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soybeantree · 4 years

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pairing: grimreaper!do kyungsoo x (reader) genre/warning: fluff if you squint word count: 3k+ description: sequel to ‘revenant’. your life with kyungsoo comes with an unnatural amount of challenges. a/n: july installment...in december (don’t ask) of our ‘trying to write a kyungsoo story for every month that he is gone’ series. we know it’s the holiday season. we know this is spoopy. BUT we have finally reached year 2, which means sequals to a lot of our kyungsoo stories...or so i’m told. -em

Your father always said that life as the cemetery’s caretaker comes with more problems than benefits. Weird work schedule, no social life, constantly surrounded by the dead. You find little in your life to contradict him. Your current predicament only lends credence to his belief.

Waking up in a coffin without a body should startle you, but your father had also warned you this might happen. He had even had you spend afternoon’s in a coffin so you would understand where you were if or when it happened. Ghosts will always try to return to the world of the living. He had told you countless times. They have unfinished business; otherwise, they would pass on.

As caretaker, you have a connection to the dead. You can see them and communicate with them which comes in handy when you need them to stop destroying the hedges and defiling the mausoleums, but the connection also opens you to possession. Possessing the living is difficult for ghosts though, even with a connection. However, last night you had broken one of the cardinal rules of being a caretaker. You had gone to bed drunk.

You had come home after a long night of work to an email from the City Council with a list of complaints about your work. The flower beds needed weeding on the west end. Ivy had overgrown several prominent crypts in the east end. The walking paths by the north gate had unsightly cracks. The list went on and on. The City Council likes to forget that you are one person who can only work at night. All the other caretakers they have hired quit within the first week, and the Council wishes to maintain a pristine image of the cemetery for tourists which means that all work done must be done out of sight of them.

Halfway through the list you had popped a beer. You finished the first one before the clock struck eight. By noon, you had finished the remaining beers in your fridge and felt much better. You could laugh about the two malevolent spirits from the night before and the tornados of fury they had unleashed on five plots a piece. You reread through the Council’s demands, adding colorful commentary about what they could do with their list.

A competent caretaker would have stayed awake until they sobered, but a competent caretaker would have also stopped at two. You passed out on your couch which is why you were currently waking up in a coffin.

You sigh again. Your father will be so disappointed when he finds out. He was the previous caretaker and had gone his entire career without ever being possessed. He taught you because it was a necessary lesson of a caretaker, but he had patted your head and told you he believed you would never need the lesson. If you could bang your head against the coffin’s lid, you would.

As lying in the coffin will do nothing to aid your situation, you will yourself to rise through fake silk and mahogany and six feet of dirt into a new night. The cemetery awakens around you, familiar ghosts rising from their graves. They float with ease down paths as they go about their business. You struggle to move yourself down the path to the south gate which is blessedly close to the grave of your body snatcher.

“Can it truly be? A ghost has stolen our dear caretakers body.” The gleeful exclamation breaks your concentration and you stutter to a stop. Of all the ghosts to see you in this state, it had to be her.

You ignore her as you resume your journey. She floats circles around you, continuing to grin but maintaining silence. On her third trip around, you stop and raise your hand, staring at it. You wonder. She stops in front of you and chuckles. Hand extended, you place it on her cheek. It stops, unable to pass through. The place where hand meets cheek feels like the chill mist which rises from a waterfall but solid. Her brow furrows as you pull your hand back. Realization brightens her eyes, but too late. Your hand collides with her face and sends her flying feet from you.

She whines, a high pitched wail which has surely sent a chill rushing up some passerby's spine.

“For what reason, do I deserve such treatment?”

“I have a long list, but I’m certain you know what most of them are.”

Her nose scrunches up and her lips purse, but she keeps her peace. With a huff, she floats off.

You allow yourself a moment of pleasure. Being possessed is unacceptable for a caretaker, but it has a benefit. You have wanted to slap her for years.

After much struggle, you reach your house which rests near the cemetery. You glide through the door and head for the study. In the Caretaker's handbook, there is a section on what to do if possessed. You read it when you were young, but years have stolen much of the information from your memory.

The book sits on the middle shelf in a middle bookcase in the study, eye level with you. The peeling spine with its faded black script taunts you. The dead affecting the dead is an easy task, but the dead affecting the living world takes years of practice and a deal of determination. Your hand swipes through the book over and over again as your frustration mounts. You shriek. A gust of wind rushes through the room rustling the pages on your desk, but the book remains locked in its spot.

Aside from you, no one in the city can see ghosts. There’s a girl down the street who might be able to hear them, but once her ears open, she can never close them. You will leave her to her oblivion. No one should have to deal with the constant pestering of ghosts. You make another swipe at the book with no hope and no alternative.

“Do you require assistance?”

Another benefit to add about being possessed: no blushing. Also no shivering. No indication of embarrassment or attraction.

Spinning like a ballerina in a music box, you face Kyungsoo, your cemetery‘s designated reaper and your first crush. The answer is ‘yes’, but you’d rather him go away and pretend he never saw you in this state. “Do you know how to reverse a possession?”

He blinks, the gesture odd on his solemn face. After a moment, he shakes his head. “I have never had to deal with a possession since becoming a reaper.”

You nod. Of course, you would be his first possession. “In that case, could you grab that book?” You point at the guide. When he does, you direct him to set it on your desk and consult the index for the section on possession. Page 74. He flips the pages and settles it before you.

“It seems simple enough.” You muse. “Find my body. Remove the spirit. Re-enter my body. You can remove a spirit, right?” A glance at Kyungsoo negates your simple comment. “What?”

“I can remove the spirit with my scythe.” The large metal hook shimmers into existence on his back when he starts the word and disappears again when he finishes. “However, it would be a permanent removal. A spirit guilty of possession does warrant such punishment.” His voice is soft, and you can sense the ‘but’ he leaves unspoken.

Kyungsoo, like you, has a soft spot for wayward ghosts. Rather than send every malevolent spirit to hell, he attempts to coax them back to themselves.

“Then I’ll have to convince it to leave. Which shouldn’t be too hard if I can figure out what it’s unfinished business is.” Kyungsoo’s brows furrow. “It’s easier than you think.” You shrug as you glide past him, your movement less stilted now but still difficult.

“As caretaker,” you continue, pausing in front of another bookshelf. “Can you grab the last book on the third shelf?” He does and sets it by the Guide. “It is my responsibility to catalogue each plot and document its resident. Open it at the bookmark. The grave I woke in is fairly recent, probably in the last year. Flip back a few pages. Stop!” Your finger hovers over the page as you scroll down the list of names. “This one.” Lee, May. Buried June fifth. About six months ago then. Beside her name is the superscript III.

Gliding over to yet another shelf, you scan for the corresponding notebook. “Can you…” The request peters out as you glance back at Kyungsoo. His dark eyes shift between the book on the desk, you, and the bookshelves around you, and you can imagine the cogs in his brain turning as he puzzles the pieces together.

“Cataloguing their name, date of death, and resting spot is the responsibility of a caretaker, but why notate about their lives?” He asks.

“My grandmother taught me too.” You pause as grief stirs. Even as a ghost, the emotion rises. She moved on. No lingering regrets kept her tied to this place. Kyungsoo, himself, saw her off.

“She said a proper caretaker knows her charges; otherwise, she can’t do her job properly. Dad didn’t see the purpose in it.” Your gaze shifts to a shelf with one growing volume. In what little free time you have, you have started to go through the burials in his time and record the details of the dead.

“Your grandmother was a great caretaker.” Warmth fills his voice, or perhaps jealousy is fueling your imagination. Kyungsoo has been the cemetery’s reaper since before your grandmother’s time. She was a great caretaker. She loved her work, and, unlike you, had never shirked her responsibility.

“Yes.” You say because the alternative is an awkward silence. “Can you grab this one for me?” Without a glance back, you indicate the notebook with the corresponding III. His arm reaches past you, his body against your back. You wish you could feel his presence.

He sets the notebook on the table and opens it to the date of her death. You read through the entry, ignoring him and focusing on the task at hand. May Lee left behind a husband and a son. The son is twenty-four. The quick sketch of his face at the bottom of the page resurfaces the memories from that day.

Even though the funerals occur during the day when you sleep, you drag yourself from your bed to attend. From a distance, you record the key points of the event, mainly who comes and how the new ghost reacts to their farewell. Mrs. Lee had stood beside her weeping son throughout the entire service. Her face had been a mess as she had reached for him. She had grown more and more distraught each time her arms passed through him instead of wrapping around him.

“Her son. Whatever her reason for possessing my body is, it has to do with her son.” You snap your fingers and miss the satisfying sound of the click. “Can you turn the page? His address should be on the next page?” Kyungsoo does. Closing your eyes, you picture the words and repeat them to yourself.

“Would you like me to bring the book with us?”

“Us?” Your eyes snap open, and you stare at him.

He nods. “I will accompany you. Unless you no longer wish my assistance.”

You could write a check list of your body’s reactions to this moment and are again grateful that your spirit lacks the ability to create any of them. “I mean if you’re not busy.” With a smile, he closes the book and tucks it under his arm before waving you onward.

Kyungsoo matches your snail’s pace. With each block you pass, your irritation rises, and you begin to realize why most ghosts only haunt the cemetery. Even if you had better control, it would still take forever to get anywhere around town and beyond. “Can ghosts learn how to ride in cars?” You ask as another one whizzes down the road.

“Yes, but it takes great concentration to maintain a solid enough form and often results in sightings which lead to Grim Intervention.” You nod in understanding and keep trudging forward.

A chill like the first breath of autumn air settles on your hand, and a glance reveals Kyungsoo’s wrapped around it. His skin has no texture, no solidity, but it holds yours. He pulls you along beside him.

“I suppose I should have known that a reaper could affect the dead world as well as the living.”

“If my assistance insults–” He begins to pull away, but you tighten your grip, an odd sensation like trying to grasp the wind.

“It doesn’t. I appreciate it, especially if it means I’ll get to my body faster.” Though you are enjoying the time with him. “We both have important duties waiting for us.” The cemetery comes first.

The son’s house sits at the edge of town. A monstrous structure of red bricks and white columns and far too many balconies. Despite the late hour, several cars still circle the fountain at the driveways center. Lights shine through the windows, and you catch the shadows of figures as they pass in front of them.

Kyungsoo pulls you through the front gate and up the drive to the glittering building. You pass by groups of people as you traverse the mansion’s halls, searching for your face amongst the unfamiliar ones. Deciding that May must be with her son whose presence is also lacking from the assembled guests, Kyungsoo leads you up the stairs, a feat impossible without him. Your ghostly form responds well to front and back and left and right, but up and down prove difficult.

The second floor breathes an air of relief, the crowds unwelcome in this private space. It begs the question though why the son would be alone up here with so many guests below. You pop your heads into the rooms as you pass. They are stale with emptiness. If you were human, you would shiver, but as you are, you sigh and walk past.

Turning a corner, a pair of doors greets you, light lining its bottoms and sides. In front of the doors, your body stands. A hand hovers over the knob.

“He won’t recognize you.” You call, startling the figure. “You’ll just be some random, crazy girl.” May stares back at you, your face paling whether because of you or the reaper is left to the imagination. “We’re not here to harm you. I just want my body back.”

“My son-” Your voice breaks, the sound stiffens your spine. You refuse to cry in front of others.

“I know you miss him. It’s not easy to let someone go, but this is dangerous. If I was here with any other reaper-”

“I promised him.” She cuts you off with another sob, covering your face with your hand. The sight roils your stomach.

The cool breeze of Kyungsoo’s touch settles on your shoulder. They ease as you meet his eyes and acknowledge the unspoken words. You glide back as he walks forward, stopping a few feet from her.

“May, please come with us. You hurt your chances standing outside his room, engaging in a one-sided conversation.” His low voice eases hand from mouth and calms shaking shoulders. She nods and places your hand in his proffered one.

One of the empty rooms offers a safe place for conversation. May begins, “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have taken your body, but I promised my son.” The words quaver on a sob, and you fold your ghostly arms to keep you from doing something regrettable. You need to coax her out and random displays of aggression won’t help.

“He became engaged when I was admitted to the hospital.” She continues once she has calmed again. “He told me I had to get better, so I could come to the wedding. I promised him I would and that I would tie his tie. He’s always been awful at it.” A sniffle and a smile punctuate the statement. “The wedding is tomorrow.” Tears pool again. Sympathy wars with annoyance, so you fix your attention on Kyungsoo. The eerie serenity of a reaper holds his features in place as he awaits the story’s conclusion. You force your features to mirror his. “I want to keep my promise. I had no intention of stealing your body when I came. I only wanted to asked for your help, but-”

“You saw an opportunity and took it.” You shake your head. Any ghost would have. A caretaker courts danger during every moment of their job. A good caretaker prepares for it. Both your father and grandmother drilled this fact into your head, and you had failed them. Despite your annoyance at her for such a disgusting display of emotions in front of Kyungsoo, you understand. Your grandmother made many promises and passed without warning. She would have never attempted a return, but you wish she had.

“No matter your reasons, your actions are a damnable offense.” So much for coaxing her out.

You suppress the accompanying moan, the sound unseemly on the eve of a wedding. Your attempts to gain Kyungsoo’s attention and redirect the conversation fail. His focus remains solely on May. “The longer you remain in this body the more you will draw the notice of other reapers.”

A shudder shakes your body, and again you try for his attention in vain. “For your sake, you must leave. We will find a way for you to keep your promise to your son.” He holds his hand out to her while you gape at the both of them. Why even come along if he was going to go with the brutally honest approach.

May’s hand rises from within your body. The spectral fingers grasp Kyungsoo’s, and he pulls the rest of her out. Your body falls limp to the floor, a creepy shell with lifeless eyes. You blink, and the eyes blink back at you.

Closing your eyes, you mimic the inhale of breath. The Guide had said in order to return you must remember the feel of your body. The way your chest expands with each gulp of air, the weight of skin upon bones, and the steady beat of your heart in your veins. Opening your eyes, you look up at May and Kyungsoo from the floor. As you sit up, you take stock of your body, wiggling fingers and toes and stretching muscles.

“I didn’t expect it to feel so weird.” You muse, pushing yourself off the floor. Your legs wobble beneath you, and Kyungsoo grabs your arm to steady you. His solid hands are cool still, but the thrill of an autumn breeze is missing.

“It will feel normal soon enough.” He promises.

Whether he’s right, only time will tell. In the meantime, you have a promise to keep. “How are we going to help her tie her son's tie? I have no idea how to do it, and I doubt he would want a reaper doing it.” You continue to lean on Kyungsoo as you glance between him and May.

“May will walk you through it, and you will help him to see her.” His confidence is nearly strong enough to make you confident, but not quite.

“She can make me visible to my son?”

Your “no” contrasts with his “yes”, and you stare at each other in a silent battle. Your grandmother and father trained you in all the abilities of a Caretaker. Neither of them had mentioned the ability to make ghosts visible to the living. You communicate this through your glare while Kyungsoo returns it with quiet confidence. “How?” You finally mutter, pulling your arm from him to fold it across your chest.

“Through your will. As a caretaker, you are a bridge between the living and the dead.”

“And as a grim reaper aren’t you the same?”

He shakes his head. “I am a gateway for the dead and am able to affect the world of the living because the dead do.”

“Please.” Your protest dies on your lips as May rushes towards you, her sad smile full of hope. She reaches for your hand, her fingers passing through it but you feel them comb through your palm. You shiver. “Will you try? I can teach you how to do his tie.”

Holding her gaze bolsters the shred of confidence Kyungsoo instilled. “How do I will it?”

“You already are.”

As you watch, color returns to May, her body solidifying before you. The light from the chandelier above still casts no shadow, but the wall behind her is lost to her form. You grasp her hand. The skin is soft and will give under the slightest pressure, but you can feel it.

“Creepy.” You whisper. An odd word for a caretaker, but today has been an odd day.

The rest goes easy, or as easy as telling someone that their dead mother is going to keep her promise through you and then making their dead mother appear before them can be. The fact that her son knows about you from rumors around town does help though. After the initial shock, everything does go easy. The next day May’s son allows you to tie his tie while she stands visible beside you.

Her promise full-filled, May faces Kyungsoo ready to pass into the beyond. But Kyungsoo allows her another mercy. The three of you stand at the back of the wedding hall to watch the union, and when her son glances back after his first kiss with his wife, you will her to appear. She waves, her face beaming with joy. You smile, and when you glance at Kyungsoo, you find a smile on his lips too.

#hmw #kyungsoo collection #d.o.#do kyungsoo #kyungsoo #exo #g: fluff #g: spoop

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blackevermore · 3 years

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x Secrets of The Lake: The Company of Misery and Pain

{ Chapter 12 }

Summary: Vladimir Masters’ family tree has always been tainted by secrets swept under the rug. From generation to generation there have been countless reasons the Masters’ family had seemed to keep private from the public. Even to this day, Vladimir was no exception. But what was one to do when a restless spirit from the settlement years finally breaks free from restraints and demands you answer for your ancestor’s crimes? Vladimir doesn’t know. However, Clockworks does.

Notes: We just having fun, rewriting some of the canon, new adventure new characters. I will apologize now for any grammar, spelling, weird sentence structuring in advance. My brain writes faster than my fingers and even when I go back through to reread it I still miss things. Sorry about that!

Word Count: 3992

P.s: This chapter was...something to say the least. Maybe a bit out of place but I promise I'll make up for it.

He didn’t know how long he stared into his computer screen, watching the cursor blink impatiently for the rest of the email. There were only three lines worth reading and the first two were introductions of having a good day and hoping to be found in good health. After that, he couldn’t remember his mind fading away until he heard the sound of his office phone ringing. Blinking a few times and determining the email could wait till later. He closed the laptop and turned towards the phone to check the small caller ID screen. It was another business call that the secretary pushed through and Vlad didn’t really feel up to answering it. He pressed the wait button then switched the lines to call to the secretary desk.

“Yes, Sir?” The chipper voice answered and Vlad winced, she was always too happy for his liking.

“Hold all my calls.” Vlad loosen his bowtie from around his neck and shrugged off his suit jacket.

“Of course, Sir.” Vlad hung up the call and leaned back in his chair taking a deep breath and letting it out. Ever since he left the house he could feel a small throbbing pain in his core. He did his best to ignore it, waving it off as nothing more than a phantom pain from a few days ago. But as he tried to go about his day he found himself wincing and clinching his chest every so often. The amount of ‘are you okay’ and ‘do you need a moment’ were getting rather annoying, and thus an hour ago Vlad locked himself inside his office. A slow hand made its way up to his chest once more and Vlad held it there. Tayonna must have really tied herself to him during their first meeting for pain like this to continue. As another faint throb did its course, Vlad felt himself being somewhat paranoid and worried. For who or for what he didn’t know, but the emotions were there and he didn’t know what to do with them. And then, like a snap of a finger, the emotions and the pain in his core were all gone, leaving him breathing heavy.

He sat up and rubbed his temple trying to figure out what was happening. He couldn’t continue like this until the end of the day. Making up his mind he grabbed his jacket and headed towards the door.

“Sir?” the secretary jumped as Vlad stormed past her.

“I’m ending my day early, any messages or papers that I need to review I will do so tomorrow. Good day Mrs Andrews.” Vlad didn’t care that he was yelling halfway across the office space as he headed towards the elevator. When he hit the button for the elevator he quickly grew anxious as he watched the floors ding one by one. Cursing the world he turned on his heels and walked over to the stairwell. When the door closed behind him and he peeked over the railing to make sure he was actually alone, he turned ghost and zoomed down to the last floor. Turning human again he quickly walked out the emergency exit towards the parking lot. It was when Vlad finally made it to his car and into the driver's seat that he realized he didn’t want to go home. Naturally, he would be on autopilot after work to get in and drive home. But right now, in the newfound free time he has given himself, he didn’t want to go there. Empty or not. Starting the car Vlad chose not to make any real decisions and drove any which way he felt like turning the wheel.

For three hours Vlad mindlessly drove around Amity enjoying the scenery. Even in places he visited constantly he found new hidden beauties. Has the town always been this lovely? Vlad couldn’t recall nor really remember how often he was able to go out and actually look. Of course, Vlad made sure to do his mayoral duties while in office which consisted of many community projects. But he never truly got to see the outcomes of them, this was amazing, more so than he imagined. He made a mental note that he would have to put time aside for himself to go out in nature. By boy scout honour Vlad swore it that he and nature would once again connect in dear time. As Vlad continued to drive around somewhere on the lower east side of the town a call came through his car’s display.

“Masters speaking,” Vlad answered.

“I called your office and Almeria said you ended your day early?” Kate sounded a bit breathless on the other end, she was most likely walking somewhere. Vlad huffed quietly.

“Today doesn’t seem like my day either.” He grumbled.

“Water pipes still busted?”

“Hmm...yes and it cost so much to get them repaired.” Vlad had nearly forgotten the lie he had told everyone. Between the morning meetings, the concerned employees, and the pain in his core, Vlad didn't really hold that lie up as important to remember since no one had asked.

“You’re rich, you should be fine. I called to tell you I finished meeting with one of the historians at the Virginia State Library.” Kate pulled away from the phone to give a quick ‘pardon me’ then continued. “There weren’t any recorded documents of any members of your family settling nor doing business in central Virginia during the 17th century. As you know the records the state library has ranges across the whole state. However, there is another library that I’ve contacted that has another set of records that covers small businesses and land that also date back as far. I’ve already set up an appointment to meet with them tomorrow.” Kate pulled away from the phone once more to order a small coffee and a cookie and Vlad felt his sweet tooth spring to life.

“Well good news to you, Miss Way, I have a name that will narrow your search. Vladan Masters, or at the time Masters would have been spelt M, the A and the E would have been mashed together, G I S T E R. Look closer to the end of the 1600s as that’s when he would have been of age or so.” Vlad felt a weird shiver crawl up his back as he spoke the name. Almost like hands latching onto his shoulders and shaking him a bit. He quickly rolled his shoulders and tried to shake it off but it still lingered.

“Right, thank you, Sir, I’ll let you know what I find.” Vlad hung up the call and before he could actually figure out where he was during his little drive. He was parking his car right outside his home. Vlad didn’t want to go in, but he couldn’t sit in the car the rest of the day. ‘You seriously can’t allow some ghost to kick you out of your own house’ Vlad thought to himself taking another look out the side of the passenger window up towards his mansion.

“Of course not,” Vlad scoffed and got out of the car and headed up the stone steps to his front door. Looking around for any nosy neighbors to make sure the coast was clear. Vlad ghosted through the door and hung up his jacket on the coat hanger. He couldn’t feel any form of energy on the main floor, the house felt almost as cold as it did a few years ago. Vlad hated to remember how empty and alone he was during his darker years of self isolation. He could remember how sad he actually was when the only person waiting for him was Maddie the cat. But when she passed the home grew cold till Dani was brought back and welcomed Vlad’s offer. Vlad teleported into the kitchen in a poof and looked around, nothing, he poofed to one of the living rooms and still no one, he did this all over the first floor until he confirmed the ghost wasn’t around. He floated upstairs and towards the guest room and looked inside and that’s when a feeling of calm settled through his body. Tayonna sat on the bed looking out the windows down towards the garden.

“Evening Miss Tayonna,” Vlad cleared his throat and walked inside but stayed close to the door. The ghost turned around from the window and Vlad could have stumbled over himself at the sight of her. The sun was high in the sky and hung over her like a halo and made her seem to glow. Specks of the sun peeked through her curls warming her skin into a soft brown with red undertones, and her eyes seemed to glow a soft green. She has always taken my breath away. She still wore her stoic expression of wariness and yet it made her seem untouchable. Vlad didn’t know he was holding his breath until his lungs began to scream for air. He tried to not make it obvious as he exhaled and nodded towards her.

“Masters.” Tayonna nodded back towards the man then turned back towards the garden. Vlad felt his heart sting in pain at how cold his name came from her lips. Had he wished for her to call him the wrong name again? Or maybe just not as bitter? He was used to others calling him Masters in an aggressive manner but with this ghost, Vlad knew he didn’t like it.

“I would like to talk to you about this problem you are facing and see if I will be able to aid you.” Vlad didn’t move from his spot, he knew moving closer wouldn’t be a smart move, and the last thing he needed was a blast to the face. One less fight was best for the both of them.

“Help me? How can you help me when you-...when he isn’t here to be held accountable for his crimes.” Tayonna’s words were bitter and came as more of an attack on Vlad even when she corrected herself. She pulled her knees closer to herself and tucked her head into the space between her body.

“Well for starters you could begin with telling me where you’re from and how you became a part of my family.” Vlad tested the water by taking a few steps closer towards her but quickly stopped when he saw her jerk up and narrow her eyes at him. He held up his hands and raised his eyebrows to show he meant no harm and Tayonna seemed to let her guard down. “May I?” Vlad pointed to the edge of the bed and Tayonna pulled her feet in so there was more space between them. Vlad took that as a yes and sat down comfortably on the edge. He crossed his legs and waited for the other to respond to him. He hoped it would be soon because his tolerance was low and he wouldn’t be doing this all night if he didn’t have to.

“I was brought from the coast, stolen from my people and bought by yours.” Vlad wanted to correct her, his family hadn’t done it, but he knew she meant more so the colour of his skin. “Luther picked me like a friend and his parents were against it.” Vlad wanted to cheer for the fact he had been right. “But he begged them and eventually I was brought to their home. I was ordered to stay by Luther’s side and aid him.” Vlad was surprised by how much he was getting from her. He was sure all day yesterday it would have been hard to get her to talk. But he supposed it was better than having to build up trust over the course of days then finally getting somewhere.

“Do you remember where the family lived?” Vlad turned more towards the girl in hopes he could read her expression. He could tell it pained her to talk about it. Before Vlad could register what he was doing he stuck out a hand and took hers, flipping it over so her palm faces upward and used his thumb to rub circles in the middle. Tayonna gasped softly and she looked between him and what he was doing before yanking her hand back towards her. “I-I’m sorry, I have no idea why I did that.” Vlad held his head and quickly turned away from her. At that moment he had a strong thought that he knew how to calm her down. He knew exactly how to use his thumb to draw small circles and how it would make her feel a bit better. When he touched her, he even felt calmer, relaxed and dare say remorseful.

“No, I don’t,” Tayonna answered and turned back towards the window. Vlad nodded and shot to his feet to leave. He didn’t turn back as he strolled towards his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. Vlad quickly kicked off his shoes and fell into his armchair. His mind was now a scattered mess as he scolded himself for doing something inappropriate, if he kept feeling this pulling feeling towards her he was going to get nowhere. Every time he got too close, Vlad’s mind would draw a blank and he would feel and think things that weren’t true. He felt dangerous emotions he would consider private and untouched that would muddy and mix. Vlad grumbled a fruit and snapped his fingers. A ghost maid was quick to manifest beside him and he told her to bring him a drink. Within seconds the maid was back with a tray of not only a full glass but also the whole bottle. Vlad smirked and silently thanked her for being so generous.

He slowly took sips as he thought of something else to distract him. Work, no, the drive home, not enough, how annoyed he was, that was never a good one. Then finally he found it, though he had told himself he had moved on slightly he still couldn't help himself to think of Madeline. The way her beautiful blue eyes shined as bright as the moon, or the way her now short fiery hair framed her much more mature face. The way she laughed, the way she carried herself with so much power and confidence, the way she could be so serious and yet so caring. Surely it had to be from having children that made her softer but underneath she was hellfire and Vlad could only dream of having her. Dream of what it would have been if he had had the chance to truly woo her.

I have to say sorry, she has to understand. There it was, the little voice in his head that he couldn’t make vanish. Understand what? Vlad shook his head and took another sip of his drink trying to get back to his little fantasy. ‘Maybe two drinks would be better than one’ Vlad thought to himself and finished off the rest before pouring more. I was scared, we both were scared. ‘Scared of what?’ Vlad didn’t want to acknowledge the voice, he didn’t care, he wanted nothing more than to forget about it. He tried to down his second glass but the burn in the back of his throat made it a bit impossible. Vlad was never a heavy drinker unless time called for it, but he always had to drink slowly even then. ‘What were you scared of?’ Vlad grumbled and tried his best to ward off the voice and his lingering questions. She has to know why I did it. Vlad quickly figured out the voice in his head spoke of something else. But of what was still a mystery.

“Shut up,” Vlad grumbled but that only made the voice get louder and louder. It had started as a whisper yards away, but now it was as loud as someone speaking right into his ear. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Vlad covered his ears as the voice started to ramble on and on about forgiveness and how sorry it was. Then like an ice shower, the voice in his head changed and sounded just like him. I love her. Vlad felt something standing behind him and jumped from his seat and turned around to shoot off an ectoblast. He manically looked around and soon landed on the red mist floating down towards the ground and slipping out of the door.

“Get away from me!” Vlad's ears rang in slight pain as Tayonna’s voice rose to a dangerous scream. He stumbled over his feet to get out of his room, the red mist was slowly making its way towards the guest room and Vlad heard Tayonna scream again. I had to protect her. Vlad knew these weren’t his thoughts but he felt the pull of energy flowing through him to aid Tayonna. He turned into Plasmius and shot through the walls until he arrived in the room. Vlad gasped as the room was filled to the ceiling in the red mist swirling around like angry thunder clouds. Tayonna was no longer on the bed but the floor on her knees holding herself. Vlad flew down and tried to touch her but a force threw him back against the wall.

Vlad groaned and got back onto his feet, in front of him the mist pulled together like a thick wall between him and Tayonna. Tayonna was beginning to cry and Vlad felt his body act on its own as he tried to shoot down the wall with an ectoray. But like jelly, the mist gobbled up his shots and swallowed them. As he continued his attacks the mist twisted inwards forming into a face. Vlad’s face but in a way he was unfamiliar with, pure anger and laced linings of betrayal. The mist then began to shrink into a silhouette of Vlad and slowly stocked its way towards him. Vlad gritted his teeth and clenched his fists as he activated his electric powers. He could only faintly remember Tayonna doing this so it had to work. As the mist got closer Vlad shot at it, stunning it a few times but never stopping it fully. The closer it got the angrier Vlad was and a bit worried about what was going to happen. Tayonna was still too choked up on the ground to do anything, not that she could with the collar on.

“Blasted!” Vlad yelled cursing himself for putting that thing on her. She would have been so helpful right now. “You’re nothing but memories of the past! You’ve done nothing but make her restless and cause trouble for everyone.” Vlad didn’t know why he spoke to the mist as if could hear. But somehow he knew it understood him by the way it would stop a few times. He watched as the mist’s face would halt then twist back into anger, his anger, his rage, Vlad felt it. “Memories can be destroyed, forgotten, and even replaced! You are nothing!” Vlad yelled out once more but that seemed to only make it worse. Within a few quick like static steps, the mist took hold of Vlad by the neck in a vice grip.

Vlad’s eyes widened as the red mist started to turn human, starting from the fingertips the mist vanished and a tan hand gripped tighter. Like water being sucked out of a stream the mist finally reached the face and Vlad’s heart stopped beating and his core ran cold. He was staring a variant of himself right in the eyes, like an angry lion who had finally had enough of its prey. The doppelganger was every bit of Vlad had he never been shot by Jack’s prototype. Tan skin that saw the softer days of being outside, vibrant cold blue eyes, and dark raven hair that fell a bit beyond the shoulders. But this Vlad seemed so out of place by the clothes he wore. Like a puzzle solving itself Vlad knew now. This was Vladan. This was the person Tayonna was looking for.

“Then we must help her forgive.” Vlad felt the chills run down his back as he heard his own voice but with a thick German accent. As he tried to pull away and attack once more his doppelganger pulled him closer and squeezed his neck. Vlad gasps and he wishes he hadn’t as he felt the mist starting to fill his body. Vladan began to fade away but the grip on Vlad’s neck stayed as all the mist was sucked into his body like smoke. It burned the back of his throat as the fire in his body became sporadic. He felt a clench on both his heart and his core as mist filled his lungs and seeped into his bloodstream. Every muscle in his body began to clench causing him to fall to the floor only being able to catch himself with his hands. Vlad’s vision began to blur in pure red and he was blind to everything around him. Vlad felt himself fighting and losing control over his body as the pain shot up and down, finally nesting into his chest. He couldn’t scream, the only sound to leave his body were broken breathless grunts and pants. His airways were beginning to collapse.

“Let go of him,” Vlad could faintly hear Tayonna’s voice getting close to him. “Get away from him or I’ll take all of us down.” Tayonna crawled towards Vlad and shakenly placed her hand on his back. She said something in a language Vlad couldn’t understand before a wave of pressure shot Vlad down completely to the ground. The hold on his body released as Vlad heard himself scream above him. The mist lifted halfway out of Vlad’s body with a painful scream then dove back in. Tayonna said the same words over and Vlad felt the weight of the world push him down again. He didn’t feel any pain anymore from his chest but whatever Tayonna was doing did start to hurt. Vlad tried to push himself up to stop Tayonna but she pushed him back down with the same line of words.

“Tayonna wait,” Vlad said breathlessly and weakly as he once again tried to get out of her hold. “Tayonna stop.”

“Get out of him!” Vlad had somehow managed to roll away before Tayonna could mumble her words again and send him slamming into the floor. Vlad felt his powers cave and he turned human. His hair had managed to fall out of its ponytail and pool in front of his face. Vlad didn’t have the strength to push it out of his way as he felt Tayonna move closer to him. He felt her hand inch closer and he quickly spun around to grab her wrist and pull her down. He rolled them on the floor so he was now on top of her with a tight grip on both of her wrists. He panted hard, he felt so tired but yet he had to keep her down. Inside his body he could still feel the mist travelling through him and then settled into the middle of his core. With a deep gasp, Vlad felt the mist absorbed itself into him. Still breathless and near the brink of passing out, Vlad let go of one of her wrists and brought his hand to her cheek.

“Meine Geliebte,” Vlad knew it wasn’t he who whispered it but he felt the power behind it as he finally felt his body give out and roll off of Tayonna. Tayonna was frozen to the ground as she replayed the words over and over in her ears. Through the same colour eyes, Tayonna saw the man she had once loved. A single tear rolled down her cheek as her eyes stayed wide and her body became numb.

#📖Ghost Stories👻#vlad masters #danny phantom #dp fanfic #my writing #self ship community

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joeys-piano · 4 years

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Joey’s Writing Process - Questionnaire

Was inspired by an authortube questionnaire tag thingy from YouTube and wanted to answer those questions and post them here~

You could say I was tagged by Kelley Tai from the authortube community because I decided to do this after hearing her responses to these questions ^^

What genres do you write?

Being someone who doesn’t write for a specific genre in mind, I dabble in everything and anything -- depending on the concept in my mind. But during the past few months, I can summarize that most of my works would be considered contemporary. Whether it’s young adult, romance, or a few character studies I was interested in. The kinds of genres I typically play with are dependent on the fandom I’m writing for.

What setting gets you the most productive?

I am the most productive when I’m writing in a quiet, comfortable spot. Preferably, alone because I talk while I’m writing. So because of that, I mostly write in my bedroom or private living space -- it lets me jabber on and on and read as loudly to my heart’s content.

As well, as long as I have a sturdy structure to lean my back against and a soft blanket or pillow to drape over my lap, that is my ideal writing setup as I kickback on my laptop. Somewhere during these past two semesters, I’ve conditioned myself to be my most creative when I’m on my portable laptop because my brain has associated it with “fun” and “chill time” while my workhorse, gaming laptop has been associated with “academic” and “not-so-fun stuff.”

If you have multiple story ideas, how do you go about picking which one to start on first?

The ideal response would me saying: “I’m picking the work that has the most potential, is the most fleshed out, follows the current reading trends, etc…”

But in all honesty, there’s only two criteria I use when narrowing down multiple projects: 1) how am I feeling? and 2) which one will I make time for? I know myself well enough that when I’m very interested in an idea, I will carve out time and do everything in my power to work on that story -- despite all the nonsense I have to do for life and uni. And this is dependent on how I’m currently feeling and what story ideas resonate with that feeling.

I’m well aware that as creatives, it’s unwise to have our emotions dictate what we’re doing because it can make us wishy-washy and that’s how excuses crop up. I get it, I know it, I’m staring it down it down the pie hole. But in spite of this flaw, it works really well with my writing style because I’m more emotion and introspective-heavy. If I’m not feeling for what’s going on, I just shelve the idea for a while and come back to it when I’m in the right vibe. And that works well since I’m a short story writer, and it lets me pivot easily and not be stuck in a specific mood for long. I believe that’s why chapter-works are so hard for me because I’m stuck in a perpetual mood and it’s very exhausting.

Do you outline?

I only outline as much as I need to know -- meaning that, I outline enough to get the momentum rolling and for me to put thoughts onto paper and to get the story flowing. As a pantser with recurring self-doubts, I use outlines as a way of motivation and to convince myself that an idea isn’t as (insert self-doubt) as I originally thought. Because of this approach, I love knowing what my beginning will be and I will outline the shit out of that while I leave the middle and ending up to my interpretation as I pants my way through the story and see where it naturally goes.

That’s why whenever you read my works, you’ll notice how solid the beginning is and how it meanders towards the end. Because at that point, I’m flowing by feeling and am steering the story to where it wants to go. Having this loose trajectory is great for me because I’m often inserting bridge moments or extra scenes or am embellishing something throughout the story, and that gives my stories the texture that make them a bit more exciting.

Do you start your first draft with pen and paper, typewriter, or computer?

I computer everything.

With how weak my finger, hand, wrist and arm nerves and muscles have been, I can’t write by hand for very long and I don’t have the funds to purchase a typewriter, the ink or the special paper that those need. So a laptop is my go-to and it saves me a lot of physical clutter.

What do you do to get through writer's block?

Read, watch, and listen to as much as content as I can get my hands on if I’m experiencing a creative burnout and if it’s hard for me to find ideas that I want to devote my time to. If the writer block is stemming from doubts that I have, I like to read quotes from Goodreads and to expose myself to other styles and concepts or just reading how someone worded something in a certain way. Because that expands the choices where I can take my writing or concept, and it’s motivation in its own way as I truck forward with what I’m doing.

Do you format your project from the beginning or worry about that later?

Font: Times New Roman Font Size: 11 Font Color: White Page Color: Black Line Spacing: 1.15, space after a paragraph

Every time I open up a new word document, those are my go-to configurations for a successful write. I believe a few years ago, I read something about how writing with a dark page is easier on the eyes. So ever since I did that, I’ve never looked back.

Do you edit as you go or when you're finished with the first draft?

Many writing advices out there say that you shouldn’t write as you go, and they have convincing reasons as to why. However, for my writing style, I do edit as I go and it’s worked really well for me -- especially since I’m a pantser. Because whenever I feel stuck, I know it’s because something earlier in the work isn’t working well for me. So I often reread and edit as I do so and revise and shape the story to where I left off and I know where to go.

It’s why I don’t have a “true” first draft. Because in actuality, different parts of my draft are in different stages of the writing process. So in a sense, I have a living draft that is whatever it wants to be.

I will say that this is much easier to handle when the work is short, but I’ve done this for 12k, 15k, 22k stories before. It’s a lot harder and it’s very exhausting, but it does work and I have systems in place to keep me moving forward.

After finishing your drafts/manuscript how long do you give it a break before you start going back over it or do you give it a break at all?

As I mentioned in the previous question, I revise and edit as I go so it’s difficult for me to answer this question. However, I try to give myself a few hours or at least half a day away from the story before I come back to it and continue where I left off.

I will take breaks between short story projects (at least one day). But other than that, that’s it.

Is there something that you prefer to do to get you through writing? (Playing music, tv, having your favorite drink, or food)

I love starting my writing session by listening to some music I don’t mind repeating for a long time and listening to music that vibes with what I’m doing. And if I’m beginning a story, I like to go on Goodreads and read some opening quotes or random lines to get my gears turning as I approach my writing. If I’m picking up from where I left off, I like to reread from the beginning or from a beginning marker that I’ve left behind and go from there to where I left off so I can get back into the moment.

Do you schedule your writing sessions?

I write whenever I can -- through pockets of time. So no, I don’t have a schedule.

However, I tend to begin stories or at least through the density of them through the morning to around the early afternoon. In the early evening and late at night, that’s when I’m loosely outlining and brainstorming new ideas because my inner-editor is a lot quieter than those periods.

Do you have word count or chapter goals for your writing sessions?

No. However much I write, that’s how much I write.

It could be 300 words in one day, or it could be 1.8k words in one day. Wildly depends on how I’m feeling and how I’m scheduling everything else in my life around my writing.

Are there any quirky things you do to make your projects more fun?

I did a lot of poetry before I got serious with narrative writing, so something that I do to make the writing more fun is that I incorporate poetry techniques into my stories and use that rhythm to have it interesting. This feeds into my writing habit of reading out loud as I work and because I’m stressing on how the rhythm goes and how it sounds when I hear it, much of what I write is meant for the ear -- rather than the eyes.

Do you work on multiple projects at one time?

My brain can only handle one story concept at a time. Already, writing takes a lot out of me and I would run myself ragged if I had to juggle more than one in a single day.

How often do you research what you're writing?

Depends on the work itself.

If I’m writing my first fic for a fandom or am writing for a character or pairing I’m not comfortable, I’ll research around on fandom wikipedia and read a few works from other writers to get a sense of how I could approach the character or pairing.

I’m working on a story that’s heavily involved in a certain topic or whatnot, I will go ham on that research because I want to know the rules of what I’m incorporating and how I can spin those rules to find solutions. However, it’s been a long while since I’ve done something like this.

How do you organize your projects?

I write in a word document whose only purpose is for me to draft, revise and edit on. After I’m finished with that story, I transfer that work onto a new word document and shelve that to a “Completed Folder.”

There’s something about having a word document purely dedicated to just the writing process, there’s something about that helps me out a lot. I don’t know what it is, but it feels like there’s magic there. There’s thousands upon thousands of blood, sweat and tears drenched into that word document and I just build upon that and let it carry me through. It’s very motivating on a primitive level.

Do you reward or punish yourself for achieving or missing out on your writing goals?

No.

I’ve done something like this in the past and it just didn’t work out because it spiked my anxiety. I don’t know how to define my relationship with writing, but it’s definitely not that. It feels more like a friendship than a -- than a platonic BDSM, work-related creative thingy. I don’t take pleasure in pain nor pain in pleasure, so yeah. No.

Are there any works similar to your projects that you look for and use - for inspiration and/or comparison?

Again, Goodreads quotes for inspiration. That’s about it.

How early do you wait to start looking for and hiring editors?

Being that this is an authortube writing process questionnaire, it doesn’t apply to me as a fanfic writer. The equivalent to this for the fandom space would be a critique partner or a beta reader. I don’t use either. I just read my things over and slap it through an editing and grammar program before posting for others to see. And if any errors manage to slip through, I let the lucky bastards live.

If you've finished a first draft or a manuscript. Tell us how you felt afterwards. (Pick your favorite) If you're not through the first draft yet tell us how you're feeling about it at the moment.

I feel very calm and content after finishing the Ever Given x Suez Canal ficlet I wrote earlier this morning. Given the whirlwind experience March has been, this felt like a great well to close the month with and it was genuinely a lot of fun.

Tag someone!

Tagging @nightyelfy because I know you’ve published a book and I would love to see what your responses are.

#fanfic writer #writer #writing community #writeblr

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ladyherenya · 4 years

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Books read in June

I didn’t read everything I had planned. I was distracted reading other things and now I have to decide which library books I will return unread.

Part of me is stubbornly convinced I should retain my eleven-year-old self’s ability to borrow armfuls of books and read all of them at least once before the return date. Which is ridiculous. Back then I had fewer responsibilities and read shorter books. And having too many books to read is a better problem to have than running out of books.

Favourite cover(s): Thorn, Battle Born and White Eagles.

Reread: All Systems Red by Martha Wells.

Still reading: Descendent of the Crane by Joan He and Riviera Gold by Laurie R. King.

Next up: Aurora Burning by Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff, and The Enigma Game by Elizabeth Wein.

One day I’ll get back to posting other things on Tumblr but for now, it’s just book reviews.

(Longer reviews and ratings on LibraryThing and Dreamwidth.)

Unseen Academicals by Terry Pratchett (narrated by Stephen Briggs): The wizards of Unseen University play football. This is humorous, clever, sharply observant about people -- very much what I’ve come to expect from Pratchett. I enjoyed it a lot.

Girl Gone Viral by Alisha Rai: Katrina is horrified when a conversation she has with a man in a café is overheard, twisted into a romance, documented on Twitter -- and goes viral. Her bodyguard offers his family’s farm as a safe retreat. I enjoyed reading this and liked how it’s romance about a woman dealing with panic attacks, but by the final act, its priorities had diverged somewhat from mine. It wanted to get to its happily-ever ending, whereas I thought it had raised interesting issues worthy of further exploration and slower, more complex solutions. I wanted a happy ending, too, but wanted more story first.

Blame It On Paris by Laura Florand: I’ve read a few of Florand’s romances and even though the descriptions of Paris and chocolate shops were lovely and vivid, as stories they were not really my thing. But I loved her memoir, which is very funny. During her year in Paris, Laura isn’t looking to give up her independence, travelling or career plans for romance. But then her friends talk her into asking out the French waiter she admires. Getting to know Sebastien allows Laura to see France from a different perspective, and challenges her assumptions about serious relationships, her (American) culture and her own family.

Stepping From the Shadows by Patricia A. McKillip: A story about growing from childhood into adulthood. Published in 1982 as McKillip’s “first book for adults”, I can see why this is now out-of-print. It is strange, even by McKillip’s standards for strangeness. In merging the mundane with the magical, the mythical, it attempts something rather interesting and thoughtful, but it isn’t quite successful. However, the descriptions of places are wonderfully vivid, the narrator’s emotions are conveyed with intensity, and there were moments that felt like catching a fleeting glimpse of myself of a mirror. I didn’t always like it, but I’m glad I got to read it all the same.

True to Your Service by Sandra Antonelli: Kitt is sent on a mission to the Netherlands and his boss insists that Mae accompany him. This spy-thriller is, like At Your Service and Forever in Your Service, a bit too violent for me. However, I liked that Mae and Kitt talk about their reactions to distressing events with each other. In fact, the two of them are constantly discussing their thoughts and feelings about what’s happening, including the way Kitt’s job collides with their personal relationship. I really like the way their relationship is an on-going conversation.

The Lunar Chronicles by Marissa Meyer:

Cress (narrated by Rebecca Soler): Following on from Cinder and Scarlet. Cress, born without the Lunar gift for manipulation, has spent years living alone in a satellite orbiting Earth, using her tech skills under the orders of the Lunar thaumaturge Sybil and dreaming of escape. I really enjoyed this. I like how it wove in elements from “Rapunzel”, and dealt with Cress’s perception of herself as a damsel in distress, a girl in need of rescuing. There is an increasing focus on teamwork and friendship -- this means we see the characters from different perspectives, and we also see different sides to them.

Winter (narrated by Rebecca Soler): Princess Winter, step-daughter of Queen Levana, is determined that she will never use her Lunar gift to manipulate others -- even though refraining makes her a bit crazy. Meanwhile Cinder and her friends plot to overthrow the queen. This is tense and entertaining, and the narrator does a wonderful job of bringing all the characters to life. I love that the gang are so accepting of each other’s weird quirks and that the romances are given time to develop. I love their teamwork, banter and perseverance. The focus is on the characters’ relationships and the action, and both are excellent.

Thorn by Intisar Khanani: Fifteen year old Princess Alyrra is sent to marry the prince from another kingdom but en route is forced into swapping places with her lady-in-waiting. This retelling of “The Goose Girl” is riveting. I instantly cared about Alyrra, and appreciated how thoughtfully and effectively the story walks a line between darkness and hope -- between fear and trust, sadness and joy. Alyrra’s new life has dangers and difficulties, but also positive things -- satisfaction in her work, a supportive found-family. She becomes increasingly aware of injustice around her, but her story is shaped by her choices -- to be kind, to seek justice and bring change.

The Physicians of Vilnoc, a novella in the World of the Five Gods by Lois McMaster Bujold: Penric and Desdemona are summoned to deal with an outbreak of a mysterious disease. This could easily be an intense story and, oddly enough, it isn’t. Given the current state of the world, I’m glad Bujold didn’t go with the dark, harrowing possibilities and instead wrote about Pen investigating how the disease is transmitted while treating as many patients as he can. Still a stressful experience for Pen, but I was confident his worst fears wouldn’t transpire. And it was satisfying to get a better understanding regarding the best way for Pen and Des to use their knowledge and skills.

Hamster Princess: Ratpunzel by Ursula Vernon (aka T. Kingfisher): Like Of Mice and Magic, this is another entertaining twist on a fairytale. When Harriet helps her friend Wilbur to find a stolen hydra egg, they come across someone else in need of help -- a rat with a very long tail.

Battle Born by Amie Kaufman: A satisfying conclusion to Ice Wolves and Scorch Dragons, with a couple of unexpected developments and a lot of expected emphasis on wolves, dragons and humans working together. I liked the realism of this. Anders and his sister Rayna have both cool shapeshifting abilities and special status arising from their parentage. But their success depends upon the support of resourceful friends and wise, trustworthy adults. They save the day, not because they know all the answers but because they bring people together. This trilogy is one I wish I could send back in time for my eleven year old self.

Time of Our Lives by Emily Wibberley and Austin Siegemund-Broka: Two teenagers cross paths while touring East Coast colleges. There’s a lot I found interesting: Fitz’s fascination with words; Juniper’s enthusiasm and passion for the college-choosing process; the way they challenge each other; their intense family situations; and the glimpses of university life. However, I ended up feeling oddly annoyed. I was drawn into the story because Fitz and Juniper’s perspectives and motives were so very real and understandable, but something about some of their later choices and thoughts seemed too pat. Like the level of realism slipped slightly because the authors wanted to get their Message For The Teens across.

Tweet Cute by Emma Lord: Two teenagers, two business Twitter accounts and one very public argument about grilled cheese. Pepper and Jack see each other in class and cross paths training at the pool, but they don’t realise that they’re at war on Twitter nor pseudonymously chatting on a school-based app, like something out of You’ve Got Mail. This was a lot of fun -- super cute and full of Pepper’s passion for baking, Jack’s passion for his family’s deli, complicated-but-ultimately-supportive family relationships, and references to internet culture. I like how the story explores the strengths, the pressures and the problems of social media.

Text, Don’t Call: an illustrated guide to the introverted life by INFJoe by Aaron T. Caycedo-Kimura: The text offers a basic explanation of introversion. It might be a decent introduction for someone new to the topic, but I found it a bit too basic to be interesting. However, the illustrations were great! Very funny and often relatable, and in one or two cases, usefully thought-provoking.

White Eagles by Elizabeth Wein: When Germany invades Poland, eighteen year old Kristina of the Polish Air Force has a chance to escape with her aeroplane ‐‐ and an unexpected stowaway. Her journey allows for a fascinating bird's-eye view of Europe in 1939 and of the challenges posed by such a trip. This novella-sized story is aimed to be both accessible and interesting to reluctant or dyslexia readers. It has moments where I, personally, would have liked more detail but I've worked with struggling readers and I think it's so awesome this sort of thing exists.

#Herenya reviews books #Marissa Meyer #Terry Pratchett #Discworld #Patricia A. McKillip #Laura Florand #Lois McMaster Bujold #Ursula Vernon #Amie Kaufman #Elizabeth Wein #Sandra Antonelli #Intisar Khanani

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 5 years

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I’d like to start something new.

I always said that I wanted to compile a masterlist of some great fics that I’ve read within our community, but when I look at my huge ass TBR list, I say “Haha I’ll, uh, get back to you-” so I’m making it easier on myself: I’ll read and review 3-5 fics at a time, that way the posts aren’t too long and so that I can put more effort into reviewing them without being overwhelmed.

We have plenty of negativity that likes the rear it’s ugly head within this community and it’s nonsense. We should be focusing that energy into better things, like giving credit to the creative minds that we’re lucky to have around us. I want to take some time with these posts and give the writers we have in the fandom the love and appreciation they deserve.

[*note: if any of these authors are on tumblr, please let me know so that I can tag them since I can’t seem to find them anywhere. Or, y’know, if YOU are the author, let me know so I can tag you!]

---

Tick of Time by Vodnici

This is a Lousim story that I’ve talked about a couple of times on this blog and I’ve done so for a very good reason: It’s adorable and I love it.

"Tick of Time” is about Louis realizing that Aasim needs glasses and the lengths he goes to find him a pair.

Aside from it being one of the few lousim stories on AO3, this summary was enough to draw me in a read. Don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m a sucker for Aasim with glasses.

While this story is indeed super cute, it also has an interesting depth to it when it comes to Louis and Aasim’s characters. I love the way Louis pays particular attention to Aasim [admires him from afar, you could say, hm?] and his habits before realization dawns on him and he goes out of his way to look through every drawer in Ericson to find a working pair of glasses, and going as far as traveling outside of the school on the hunt for some, showing a dedication to helping Aasim see to read and write again, something that has a deeper effect on him that comes into play later in the story.

Louis’ teasing yet genuine nature is incredibly sweet, and Aasim’s written incredibly well. Their banter at the end is, again, very sweet and funny. One of my favorite bits:

Louis watched his fascination with a small, happy and relieved smile. Then the joy turned to playfulness. “Wait, I have something.” His hand dug into his pocket and retrieved a folded piece of paper, which he held out to Aasim.

Confused, Aasim took the paper and unfolded it. He scanned over it, and the confusion immediately turned to exasperation. He pursed his lips and turned to Louis. “I do not look like a nerd!”

“Ah, the glasses work perfectly, then. Excellent.”

The writing style is light and enjoyable, the descriptions beautiful, and it brings to light something that would actually happen to someone in the apocalypse. Writing and documenting everything is important to Aasim and a key part of his character, and for something such as poor eyesight to get in the way of that is tragic. I’m glad this addresses that while keeping everyone in character and providing some cute lousim content.

I highly recommend this to anyone looking for some lousim goodness with some heart. I mean, I keep going back to it. This is probably the fourth or fifth time I’ve read it.

---

Make You Feel My Love by shadows_unnoticed

Long, strong arms slowly wrapped around Clementine’s waist suddenly and began to hold her tightly, breaking her from her train of thought. She then felt lips graze against her cheek, a soft kiss being planted there. She turned her head slightly to find Louis staring at her with that fond look in his eyes as he rested his chin on her left shoulder.

THIS is the clouis content I LIVE for.

That’s just a taste of the beautiful writing this has to offer.

“Make You Feel My Love” takes place after the events of the season where Clementine’s getting used to her new prosthetic leg. Louis asks her to meet him in the music room one night, since they’re “due for a second date.”

I love everything about this one-shot. The writing in this is beautiful. I know I just said that but I’m saying it again because I need you to understand how much I love the writing. It’s fluffy, it’s breathtaking, it’s funny, it’s sweet, it’s a hundred other adjectives that I could list but won’t.

And it that doesn’t convince you to read this, then allow me to give you this: Louis and Clementine slow dancing together while Louis sings to her.

Yeah.

That’s the level of beauty we’re talking here.

This is a story that keeps Louis and Clementine in character. You can feel the love they have for each other in the way they speak and act together. This story is one that I can visualize in my head as I’m reading it and I LOVE stories like that. The descriptions of the environments are gorgeous, and the little tidbits of humor sprinkled in makes my cheeks hurt from the strain of smiling.

I could go on and on about how in love I am with this story, but I don’t want to spoil too much. If you haven’t read it yet, I HIGHLY recommend you check it out. You won’t be disappointed. In fact, you’ll probably be a mess of giggles and feelings like I am right now.

---

Flowers by ToTheMax @bloodyflashlight

The lack of briolet stories hurts my soul.

However, we do have this masterpiece.

Violet stopped herself at the last second from stammering out another ‘uh, yeah’ and crossed her arms. “I was just… thinking, you know?”

“You do a lot of that lately.” Brody sat back down, motioning for Violet to come sit near her, to which the girl obeyed. They sat next to each other, Brody’s elbow resting on Violet’s leg as she knotted the flower stems together to finish the crown. “What are you thinking about?”

“Um… you.” Violet pulled her other knee that Brody wasn’t leaning on up to her chest, resting her arms on top of it. “I’ve, um… been thinking about… you,” she clarified, albeit hesitantly.

“Flowers” is a short little one-shot but oh, it’s beautiful. Honestly, I almost see it as more of a character study? Maybe?

It’s about Violet and Brody fishing in the spring and Brody keeps getting distracted with all the flowers blooming and decides to make some flower crowns, but its focus is more on Violet’s feelings towards Brody.

It’s as sweet and pure as it sounds, but it also gives an interesting look in Violet’s character and explores the idea of Brody surviving Marlon’s blow to the head and how the two of them grew near inseparable afterward.

There’s just something so soft about the way this was written. The little details of them leaning into each other, the flower crowns, the raw emotions presented from them both- it’s enchanting! Upon rereading this, I actually went back and read it AGAIN because I want more of it!

Seriously, if ToTheMax ever wanted to take this one-shot and write a full-blown story around it, I would probably cry.

Again, I don’t want to get too into this one because it’s a story that you should experience for yourself. Even if briolet isn’t your #1 OTP, it’s still worth looking at for the wonderful writing and terrific look at Violet’s character.

#twdg fanfic appreciation #twdg clementine #twdg aj #twdg louis #twdg violet #twdg aasim #twdg ruby #twdg mitch #twdg willy #twdg tenn #twdg omar #twdg brody #twdg marlon #twdg clouis #twdg lousim #twdg briolet #twdg

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mattsphotoma · 5 years

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Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Caroll on Memory and the Unconscious

Identity is a key theme of Alice in Wonderland. Alice is often unable to identify herself to other characters when prompted to and often feels dysmorphic in her own assessment of herself. Sometimes too small and sometimes too big, she carries with her handfuls of mushroom which when eaten alter her size. A nibble at the mushroom in her left hand shrinks her and a bit of right hand mushroom helps her grow in size.

At first she finds a pot of jam that shrinks her when she is told to eat it, it swiftly disappears but we as the reader and Alice as the protagonist are introduced to the idea that Alice is not necessarily who she and we think she is. After the first moment she realises she can change herself physically she begins to question her mind too. For if her body can be changed so easily of course her mind can too.

“Dear, dear! How queer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I’m not the same, the next question is ‘Who in the world am I?’

- Alice

After some analysing of exactly what makes a person a person Alice narrows down the people she could have possibly swapped minds with. First she decides that whoever it is must be the same age as her, which enables her to further filter the incumbents down to Ada and Mabel. She couldn’t possibly be Ada because “her hair goes in such long ringlets and mine doesn’t go in ringlets at all”. Alice then goes on to say “I can’t possibly be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things and she, oh, she knows such a very little.”

Alice gives herself some mental tests, one to remember a rhyme which comes out all wrong. Next was mathematics, which Alice confuses and so sets herself a geography test which she also gets wrong. She states her answers with such confidence but quickly is able to identify their falseness. Despite knowing that her answers are wrong, which a truly ignorant person such as Mabel could not do, she still decides that she must have been “swapped in the night” for Mabel.

'I could tell you my adventures - beginning from this morning,' said Alice a little timidly: 'but it's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.'

- Alice

It is clear to the reader that her idea of identity is juvenile and fledgling. She is only what she knows and her world so far is a tight community of class mates and family, to her these might as well be the only people on Earth and in this moment she is beginning to recognise herself as a different entity to those others. In individuating, as Jung would put it, she is reluctant. The whole book is her journey of self identification and the effect understanding oneself has on our understanding of the world around us. However at this beginning of self identification, when there was first a suggestion that Alice is not what she thought she was, she convinces herself that she is a totally different person instead of an evolution of Alice which she comes to realise.

Like all children, Alice must separate herself from identification with others, develop an ego, become aware of aggression (her own and others’), and learn to tolerate adversity without succumbing to self-pity…In other words, Alice has to grow up.

- Phyllis Stowell, We’re All Mad Here, 1983.

Phyllis Greenacre wrote a Jungian psychoanalytic study of Lewis Carroll, treating Alice as an extension or expression of Carroll’s personal subconscious, she calls Alice:

“about as close a portrayal as can be accomplished in language of that realm in childhood’s development when the child is emerging from its primitive state of unreason, to the dawning conception of consequences, order and reason“

- Phyllis Greenacre, Swift and Carroll: a psychoanalytic study of two lives, 1956

For me, reading Alice in Wonderland has been a joy for many reasons, firstly that I haven’t had a book that I’ve wanted to come back to, pick up, reread and ignore real life for in a while. More meaningfully, it is a reminder of imagination and open mindedness that adults need sometimes. I hate to think that if The Little Prince showed me his drawing and asked if it frightened me that I would reply “why would I be frightened of a hat?” like the adults do in that tale. I may not have lost touch with my inner child but Alice in Wonderland is a perfect reset button on adult life. One can read a chapter and recalibrate oneself the same way Alice does herself in each new scene.

It is particularly relevant to me now for a number of reasons. In my research for this body of work I have unearthed a lot of memories and emotions regarding my childhood that I stowed away and rarely accessed in the past. Bringing those to the surface has been painful at times and using Carroll’s writing on childhood and memory among other writings and authors I have been able to identify those feelings and draw a line under them. I have benefited as a person from my own oneness with a new layer of my subconscious and have grown to let that positively influence the person I am now, much as Alice learns to do.

I also find Carroll’s writing interesting to think about as if Alice really did experience what the narrator tells us is a dream. As a child, the line between memory and imagined scenario is very thin. Kids have a powerful imagination and have not yet come to understand the importance of truth so are able to rework events in their minds eye without any moral or personal regret. The merging of memory and fiction in human recollection is well documented in scientific research and reading around the subject, added to reading Alice from a slightly different angle made me question my own memories from my childhood.

There is a lot that I don’t remember, or at least don’t currently have access to in my mind. But, of what I do remember, how much is true? If we as adults are an accumulation of our experiences it stands to reason that we are built upon a false foundation, at the very least it has cracks. I remember telling lies as a child and feeling so confident in myself that I really believed what I was saying was true. For example, myself and my step brother were sneaking around our house, trying to eavesdrop on my parents watching TV without them notices, we were pretending to be soldiers getting ready to ambush them. I vividly remember us, prone in the hallway peaking through the crack in the door and holding imaginary guns. I turned and whispered “don’t worry, I was trained in the army when I was 6″. Obviously untrue, but this fantasy gave me the confidence in myself to wake my step brother and convince him to come downstairs and indulge my imagination.

If a young mind can create such fiction and fall so easily for it, why should an older mind not do the same?

As we grow socially we hone our lying skills, we usually talk about lying to others but I fear that over time I have lied most of all to myself and that I have fallen for a lot of that fiction.

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natakova15-blog · 6 years

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IndieView with A.M.H. Johnson, author of Midnight Over Moores

However, the idea started two or so days before the drive at my mom's birthday party as my sister and I shared stories of our boarding school experiences, and my dad shared stories about being a teenager on the island we vacation at, and my mom commented that “Someone needs to write a book!”

A.M.H. Johnson – 20 September 2018

The Back Flap

Jenna Sheffield is an average girl from Savannah, Georgia. However, this year her life is about to change. She's starting at a new, all-girls boarding school in the middle of high school. She's having to learn how to deal with a roommate who seems more inclined to torture her than be friends. And on top of all that, she learns she has inherited her family's ability to communicate with the dead, when the ghost of Christine Wedge starts to haunt her. All Christine wants is her body to be found, but this mystery is shrouded by 60 years of local legends and feuds. Can Jenna crack this cold-case, or will Christine drive her insane, or worse, kill her chances at getting into a good college?

About the book

What is the book about?

Midnight Over Moores follows Jenna Sheffield, a young girl from Savannah who goes to Maine for boarding school and finds out she can talk to the dead after a prank gone too far. She starts being haunted by a local ghost, Christine Wedge, a victim who disappeared 60 years before, and has become a local legend on Moores Island.

When did you start writing the book?

Officially, I started writing it in early June 2011, coming back from a family vacation up in Maine driving back to Georgia. However, the idea started two or so days before the drive at my mom's birthday party as my sister and I shared stories of our boarding school experiences, and my dad shared stories about being a teenager on the island we vacation at, and my mom commented that “Someone needs to write a book!” I agreed then, but that 23 hour drive a few days later gave me enough time to hammer out the plot details and bounce ideas off my dad, and get the first two chapters written.

How long did it take you to write it?

Three years, but that was due to being in school at the time and not having a solid schedule and crazy homework. The summer I started writing it, I cranked half the book out in a month and a half once I returned to Maine later that Summer. Once I graduated, it took a me a few months to finish it.

Where did you get the idea from?

At my Mom's birthday party, after the whole group had a couple drinks, my dad, my sister and I got to talking about our teenage experiences. My sister and I were talking about going to our boarding school and all the shenanigans we'd get into. My dad, who was surrounded by many of his childhood friends at this party talking about their shared high school summers and all the shenanigans they got into. And by the end of it, we were all laughing so hard we were crying, and my mom said, “Someone needs to write a book!”

Were there any parts of the book where you struggled?

There were many places I struggled, but one of them has a funny story with it. My writing had started to go through an evolution at the time, because I'd started taking Creative Writing classes at my university, and some of the chapters I'd previously written when reread were very very rough. At the time, I was dating the man who would later become my husband, another English/Writing major who had already published a few short stories. I asked him to look at my roughest chapter. When he returned it, he had circled every “smiled” and “nodded” I'd written in, and it was truly too much. I promptly went home and rewrote it, and sent him a message once I did. His response was a gif of Jack Nicholson nodding and smiling like a madman “In memory of my unedited chapter.”

What came easily?

Most of the scenes in Limbo (at least that's what I call it. Purgatory and the Spirit World also works). The drama in those scenes are a lot more palpable, and most of them came out good the first time. And a good portion of the scenes with Jenna and Nate.

Are your characters entirely fictitious or have you borrowed from real world people you know?

They're kind of both. Jenna isn't anyone I know in particular, but some of her experiences are built off of experiences I've had and my family and friends have had, with a twist. Same with all of my characters, except maybe one or two side characters. Although, I did throw a character based off my high school self in. But I've even changed her from being 100% like me.

We all know how important it is for writers to read. Are there any particular authors that have influenced how you write and, if so, how have they influenced you?

J.K. Rowling and John Berendt are obvious influencers as they and their works are mentioned in the book. Rowling because Harry Potter was a big part of my teenage years as well as many of my friends, and everyone going to my boarding school noted striking similarities between our school and Hogwarts. We had four main dorms with the same colors as the houses (Yellow dorm and Green dorm were on the lowest level, Yellow closest to the kitchens. Red dorm and Blue dorm were upstairs, and even had loft dorm rooms, if you think I'm kidding). Even many of our teachers had direct parallels to the Hogwarts professors that many of the students agreed with (Yes, we had a Snape, and he was one of the best English teachers I ever took. We also had an annually changing faculty member, although I'm 98% certain a curse was not involved). The only big difference was Hogwarts was not All-Girls. So, to not even mildly reference it just wouldn't give my high school experience justice.

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil was where I got the idea for my book's title. Doing research on Savannah (I also didn't live far from there at the time), I was told this book was required reading.

I'd also add Richelle Mead, Kelly Creagh, Edgar Allen Poe, and Stephen King (especially later in the series).

Do you have a target reader?

It's a solid Young Adult novel, but it's a book horror buffs and murder mystery readers will enjoy as well. It has modern Paranormal Romance written all over it, however its plot is steeped with Classical Gothic tropes and modern horror and mystery themes. It's a mystery surrounded by ghosts, demons, magic, and young love.

About Writing

Do you have a writing process? If so can you please describe it?

Not really. I always have fun writing, so when I can, I do.

Do you outline? If so, do you do so extensively or just chapter headings and a couple of sentences?

I used to only do a skeletal outline, like 2-3 pages noting the whole plot and background. I still do that now, but I've added preformatting each chapter and adding a chapter summary, so I know what goes where when I've written excerpts, which saves me a lot of time now.

Do you edit as you go or wait until you've finished?

Primarily, I edit as I go. Then once it's done, I do another final edit based on my own notes as well as my beta readers' notes.

Did you hire a professional editor?

I do not, but this is because I have almost 5-years-experience in editing in some capacity. For a year (and even now) I proofread/line-edit for the company I work for, and the last four years I was moved up to Document Specialist, which added formatting/copyediting to my proofreading duties.

That also doesn't mean I'm the only person with editing experience looking at my writing before publication. My husband, who took the same editing courses as I have for our degree, takes a look before it's sent out. My mother, who also had a job proofing/line-editing documents for a company for almost ten years, takes a look as well. Not to mention several others who may not have professional/educated experience like my husband and mom, but who I trust to give me sound advice on readability.

However, I would suggest to most authors to get an editor.

Do you listen to music while you write? If yes, what gets the fingers tapping?

Absolutely. If I'm not listening to music while writing, the music is definitely blaring when I'm conceptualizing each scene, so when I write it down later I've seen the scene over and over and over again.

As for my tastes … they're kind of all over the place. Usually some metal/modern rock is in there as well as classical (Beethoven is great!), pop, hip hop, early 2000's/'90s soft rock, classic rock, and even 2000s emo/punk rock (which was my jam then, not going to lie), to even Disney and Broadway soundtracks. I think the important thing for a song to help me write a scene is the message/emotion of the song has to fit in a place in my writing. So, I listen to different types of songs for different scenes. For example, if I'm writing a bombastic fight scene, 'O Fortuna' or The Hunchback of Notre Dame's 'Sanctuary' are both great. If the scene is more of a mellow internal struggle about love, I'm sifting through my early 2000's soft rock ballads.

About Publishing

Did you submit your work to Agents?

Yes. I can't even remember how many, but after the first several “We're too busy at the moment,” rejections, I started really looking into self-publishing.

What made you decide to go Indie, whether self-publishing or with an indie publisher? Was it a particular event or a gradual process?

It was gradual, but I always had an idea I might go that way anyway. I'm a little too controlling of my book, and how it was supposed to look, cover design, everything. As far as waiting for an agent to pick it up, I'm just not a patient person. Starting out, I figured I could go ahead and self-publish, then be taken on by a major publisher, but I found that doesn't usually happen. So unwittingly, I plunged head first into Indie communities, and the people there gave me invaluable information that led me to want to set up my own indie publisher, which is what Midnight Over Moores is now being published under.

Did you get your book cover professionally done or did you do it yourself?

Yes, for both the old cover when I first self-published and the new. But again, it was because I'm very controlling of how my book is to look. Each design detail I made had a specific reason behind it. I changed from the old cover, because I realized with it being a series the first cover I designed wouldn't work for branding reasons. The second book's cover in no way was going to look like the original cover, which is crucial with series works. So, I redesigned it with the rest of the series covers in mind.

Do you have a marketing plan for the book or are you just winging it?

The first time I published it, I just winged it, which after a month of selling 30 copies I realized was a big no no. I just unleashed it on the world, told my friends and family, some of who bought it and shared it. After a few months of putting those Amazon sales on it, and getting a few reviews, all of which were positive, but not seeing anything in return, I started asking myself, “What am I missing?” One of which was editorial reviews, which is obvious, but at the same time trying to find editorial reviewers that didn't cost an arm and a leg was difficult. Amazon suggests Kirkus, which is too expensive for people paying out of pocket. Eventually I did find some that were budget friendly, and that my book applied for, but by then it was too late.

So, what am I doing different now? I've submitted it to a couple book awards, which so far it's doing pretty well, but it's still early. One of the big things is I've switched my main distributor to Ingram, which opens up a lot more doors. I've submitted for reviews and have already begun using those in my marketing. I've posted about my book on more than just Facebook, since I now have an author twitter, Instagram, Foodreads, Facebook, Linkedin … you name it, I've posted about my book's re-release on there.

Any advice that you would like to give to other newbies considering becoming Indie authors?

Give yourself ample time and budget to market your book. I've learned over the last couple years marketing is an investment that more often than not pays in some way.

Another thing a successful indie author told me was to write and publish as much as you can. It builds your name, which builds your brand.

About You

Where did you grow up?

I'm from all over the East Coast. Born in Newburyport, Mass., mostly grew up in the foothills of the Appalachians in Virginia just outside of DC, and went to school in Pennsylvania in the middle of Amish country. But Acadia National Park in Maine is probably the most constant location in my life.

Where do you live now?

I live just outside of Atlanta, Ga. with my husband, daughter, and two dogs (both rescues).

End of Interview:

For more from Ms Johnson, visit her website, follow her on Twitter and like her Facebook page.

Get your copy of Midnight Over Moores from Amazon US or Amazon UK.

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wokethesleepers · 7 years

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the dragon pin | self-para

He dreaded the approach of this moment. His arms were folded over his chest as he stared down at a wide map stretched along the width of the table laid at the back of the great hall, taking in the sight of all the markers that had been made around various areas of the realm, some of which were the old scribbles from the planning before the Battle of the Bastards. Since he had been proclaimed as King in the North, Jon’s main focus was strengthening the North to the best of his abilities, moving afterward to the Wall, and only then starting the streak of pleads to the other lords and, more importantly, to the Crown. The Crown needn’t know about the occurrences there, Davos had said and Jon had eagerly agreed. This kind of knowledge would eventually spread, but the northern lords and ladies had assured him it would not happen so soon. After all, in the years following Robb’s death, they had made countless preparations to ensure that their mission of seating his heir on the throne wouldn’t be hindered with. Thus, the borders of the kingdom had mostly been sealed off, secured against possible information leaks. The only way word of the new crowning would reach South would be through simple spreads of whispers. By this point, though, said whispers ought to have reached far enough. Whether they had reached King Tommen, that was yet to be debated. Regardless, Jon knew that the moment to start asking for the pledges of the rest of the armies was close and this frustrated him to no end. What sort of cause could he possibly make? Why would any of the lords believe him? Why would the Lannisters believe the word of a bastard king in open rebellion? With that thought in mind, he jumped when Sam dropped a pile of books on the table, dust leaping off the surface and twirling in the air.

“Seven hells, Sam,” Jon sneered. “Have you ever considered not carrying more than your arms can hold for once?”

“Well, I have,” Sam smiled gingerly, rubbing the dust off his palms against his clothes. “But, truth be told, it’s still better than having to take multiple trips.” Jon had ended up with Sam at Winterfell’s gates roughly two moons prior. He’d claimed that the Citadel hadn’t been for him and that he’d felt he’d been rotting away doing nothing of use. Of course, Jon had a fit of panic once he’d learned that Sam had also smuggled some incredibly important books and scrolls with him, but the fact that Sam believed them to carry crucial information on the Great War was what had convinced him to move past it, so long as it would be their secret. But he also made certain to publicly pardon Sam’s leave from the Watch, finally releasing him from his vows, much to his and Gilly’s joy. They were already discussing marriage plans, but Sam was secured in reality enough to postpone it until after the great battle, whenever it would come. Maester Wolkan was a wise and peaceful man, who was beyond overjoyed to be under the service of a Stark again, recalling the great horrors that Ramsay Bolton had made them all witnesses to. Because of that – and because Sam had never properly graduated from the Citadel – Jon kept the man as Winterfell’s official maester while Sam shared some of his duties. Wolkan was perfectly content with that, praising Sam’s wit, dedication, and his eagerness to learn. Ultimately, it had been a perfect match. With a huff, Sam reached for the pile of books and plucked from the middle of the pile a handful of letters and parchments, sloppily rolling them over the map that Jon had been focused on. “This is what I have gathered from the ravens,” he informed. Jon eyed them with a crease in his nose and Sam burst out laughing. “You are as fond of these as you were at Castle Black, are you not?” The silent look of dishearten in Jon’s face was enough of a confirmation.

“A little bit,” Jon sighed out, picking up one of the documents with a deep breath of encouragement. “Fortunately for me, if I ever find them too overwhelming, I can simply have Maester Wolkan take care of them.” His eyes rose from the unrolled parchment, glimmering with the jest rolling off his tongue. “Or you.”

“Nope, I am not complaining,” Sam dusted off a book cover. “Try changing an old man’s night pots for several weeks straight every single day and you see how much of a hassle you will find reading some letters to be.”

Jon mused, shoulders shrugging as he tossed the message he had just read to the side. “I did,” he retorted. “I was Lord Commander’s Mormont steward for a while, do not forget. He was a wise and kind man, but he was old. And like all people, he shat too.” There was a moment of silence and then Jon and Sam exchanged looks, bursting into a fit of chuckles right at the edge of it.

“What do all of these say?” Sam questioned curiously.

“Supplies,” Jon held up one message. “More weapons.” He held up another. “Complaints about mountain tribes.” And another. “Complaints about the Free Folk.” Another. “And marriage proposals.”

Sam quirked a brow. “For you?”

Jon shot him a look. “No, for you.” During this pause, he set all of the parchments back down. “What do you think?” His head shook as he absently reached for another unsealed letter. “Attach a title to your name and not even bastardy seems to matter anymore.” Whatever Sam’s response had been, it all faded into a muffle as Jon’s gaze landed on the sigil embedded into the wax sealing the parchment. His brows immediately knitted, stare absorbed by the three-headed dragon that adorned the seal.

“Jon.” Sam needed to touch his shoulder to shake him out of this trance. “What is it?”

Hesitatingly, Jon flipped the letter toward his friend, displaying the seal. “Look at the sigil.”

“Oh, my,” Sam gasped. “That is the Targaryen sigil. Why would a letter have a Targaryen sigil? Was Lady Daenerys not the last of her house?”

This reminder mingled with the grimness of her memory and the strange emotions whirred in the pit of his stomach. His bothered gaze returned to the roll. “She was,” he uttered somberly. With a moment’s reluctance, he reached out to unseal the message, starting to relay its contents. “To the newly crowned King in The North. Forgive my lack of knowledge as to your identity. Queen Daenerys Targaryen, First of Her Name, invites you to Dragonstone.” His voice died out after these particular words rolled off his tongue, the scowl etched in his features only darkening. There was no moment for getting lost now. He cleared his throat and forced himself to continue. “My Queen has expressed concerns about a great threat looming over the North from beyond the Wall. She learned of this threat during her short stay in your kingdom some time ago. She would like to personally discuss the safety of your kingdom with you and how she might be able to aid the North as well as discussing allegiances to the Iron Throne. Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen.” His hands, still clutching the message, fell against the table with a heavy thud. He glanced toward Sam in silence and it was clear they were both rattled by the contents of the message.

“She’s alive,” Sam concluded, a tentative smile on his face. Jon, however, did not reciprocate it, too confined by confusion and fear to be able to ride the wave of glee that Sam wanted to see him ride. Slowly, his knees bent, his figure sinking into the large seat at the middle of the table, the parchment still between his index and middle finger and eyes wide with the awe of this turn of events.

“She cannot be,” he tried to convince himself.

“Why not?” That was such a straightforward and innocent question, yet it made such an excellent point. Sam continued, “You are. You have not seen her die, have you?” Jon’s eyes found Sam’s, glimmering with the sprouts of sheepish hope. “I have always believed we should have taken the word of Alliser Thorne of all people with a pinch of salt, to be honest. There was nothing he wished more than to see you desolated and miserable.” Jon leaned forward and reread the contents of the note, this time focusing his gaze on the signing.

“Tyrion Lannister,” Jon mumbled. “How did Tyrion Lannister end up in the service of Daenerys Targaryen?”

“Hand me that for a moment,” Sam said, though he did not wait for approval before snatching the parchment, giving it a thorough read himself. “They don’t know who you are.” Only then did Jon become aware of that fact. Suddenly, he properly processed the entirety of the note. If this truly were Daenerys, then she was reaching out to an unknown monarch and was summoning him to be allies against the threat of the Great War. For a brief moment, his heart leaped wildly.

“It has to be her,” he found himself musing before thinking, Sam’s curious gaze flickering toward him. “Tyrion would never believe in the Others. Not unless it came from someone who had seen them. Someone who had made other impossible things happen.” Then another thought unveiled. “The dragons. Did she free her dragons?” And that unleashed an avalanche of questions, overwhelming enough to make him forget about doubts altogether, suddenly flooding him with something he could not define as anything other than anticipation and rejoicing.

“Maybe she has,” Sam added. “But there is something else. They are at Dragonstone, are they not? Remember what I told you about the mountain of dragonglass?” Jon’s gaze swept toward him and it smiled without his lips twitching the slightest bit.

“I need to go,” Jon concluded hastily, shooting up from his seat. He reached out for a blank paper, a quill, and some ink, pushing them toward Sam. “Sit,” he demanded, impatiently. Sam mirrored his impatience and did not hesitate in claiming a seat and having the quill’s tip hover above the paper. “Let them know we are to depart as soon as possible. That it will take approximately a fortnight for our journey to be complete. Leave anything else out. I shall discuss all these matters in person.”

Sam hesitated. “What should I sign this as?”

“Pretend you are Ser Davos,” Jon replied. “He is tending to other duties right now, but it is within his responsibilities to represent me, after all.”

“Yes, I agree, but…” Sam stared at the parchment. “Ser Davos is writing on your behalf, is he not?” The underlying message in that question struck Jon and he felt a sudden dryness in his throat. They did not know who the King in the North was, after all. If he were to stamp his name on this message, what would Daenerys believe? Would she believe anything at all? Would she think of the message as a farce, as a twisted joke of fate?

“He is,” he said somberly, offering Sam the approval to unveil his identity. He turned heel, but stopped in his tracks for one final remark, “Leave that part toward the end.”

-------------------

This was no simple departure. There were plenty of things that needed to be taken care of, that prevented him from leaving as soon as that raven had flown off. Winterfell needed to be left in someone else’s hands. An emergency gathering was organized, gathering the lords and ladies that were close enough to show up within a maximum of a couple of days. The rest of them were to be informed through ravens. Jon was brief about his intentions and solutions. Some protested that their king could not afford to leave the North during these times, much less to meet with a Targaryen, but Jon was quick to shut off these protests by revealing the moons they had shared under the same roof, months when they had gotten to know each other well enough for unconditioned trust to bloom. During those two days, Jon had eagerly cast aside his doubts and suspicion. After all, Sam had made a valid point out of taking Thorne’s words at face value. Looking back at that awful day, he could not remember seeing the corpses of the Unsullied anywhere, which meant they hadn’t died. From what Jon had gathered on them, they would have not fled away from their queen’s protection. If he had truly died, they would have as well. And he doubted a bunch of drunken outlaws would be able to overpower a bunch of highly trained warriors. For now, all that he knew was that he was impatient, ecstatic, overtaken with anticipation. Perhaps it was because this all seemed too surreal for him to grasp and he did not fully process the meaning of this chance. With that in mind, he let the North know that Jeyne Poole would take the reins as the rightful Lady of Winterfell, a choice he was confident in. Jeyne had proven herself resilient, capable, and wise beyond her years. Moreover, he was someone he could trust, having known her since their much-more-innocent childhoods. When deciding on his company, Jon initially only settled on bringing Davos and Ghost along. That, however, changed when Melisandre insisted on her company, followed by Tormund, and then followed by Sam, who made a very solid point out of him being the only one who knew how to mine the dragonglass.

That very same day, they boarded a ship and left Winterfell behind. And, for the first time in Jon’s case, left the North behind, spending more time than needed glossing his thumb over the Targaryen pin that had been clipped to his belt throughout this whole year.

#( self para: 03. )

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assa-nisi-massa · 7 years

Text

adminAfter Eisenhower — Jasmine Clark Explores the Impact of Military Culture on American Society

Hello Jasmine, thank you for this interview. What are your main interests as a photographer?

A photograph’s function as a ‘document’ or ‘evidence’ to mark a particular time, place, event, and/or context—political or emotional, objective or subjective. I use photographs as devices to articulate when words fail, which happens often; to help convey something I can’t verbalize.

Please introduce us to After Eisenhower.

The photographs are influenced by my upbringing in a United States Marine Corps community in Twentynine Palms, California. Protection of others, protection of the flag, and patriotism are the ideals that stick with me. However, I question military and its role in American life and my own. American culture is inseparable from military and religious identity: the iconography of these elements, like the American flag or the cross, are ubiquitous in American society. The project comes from my curiosity and frustration due to the lack of questioning their inescapable presence. The series consists of photographs made in my hometown, Twentynine Palms, CA; in Chicago, IL; and in other small and medium cities located in the Southeast and Midwest. I plan to photograph in each state.

How do you think growing up in a place so highly charged with military messages influenced you?

For sure it dictated my visual language, my personal politics, my sense of self, and my perception of patriotism and American culture. It was something I passively thought about while growing up. I knew it was not necessarily common to grow up around tanks, etc., but it was my home. It is odd to grasp that the place I grew up in is such a controversial topic. My experience of living in that community is the basis of my reverence for what I now photograph and contributes to why I am obsessed with highly charged issues.

The events of 9/11 completely challenged my perception of the place I lived in and of the military. I was in 10th grade and also too young to remember the effect The Gulf War had. My only memory is going to greet my dad when he returned home. My home was again an active site for conflict and loss, instead of a place in preparation for some event that could hypothetically never happen. Twentynine Palms is a United States Marine Corps training base with a climate similar to that of Afghanistan and Iraq; the base facilitated pre-deployment training during Operation Enduring Freedom (OEF) and Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF). The significance of this place will never leave me.

I was also raised in a different way than children with military parents typically are: one, my parents are both Marines (Once a Marine, Always a Marine); secondly, joining the military is usually a family tradition, but my sister and I learned the ideologies that are present in military culture without the objective of following in that tradition.

Why did you choose After Eisenhower as the title of your series?

My work is about the affect and effect the ‘military industrial complex’ has on culture. The term was popularized by President Dwight D. Eisenhower when he used it in his 1961 Presidential Farewell Address. I struggled for a while trying to find a title that represented enough elements in my project; when I reread Eisenhower’s speech these lines stuck out: “This conjunction of an immense military establishment and a large arms industry is new in the American experience. The total influence—economic, political, even spiritual—is felt in every city, every statehouse, every office of the federal government.” This is basically what my project is about. Eisenhower made a mark during this specific moment because he foresaw what the implications of the growing military power would have on culture. ‘We’ are in the time after this warning and military power has continued to increase exponentially since.

Can you describe your approach to the work, and what did you want your images to communicate?

In 2009, I started photographing and engaging with what characterizes my hometown of Twentynine Palms. The community is directly engaged and economically supported by the military. I made lists of what defines a place by treating it as a typological study of military towns: tattoo shops, barber shop, churches, car dealerships, murals, flags, tailor shops, and also what ideals and socio-economic structures are present. I was interested in how proximity to a specific institution affects the culture of the surrounding community. This is not limited to military bases. I found a correlation in the likes of college towns and beach towns—they have a similar ‘feel.’ This is the basis of how I approach what I photograph: I defined my vernacular within known iconography and symbolism. The task is how to confront what is ‘known’ and also how do you photograph an ideology? My goal is to find the best examples and photograph them to the best of my ability. The context of the environment of these symbols is vital. I may place a flag in the center of an image; however, the way I choose to frame a scene is very intentional. I genuinely love the spaces I photograph, even if the symbolism is complicated.

Catholic churches and other Catholic religious signs come up in several of the After Eisenhower photographs. How do Catholicism and military ideals coexist in Middle America?

Religious iconography permeates American society. It is hard to dissociate military, religion, and America because of how linked they are.

Did you have any specific references or sources of inspiration in mind while working on After Eisenhower?

Roy Stryker’s shooting scripts for the Farm Security Administration (FSA) photographers from the 1930s and early 1940s when they surveyed Depression-era America. Contemporary examples are Larry Sultan’s ‘ideas for photographs’ and Alec Soth’s ‘hunting lists.’ Also, my guilty, but not so guilty pleasure, Internet comments responding to political articles on Facebook.

How do you hope viewers react to After Eisenhower, ideally?

We all come from our biases. The work is not neutral. I do not want to alienate opposing perceptions on the already charged subject matter intentionally. I want conversations to start about how I chose to frame a specific scene and how that confronts the viewer’s identity.

What have been the main influences on your photography?

Deborah Willis, An-My Lê, Robert Adams, Gordon Parks, Alec Soth, Tim Hetherington, and my professors at CSULB and Columbia College Chicago.

Who are some of your favorite contemporary photographers?

An-My Lê, Adam Broomberg and Oliver Chanarin, Trevor Paglen, Zanele Muholi.

Choose your #threewordsforphotography.

Perspective. Perception. Specificity.

admin via Blogger http://ift.tt/2nNEnDL

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assa-nisi-massa · 7 years

Text

adminAfter Eisenhower — Jasmine Clark Explores the Impact of Military Culture on American Society

Hello Jasmine, thank you for this interview. What are your main interests as a photographer?

Please introduce us to After Eisenhower.

How do you think growing up in a place so highly charged with military messages influenced you?

Why did you choose After Eisenhower as the title of your series?

Can you describe your approach to the work, and what did you want your images to communicate?

Catholic churches and other Catholic religious signs come up in several of the After Eisenhower photographs. How do Catholicism and military ideals coexist in Middle America?

Religious iconography permeates American society. It is hard to dissociate military, religion, and America because of how linked they are.

Did you have any specific references or sources of inspiration in mind while working on After Eisenhower?

How do you hope viewers react to After Eisenhower, ideally?

What have been the main influences on your photography?

Deborah Willis, An-My Lê, Robert Adams, Gordon Parks, Alec Soth, Tim Hetherington, and my professors at CSULB and Columbia College Chicago.

Who are some of your favorite contemporary photographers?

An-My Lê, Adam Broomberg and Oliver Chanarin, Trevor Paglen, Zanele Muholi.

Choose your #threewordsforphotography.

Perspective. Perception. Specificity.

admin via Blogger http://ift.tt/2nNEnDL

0 notes