can live with a type of freedom now that I never had before. Keane frontman Tom Chaplin's new solo album, The Wave, follows his three-year battle with the cocaine addiction. Keane frontman Tom Chaplin’s new solo album, The Wave, follows his three-year battle with the cocaine addiction. Is therapy something you’ve tried in the past? I have done mountains of therapy, haha. The thing that helped me the most was going for psychoanalysis, the kind of proper big stuff which requires quite a bit of time and effort. It’s actually a thing that more than anything else has gotten me well from my problems. I actually don’t attend Alcoholics Anonymous or all those kinds of meetings but I do have a kind of person who I see regularly who I share my deepest, darkest problems…and you know I continue to see that person because he keeps me well. So, yes a very important part of my life, it’s funny because there is so much emphasis on eating healthy, going to the gym, physical fitness or you know all well-being. But the most important thing our mental health, our emotional well-being is still something that most of us don’t actually spend much time with and are working on that. That’s actually..when I think about my therapy, not that I think about it that’s it’s been so painful raking up the past. I don’t actually think of it like that, I think of it as being on an adventure, being a journey to who I am and discovering more parts of myself, uncovering thing and learning about who I am. And actually for the most part, while there has been some difficult stuff that I’ve had to process and go through..actually I’ve enjoyed a lot of it. Discovering who I am, so I think and it’s also the way that those kind of things are perceived needs to change as much as anything, not to feel nervous or anxious about but something to look forward to. Causes me joy. So you’ve been able to gain a lot of insight into who you are and the sort of thing? I would say so, yeah. In my own sort of way, I suppose. As you grow up environmentally, through your experiences in life, you develop a defense system. Either that works or in my case it doesn’t. My process has been tearing down that defense system down and build a new one. But you know it could be a default of handling my life the way it is now and yes, so you know really go deep and look at all the facets of my life so far and what I think and feel. I think I’ve learned quite a lot about myself. There’s a song on the record that exactly about that process you know, it’s about exploring your past, about this idea that rose-tinted view of life. The way that we probably like self-preservation, but probably about pieces together a fairly happy story about how things have gone. And that’s the sort of rose-tinted glasses effect, I also think to kind of get underneath that which is what the song says, the spaces in-between and the stuff underneath that helps to kind of give an enriched view of who you are. And I think for me that song in particular explores the sort of therapeutic process…that soul searching element that I obviously had to go through to get well. When you guys blew up in 2004 with Hopes And Fears, and a string of successful singles, how did that sudden surge of fame influence you? Oh it had a terrible effect on me actually… in all honesty. I think one of the reasons I got into being in a band, I was never very good about expressing myself emotionally. I also felt low on self-confidence actually and I was very shy, self-conscious and didn’t like myself very much. And actually the idea of being a frontman and kind of running around on stage pretending for all the money in the world like the most confident person out there was strangely appealing. It was almost like hiding in plain sight. The ultimate defence against the self loathing I felt. So in theory it sounds like a great idea, I mean I guess this was all fairly unconscious process at the time but you know I thought that it would be the answer. When as you say as things go up and it became this great big success, I was completely unprepared for what was coming. Which was a lot of scrutiny and a lot of pressure on my mind. You know the things you might think look good elements to the success of a band, like adorning fans and money, actually those too had a strangely negative impact. You know it became things that were very hard to handle, because on one hand I had an ego that was completely out of control and the money kind of indulged all of that stuff particularly drugs, which developed into a growing drug habit. But underneath it all I just felt miserable, so those two extremes are very hard to live with. And you know it is ultimately a very bad cocktail that ended in real disaster. Two years I suppose after Hopes and Fears came out I was in rehab, my life was in a complete mess. And actually in the years that followed that I find a way of surviving but I was never really tackled the underneath, the problems underneath so they kind of continued to fester and the problems with addiction would come and go…and never quite as bad until the last few years. Until they came back in really crazy way. So, yes it put me into an amazing place, these really extreme experiences that I wasn’t really cut out to deal with that stuff at the time. I look back with kind of mixed feelings about everything that happened and particularly around Hopes and Fears. There’s a part of me that really wishes I could go back and redo it, armed with the information I have now about myself and I think that I would really enjoy it. And savor it but sadly at the time I just wasn’t capable of doing that. The great thing about this record is how the songs are thrive in this optimistic spirit of survival. Was that a conscious decision on your part? I have not actually anyone describe it in that sense as a record about survival but I think that yeah that’s the a very good point about the whole thing, thinking about it. I suppose for me it was the thing I hoped that would resonant with people because in many senses it’s not really an album about drug addiction. That’s where it begins, of course the record is about much more about everything that has happened in the aftermath. Finding a way out of that dark spot and as you said surviving it. To tell the story and maybe also to…I guess…addiction…it’s not a niche thing but it’s not something most people will experience personally in their life but they may know people around them that are experiencing it. But I think we all experience real darkness and you know depression or other problems that beset us in this life. In that sense it resonates with people because it helped them to find a way out of that or to understand that there is a reason to feel hopeful or to keep pushing on. Then that for me, I hope..you know..what people will react to when they hear this album.

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educatedpoorgirl-blog · 8 years

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Caught in the Rye

Caught in the Rye I was recommended by a friend to watch the John Oliver Tonight episode that followed the election of Donald Trump as the president of the United States. Mr. Oliver had not switched his mindset from outrage to optimism, as so many news casters seemed to be doing. Instead, he reminded his audience of the unstable and satan-like nature of the man who will soon occupy the oval office, and called upon the public to do more than just write think pieces. He calls us to spend our time and resources supporting those who will be suppressed and fighting to keep the organizations that are at risk in place. I agree with him wholeheartedly. On November 9th I was filled not only with immense despair, but with a fiery desire to resist, to act, and to change what I can. I spent election night watching too many states turn red at my neighborhood bar in New Orleans, Louisiana. I saw the shock and disgust echo on every single face around me. Our city is blue, our city is liberal, our city is accepting, our city is colorful, and our city did not want Donald Trump to be our president. The man sitting next to me told me that he was a registered republican, but would never consider voting for the man with the thin orange hair and the too white teeth staring at us from the television screen. We watched the Hillary supporters who had greeted us with the highest optimism sit quietly in front of their beers, shriveled in defeat. My friend and I floated outside, perhaps hoping that fresh air could bring us back to reality. There was an army-man on the sidewalk shouting with rage at the news of his new commander-in-chief. The question was posed multiple times, “Who is voting for this man?” I answered, “the people I grew up with,” referring to the close-minded and uneducated individuals of Hammond, Louisiana who I had no doubt were dying to Make America Great Again. I left my little town where racism is rampant and liberals are few to obtain my liberal arts degree in New Orleans, and I rarely consider returning to my roots. I do not wish to live among the heartless, those who sing the highest praise for Jesus, but who cower from diversity, preferring to stay loyal to their confederate flag and pick-up trucks. If I sound bitter, I am, but I am also angry at myself for accepting this as the way things are and not doing a thing to change it. I cannot hate my brethren for believing in what they have been taught and not knowing the things that they haven’t. I grew up in a liberal, earth-loving household and was taught to care about the countless injustices in the world from the Jesuits at Loyola University. Of course, now now know that many Trump supporters are not bigots at all and are people simply fed up with the slow-moving and rarely satisfying processes of our government. It breaks my heart that these citizens would rather sacrifice our planet, cover their ears at the hate-filled comments and discriminatory nature of our president elect, and put the entire globe at higher risk of war and turmoil than vote for an imperfect, but entirely more level-headed candidate. The week after the election my inbox was flooded with emails about ways to get active. Too upset to do anything except marathon Sex and the City, I left them unread. My mother sent me an article about the importance of mourning as we moved through the post-election underworld, which stated that a lot of us wouldn’t be ready to fight right away and should instead have to focus on self-care first. I was grateful for the validation. I picked up the Catcher in the Rye, and old favorite book that I used to read over and over again. The disheartened and pessimistic voice of Holden Caulfield was as familiar and comforting as ever (I always found his narration comedic and charming rather than hard to bare). Since then I cannot say that I have done much in the way of activism. Although I am dealing with health issues and the many stressors of being broke and in my twenties, I am guilty of spending more time listening to Ariana Grande than I do the news. Perhaps I have let the advantages of being a white educated millennial lead me back to a state of political unconcern. I used to date a guy who thought that we should only take part in activities that were either intellectual or for the greater-good. He turned his nose up if I ever listened to pop music or indulged in an episode of Gossip Girl (two of my most beloved pastimes). I let his viewpoints influence me, and abandoned most of the lighthearted forms of entertainment in my life. I have since returned to my old ways, and I realize now more than ever the value of giving my mind a break, whether it is in-front of a television screen, behind the pages of a novel, or dancing around the living room to Miss Grande. I always emerge less stressed and more prepared to take on the mundane or harrowing bits of life. However, I must not and we must not bury our heads entirely in the sand, however tempting. Our country’s focus on popular culture has a lot to do with how we got into this mess in the first place. I can continue, and perhaps I will, to watch reruns of Gossip Girl and Sex and the City and to reread the pages of Harry Potter and The Catcher in the Rye for as long as I live, but maybe I would do better to spend more time reading and watching material that widens my understanding of the world, however painful it may be. I can use pop-culture as stress relief more sparingly, and keep in mind that my old pleasures will be right where I left them if I ever need them again. It is the first of the year and I am resolving to follow John Oliver’s advice and do more than just write this think piece. There are too many pressing matters to continue ignoring and more serious brainstorming on how I can make an impact begins now. I picture Holden as he saw himself, standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to catch any body in the rye from falling over. I hope that his arms are wide enough to catch a whole country, because we have elected a leader that appears to be running for the edge.

#thecatcherintherye postelection donaldtrump activism savetheplanet millennialmood

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