#sixth is the inhuman fascination with the human mind

[bassguitarinablackt-shirt]

ayyy thanks for the tag!

He grinned, not a smile- a grin. Jesse has no idea how people think of fifteen year olds as innocent, they're all little goblins who take joy in causing suffering.

"Here goes nothing..." He whispered to no one but himself. As he gripped the doorknob with one hand he felt Jackie grab his other, the door opened with a creak. Something felt off as he walked in, he ignored it.

Affection swelled in his chest for his two sleeping friends. There was no guarantee they wouldnt leave but right here, in this moment, they were there. (And maybe that's enough)

He blinked his eyes open, as light entered his eyes he felt a sense of wrongness. Everything about this place was wrong. The walls were white instead of the cedar brown he was used to, Corvus was happily sitting in his cage like always, Arty's bed wasn't where it should be; it wasn't there at all.

I was five when I found the girl who I would call my sister. It was a nice day in Valerine county, the sun was bright but it wasn't too hot, there was a nice breeze rolling through the town. I was roaming the streets, looking for someone nice enough to give me food, or perhaps a merchant who left their stall unattended. Just then, I spotted someone; a girl only about a few years older than me, she had straight brown hair that was falling down her shoulders, more importantly she was carrying a basket of apples.

"Well, how does it taste? Is it good? Too sweet, too bitter, too hot?" Nathalie asked, far too excited if you ask Orion, who resided in the kitchen. He, much like his sister, could not actually enjoy any of the tea or sweets prepared, so he decided to relax with a book after helping Nathalie get everything ready.

Loving you is the only thing I ever did right or maybe, even that too was wrong. Perhaps letting you into my life was the worst mistake I've ever made.

Honestly not sure how i feel about these but they're not the worst ive written?

Tagging @clearcloudlesssky @sneebl @imslowlydisintegrating @sm-writes-chaos @fire-but-ashes-too @enne-uni @the-teen-writer (no pressure!)

Seven Snippets, Seven People Tag Game

Thank you so much for the tag @awleeofficial! This is a new one for me too ahaha

Rules: Post seven snippets and tag seven people!

I will use seven different WIPs!

Love and Other Lies

It's the dawn, and Ryn likes to believe that he rises with the sun, akin to the way a morning glory blossoms under the sunlight.

Blood Moon

The breeze blows softly outside, bringing with it the subtle scent of autumnal spice. Outside Julienne Toussaint’s open window, the midday sun beats down on the falling leaves stricken with lush gold, vibrant red, dull orange and crisp brown, making them seem to glow.

Cherry Blossoms (a short story)

“I love the nature here,” Angel smiled, eyes sparkling as they skated across the landscape surrounding them. “I get to tend to everything here, and it’s so beautiful to create luscious life out of nothing but a few tiny seeds.” He looks down at the hands clasped in his lap, fair eyelashes casting pale shadows along his cheekbones. “I love my plants. They are what’s left of my family.”

Troubled Waters

"Sometimes, when one walks along the thin line where the ocean rises up to meet soft sand, it's possible to hear a soft singing. It's said that the souls of heartbroken people are forever trapped in these waters. Sometimes the singing turns into wailing, broken noises showing pain, for the mermaids cannot cry."

Dynasty

“Love,” the warlock had told me, fixing me with his bright crimson irises, “love is the most powerful and most dangerous force to have existed. Love has killed more than every disease combined. Mortals will do crazy, unspeakable things in the name of love.” 

Part of Your World (a fic collab with @faceglitchsworld)

The island of Crescent-Moon is a delightful place to grow up. With turquoise waters hugging its banks and an intricate village filled with generous people, there is a place for everybody on the island, or at least that’s how Teresa feels. 

Creatures of the Night (a vampire fic I'm working on)

“Want to go out for a bite?” he says, a seductive smirk playing upon his lips. His crimson eyes burn into her, gaze resting near the hollow of her neck, and for a second, she's not entirely sure he’s talking about food.

These kind of suck I'm so sorry but I can't think of anything else that's newer that I've written.

I'll tag @dancinginsepia, @worldsfromhoney, @ashfordlabs, @bassguitarinablackt-shirt, @ko0l-k1dd0, @holdmyteaplease and @briannaswords only if you want!

[celestialgaea]

1. I LOVE your writing! You're amazing! 2. If it's not too much trouble, could I request something for brotherhood Ezio - either fluff or smut (maybe a hybrid if such a thing exists?)

These requests really make my heart soft :,) It’s definitly not troublesome at all, darling! a smut/fluff is coming your way :)) enjoy reading! 

btw, I always had the concept in mind of Ezio being a nude model for a painter/paintress so I used it as inspiration for this request, I hope you like it!

Pairings: Brotherhood!Ezio x Reader

warnings: smut, fluff, mature content

summary: Ezio convinces you of using his nude body as reference for your painting and that’s where things start to get heated.

A sound of raging growls left your throat as it was the sixth time you scratched away the slender torso that was sketched upon the parchment. It was slender, too slender for it to be still considered human. Ironic. The Greek gods were inhuman, but you were unable to project the divine muscles that roamed in your thoughts onto the piece of dried lamb skin. You missed Florence, dearly, and since the first week that you had left the vivid city to live in the unknown town of Monteriggioni you thought that the quiet farms, where trees of oranges grew, would help revive the inspiration to paint a Magnum Opus but it only dried the river of colour in your head. You couldn’t compare Florence to a third rate town as Monteriggioni. You could still recall the smell of paint and the dusty marmer that stained the Florentin air of the market, and the sight of novices carrying their painting supplies as they were on their way to class. You missed how you used to visit churches, not to pray, but rather to admire the fresco’s. Now it was all gone. No inspiration and the few churches that existed in this village were sober and only consisted of a giant crucifix and a statue of Madonna holding her child.

bang bang. Someone knocked on the door of your atelier. With a dissatisfied grunt you threw the charcoal pencil on the ground and shoved your seat back with a strong force, causing an abrasive sound to be heard from outside the small building.

‘Who is there?’ You asked sharply as you walked towards the wooden door. You tried to regain your patience and freshened your cheeks, which was red of annoyment, by pressing your abnormally cold palms against them. 

‘It’s me, Ezio.’ His voice was unclear due to the door that seperated you, but it did not spoil the low rumble that was always present in his speech. You pressed your eyelids together rather harshly and groaned in regret. How shameful musn’t it be to shoot invisible daggers towards Ezio as just the thought of his intimidting gaze locked on your face after your scene of lost temper made you wish you hid instead of confronting him. You weren’t scared of him, you were scared of embaressment.

You opened the door to the sight of Ezio leaning against the doorframe, one eyebrow arched in question. 

‘I came to check up on you, ragazza. It sounded as if you were fighting off pirates in there.’ You felt how your face heated up against your will and you tried to laugh it of with a breathless snicker. ‘The only thing I was fighting with were my sketches,’ You stepped aside, exposing a part of your artist studio. It was not big, as it was perfect to fit in a few tables and art easels with canvasses of variating sizes, but it was practical enough to be able to craft in peace. But it seems that the serene peace wasn’t present anymore these past weeks.

‘Where are my manners, come in.’ With a faint smile he swiftly entered and closed the door. 

‘Lack of inspiration?’ He asked. You nodded. ‘Not only that, It is impossible to find any references to bodies as muscled as those of the Greek Gods. Monteriggioni isn’t filled with art as in Firenze, thus making it difficult for me to find those references.’ As you looked at him from the side, you saw how perfect his body posture was to be used as reference; It was flexible and broad, yet it was intimidating and yet not graceful enough to be that of a dancer. 

Ezio hummed in understanding. He was slightly proud that he still had the ability to make you blush, even in his forties, when he caught your eyes wandering through his clothing.  ‘Why don’t you use models like Leonardo does? You could ask him to lend some to you,’ You grinned. ‘Ezio, my dear. The only references to human bodies that Leonardo uses are either dug up from their grave or strangers with the most inhuman facial complexion. Leonardo is fascinated by the misshapen, not the divine.’ 

‘Well, if the ancient Greeks believed that women were the misshapen copies of men, then I confirm myself as being fascinated by the misshapen. My dear.’ He mocked. His lips curled into a sly smirk and he winked at you, but you merely scoffed playfully as you shook your head and walked towards the chaotic scene that played upon your desk; Scattered parchment with incomplete sketches, charcoal pencils and quills thrown all over the table and, at the moment, irrelevant attributes such as a skull and a terracotta bust of Bacchus -A marmer bust was way too expensive for the meager loan you had to live with-

‘Charmed.’ You said, not impressed. Maybe slightly impressed.

‘As I thought you would be,’ 

The open space of the studio behind you felt enclosed as the soft touch of Ezio’s breath caressed the nape of your neck. His eyes roamed over the table, observing every object -he even squatted down and stared into the dead eyes of Bacchus-, and trailed alongside the lines of your sketches with his middle and index finger pressed together, the two fingers levitating above the charcoal lines.

‘Why did you scratch them? It is beautiful. Well, I am not going to lie, it looks a bit...how should I word it?’ He mumbled. ‘Bad?’  ‘A bit out of proportion,’ He trailed alongside the torso with the same two fingers. ‘See,’ Ezio said. ‘The torso is a bit too long, and the muscles are too muscled.’

You scoffed, a small laugh plastered on your face. ‘Too muscly,’ You mumbled to yourself. ‘Ezio, I don’t know if you have noticed but I do not have any male models nor have I seen a man naked before. No, I mean, not that I am a virgin. But I just haven’t seen a naked man with the right size.’ Good Lord. Ezio grinned, not ashamed for the innapropriate phrase that kept resonating in his head, and locked eyes with you as he raised one eyebrow. You shivered. It was that one raised eyebrow that made his face so intimidating, so intense. ‘Not the right size, huh?’

‘You know what I mean, old man.’ He scoffed. His hand covered his breast and he pretended to be in pain. ‘You wound me with your words, bella.’ 

Oh Ezio. He was so entertaining. He was probably one of the very few reasons your stay in Monteriggioni will last for a very long time. Leaving him would make you feel empty. Ezio had a way of pulling women (and also men) towards him, chaining them with such a scorching desire that it would feel injust and even sinful to break the invisible attraction He brought those small moments of thrills and excitement with him whenever he just walked by making you want his attention to be focused on you and solely you.

‘I could send an apprentice of mine to model, but only if you’d like?’ ‘Are they quite muscled? I need a body that represents the gods and not 17 year old boys who are only interested in horses and girls.’ ‘No, judging by the statues I have seen in Florence they wouldn’t be a very great choice. And besides, I don’t think that they can stand still, naked, for a few hours while a beautiful lady has a clear view of their cazzo without, you know, the visuals showing their excitement.’

Your facial expressions showed slight disgust as you were imagining their erect member and face, reddened with shame, while they were posing as one of the Greek deities. Well, to be fair, you couldn’t expect less. They were boys with raging hormones, and you were a young adolescent that was not able to conceil her raging hormones from experienced and charming men. Or shortly said; Ezio. 

Speak of the devil. 

Ezio noticed the disgust on your face and emitted a low and rumbling snicker as he patted your back, the impact of his force causing your shoulder to be shoved forwards. ‘Keep your sneaky little mind away from my apprentices private parts will you?’

‘Ezio!’ You hit his arm, your mouth open and pretending to be shocked by his remark, but you couldn’t help but curl your mouth into a smile. ‘Back to our previous topic,’ You said, recovering from what just had happened. ‘I really need to find a male model for my project, Ezio.’  Ezio happened to show empathy with you as he began taking off his boots. 

‘Ezio, what in heaven are you doing? Put those back on! Ezio what are you thinking?’ Nailed to the floor you looked at ezio who was only wearing his trousers and chemise, its string loosened and showing the flesh upon his chest, and had his hands on the sides of the edge of his pants, ready to take them of and show the world what momma gave him. ‘I am sacrificing my pride for the sake of your painting.’

Your eyes widened. ‘Would you do that for me? Really?’ ‘Bella, what does it look like I am doing?’ He grinned, taking off the rest of his clothing as you had turned around to reorganize your table and prepared the small podium on which Ezio had to model.

‘And besides, what did you mean with Sacrificing your pride?’ You heard Ezio sigh while you sharpened your charcoal pencils. ‘All these men on Classical paintings have a...well, you know, a small penis, so you will have to reduce mine...a lot.’ You laughed, placing the pencils on the table. ‘Oh, Ezio, I don’t really think it will be necessary.’ You said teasingly. You sat down behind the desk when you heard his voice floating around your ears as he walked towards the small podium, every inch of his skin exposed for you and only you. ‘Prego?’ 

It was difficult to keep your gaze off his private part. It was just...hanging there,  minding its bussiness. It was as if your insulting remark about his member just spat back at you with double as much spit. You managed to clear your throat in a subtle way without choking on your saliva. ‘You’ll have to lay down.’ You said. You stood up to grasp a few layers of cloth to cover the small stage to save Ezio’s behind a bit from the harsh ground. It felt weird to be so near him; He was naked and you were clothed. 

You quickly smoothened the cloth onto the stage, fixating your disorientated eyes on it, and walked, almost ran, with rapid speed back to your desk.

It still felt like a fever dream. You were able to get the most skilled murderer fully naked in front of you, without asking once. As it felt surreal, it simutaniously felt forbidden too. He was way older, a teacher of a kind, how many women wouldn’t have killed for this chance. For seeing Ezio naked, almost vulnurable without his armour. Vulnurable for attack as told by the white lining of the remaining scars on his body. 

‘Lay down and lean on your elbows,’ And so he did. ‘Put one knee up. No the other knee, Ezio. Not so high, go a bit lower. Not that low. Yes, stay like that!’ Ezio grinned softly. ‘You are very demanding, aren’t you bella?’ ‘You iniated on being my model, Ezio,  so do as I say.’  Ezio raised an eyebrow as he tilted his head, sucking air through his teeth, sounding similar to scorching metal in cold water. ‘My apologies, maestro.’ 

His body was beautiful. Not too brawny and not fat. Broad muscles showing through his skin and simultaneously a layer of soft fat hugged around his torso, but it didn’t hang nor did it seem loose, It was tight and gave Ezio’s body comfortable for burning cuddles. 

You gave a last look at Ezio’s position, observing it, but something felt wrong. It felt plain, flat. It didn’t have your desired dimentions. 

‘Ezio,’ He turned his head towards you. ‘Could you touch the ground with your left hand and move your torso towards your lifted knee. Let your right arm rest upon that raised knee, yes, just like that.’ It was better. More rounded than flat. And the most beautiful of all was how above his pubic hair, which was trimmed, small layers of skin bundled upon each other, giving more dimention to his body.

You picked up the stylus - a metal pen- with satisfaction and began carving lines onto the parchment. Those lines slowly became basic shapes until more shade and more complexity was added to them. Ezio’s eyes kept sailing from around the room to your concentrated face. It must be intimidating for him whenever it took only fractions of seconds before you raised your eyes to look at him every single time. And every time he wondered how many seconds it would last this time before you watched him again. 

‘Do you do this a lot? Using nude models?’ Ezio asked. You stood halt in your drawing to look up at him. ‘Well, No. Back in Firenze I was too ashamed to ask for one. If the word would spread about a women making a carreer out of brush strokes instead of a man stroking her to let her bear him a son, they’d burn my paintings. And they may burn my paintings, but i’ll still use the ashes to draw a big cazzo on the front door of their homes.’  You said, slightly flinching at the thought of your face being tortured by the sweltering flames that are devouring your art works. Ezio laughed. His wide-opened mouth created deep curving lines next to it, sparkling eyes squinting at you. 

How did he do it? How was he capable of making you desire him with just a smile. A smile of confidence. A smile of which hundreds of women fell for. Let alone how his body would call for company as melancholy and charm hung like a perfume around him. 

‘Eccezionale,’ He grinned in a breath. ‘And in Monteriggioni?’ ‘The average male in this village is almost expired. They’re at least fifthy.’ 

‘You don’t older men?’ He asked teasingly. Yes you did, especially him. ‘There is a difference between older and old. Old men are almost expired. Older men, on the other hand, are more matured and experienced.’ 

With a last look at the sketch you laid down the stylus and motioned for Ezio to move again. You quickly added some shadows around the sillhouette around the body as you felt Ezio stand behind you. 

‘And what is “older” to you?’  ‘You ask a lot of Questions, Ezio. Aren’t you  Il mentore?’ His broad shoulders casted a shadow on your cheek that was turned to his side. ‘I’m curious. Isn’t a man allowed to ask questions? Especially if he’s as expired as me?’ You scoffed.

‘Ezio, you are not expired. You aren’t old.’

‘I’ll be turning fifthy in five years.’

‘That’s still ages away from now.’

‘Time flies, bella.’

‘Well, mentore, I don’t perceive you as old. In fact, you are mature and very sharp.’ You stole a quick glance of his private part before letting your gaze wander towards the floor. How was he able to keep himself so tame when the tension was creating a heated knot in your lower stomach? The knot kept contracting with every breath from Ezio’s soft lips that brushed against your neck and the radiating heat from his naked body caused by the Florentine sun that tortured his skin underneath the layers of his heavy assassin robes. 

You turned around, trapped in between the wooden desk and Ezio’s nudeness, and placed a hand on his bicep. ‘How aren’t you burned yet underneath all those layers of clothing.’ Your eyes locked with his. ‘I have very thick skin,’ He palmed your hand in his and lead it down his muscular arm, rubbing against its hot skin, let it follow the curves of his muscles back up to his chest. You didn’t even need to glance down to see that his good old friend has “awakened”. 

Ezio’s hand caressed your collarbone and slid down, only to stop at the cleavage of your gown. With his index finger he easily pulled the piece of fabric away from your chest, exposing your breasts that were visible through the thin night gown. 

He hummed in satisfaction.

Ezio disposed you of your clothes in a slow and agonizing manner until your naked body was hugged by the warm air that filled the art studio. His eyes, filled with passionate lust, wandered over your whole body, absorbing every inch of naked skin.  Ezio pressed his body close to you and you felt how his manhood, swollen with blood, was pressed against your stomach. Ezio kissed your lips. His lips covering your upper lip as you softly nibbled on his bottom lip. His tongue wetted the entrance of your mouth before the warmth of his saliva got mixed with yours. Ezio’s hands roamed your whole body, he wanted to take all of you, touch all of you, feel every piece of your hot skin lingering against his. His hands trailed back to your upper thighs and rubbed them as his fingers curled to grip the soft flesh of it. His warm hands felt rough and experienced against your inner thighs, it felt like everything that desire is. 

Ezio pulled your legs around his waist and carried you the the small improvised podium of layered blankets as his one hand held the fold at the backside of your knee and the other was pressed against your lower back. 

You couldn’t describe how overwhelmed you where with all these sensory feelings. Your contracting stomach, heating core and tickling neck, caused by Ezio’s lips and teasing nips, made you close your eyes and press your legs tighter around his torso. You pressed yourself against Ezio while you yearned for his body engulfing yours in this passionate warmth as Ezio’s hot breaths left humid spots on your neck. 

His lips kissed your collarbone and so he went down with smouldering and slow kisses down to the curve in between the mounds of your breasts. His hand cupped your breast and massaged your nipple with his thumb as his mouth place kisses on the side of your other breast before tracing to your nipple and holding it between his lips. 

your breathing became irregular, some were sharp and some were pitched. Your hands took a grip on Ezio’s broad back and you couldn’t help but groan in a breath. His body slid down on yours until he stopped above your pubic bone, a trail of saliva covered your torso. Ezio placed your legs on his shoulders, holding onto your thighs, and he breathed so softly against your humid entrance. 

It felt tingly and increased your need for him to touch you. Ezio’s fingers caressed your labia as his hot and humid tongue slid up your crease. Your breath hitched. His lips covered your clit, his beard tickling your inner thighs, kissing it before taking it between his lips and sucking on it. You groaned. Your clit was pusling and you felt how your entrance was filled with so much ecstasy. Ezio kept licking, nibbling and just making you feel on cloud nine until you felt how tension was layering and building up in your core and you felt how it was almost going to explode in bright colours of the sweet relieve. But Ezio stopped before you could taste that pure sweetness and how much you disliked it, the builded up tension slowly died down.

‘Why did you stop?’ You asked defeatedly. Ezio smirked. ‘I want us to finish together,’ You were surprised. ‘Because I can’t wait any longer to be inside of you.’  Ezio slid back up so his lips could reach your mouth again. You enveloped your leg around his waist and Ezio gripped the fold of your knee, slowly pressing your thigh against your chest. 

He groaned as the tip of his manhood entered slowly. He stopped after a few inches of his manhood had entered so you’d adapt to his lenght and width and began pumping slowly before he’d let his whole penis enter inside of you inch by inch. He filled you so good.

Ezio began pumping in and out between your slick walls and went rougher. The sweetness and lust of the moment made both of your groan in synch. But the more he motioned inside of you, the more your groans became heartfelt moans. You grabbed ezio’s back as you bit on his shoulder. With every push and every thrust of his body against yours the sinful sounds of hitting skin was like background music for the hymn of your moans. Ezio grabbed your thigh and pushed himself deeper, which you doubt was still possible, and the poor man was lost in deep groans. He kept you close to him as he filled you until the building up layers made you speed up, shortening the silence between every clap of skin. ‘Ezio,’ You whispered in lost sweetness. The more tension that build up, the more the yearning for that sweet relieve became. ‘(Y/N),’ He groaned in your ear, huskily. 

Only a few strokes and you were there, both of you. Oh, sweet Lord, how you were losing your mind in a blurr of white light. Just those few last strokes and you’d explode. You were almost there...almost...and ‘Ezio!’ The ball of squeezed tension exploded into a firework of sweetness and fire. Ezio came inside of you with squeezed eyes and a groan before he let himself relax onto you. Your chests were elevating in an irregular rythm. 

‘Mio Dio,’ You whispered in amazement. Ezio slid out of you and took the excess length of the cloth to cover both of you.

‘So when are you free to come back? To finish the painting?’ 

‘Very soon, Bella, very soon.’

[highdwightofmylife]

How would the Doctor, Trapper, Michael, and Oni react to a survivor or S/O (or both) who is so small/flexible that they can fit into incredibly hard-to-spot, tight spaces during the trials? Like vent shafts, amongst the rafters of old buildings/barns, and other places you wouldn't really expect a person to be able to fit.

HCS For A VERY Flexible and Small S/O

Evan MacMillan | The Trapper

“How in the hell are you doing that?”

He is... So confused. He’s in awe. 

“You’re gonna break your neck stop that--!”

Evan sees you all pretzel’d up in a vent shaft and he stops dead. He just stares at you for a solid minute. You can see the cogs in his brain turning. And then, “now come on, that’s not natural.” 

In all honesty he deeply fears that one day you’re gonna bend over and snap in half. 

He’s... The Trapper. Catching things is what he does. Especially small things. He seems to have a sixth sense about where you’re hiding. You hear his footsteps as he stalks past... And then he stops. Slowly takes a few steps back. “I know you’re in that box.” 

Herman Carter | The Doctor

Sick intrigue. Herman will most certainly want to know how far you can push yourself, and he’s more than happy to force you into inhuman positions to help in the name of science. 

Sometimes when you’re chilling with him, he’ll take your hands and slowly move your limbs around, inspecting your body. You watch him bending your wrists and folding your fingers. He’s just so fascinated. 

Loves seeing you fit into tiny spaces. “You’re like a little mouse in a cage,” he’ll giggle at you. 

Honestly sometimes he actually shows you tiny spaces like “try and fit in here”. 

Imagine mid-trial, Herman shoving you into a air vent and locking you in. “I’ll deal with you later, sweetheart.” Could mean either he’s gonna kill you last or spend some time with you, you can never tell with this man.

Kazan Yamaoka | The Oni

First of all, the fact that you’re tiny is... He loves it. In his eyes, tiny means pure and innocent. And, well... Pure and innocent means ‘must be protected’. 

But when you bend your body like that... You terrify the life out of him. He always flinches as if waiting to hear a bone snap.

He’s curious about how you can do it. He most certainly can’t! You catch him eyeing you, slowly trying to make his shoulders bend in a weird angle. It doesn’t work. He has big beefy arms and they only go the way shoulders naturally go. 

You fit into a real tight space and Kazan can’t do anything but stare at you. His mind cannot comprehend how you’ve managed to fit in that space. He’s scared you’re gonna get stuck.

Michael Myers | The Shape

He has an absolute sick fascination with the way your body can bend. He’s deeply intrigued. 

He will be all up in your face, trying to figure out why your body does what it does. He’s never seen a human body that can bend like that. Not his, not his victims... Or at least, none of the living ones. Dead bodies can bend however you want them to without complaint. 

You’re just chilling. Minding your own business. When Michael comes up to you and just grabs your leg and pushes it in a direction that would have most people screaming. Michael doesn’t care. He wants to see how far you can go. 

Even if he pushes you too far to the point you’re in pain, he’s not gonna care. I’m sorry, but his fascination far outweighs any inking of care he has for you. He’s a bastard man at heart.

[cannedanimals]

ASHES TO ASHES

(January 7th, 1947 - December 10th, 2016) 

It’s been a year since David Bowie died. By now the funeral’s over and people are moving on - “getting over” the death of one of the world’s greatest entertainers. I’ve missed the parade of tears by a long shot. The online post-life after party’s done, but doesn’t matter, because even in the afterglow of a pretty triumphant end (I have no doubt in my mind that Blackstar’s release was planned around what happened) David Bowie will stay relevant for longer than we can understand. As long as people have feelings, people will listen to his music.

Considering how long it took for me to feel much of anything after a very long time being divorced from my own emotions, there’s no way I can possibly thank him for everything I found in his music.

The news of his passing came to me as a familiar pain. I could’ve been bleeding out there on my bed as I read the news reports on my phone. He’s a celebrity, somebody I’ve never met, and yet when I heard that he had died I was instantly visited by a grief I hadn’t felt since my own father passed away almost a decade ago. That moment in my life is inextricably connected with my discovery of David Bowie’s music - they happened simultaneously, during a long, confusing period of time where I wasn’t sure if I’d ever feel happy again.

When my dad died I was sadder than I ever felt. Watching cancer take him slowly was only the beginning of it all for me. I had zero peace for so long. We were close, and when he died during my first month of college, everything about who I was changed irreparably. I learned a lot in that lonely place, especially how important something like music can be in the process of coping with death.

I learned that if you’re sad about something, or just in a bad moment with no visible end, you might not want to say anything about how you feel to anyone. You might not want to talk at all, and you might not even need to, and I think that’s okay. Some people talk to get their feelings out, some people write, and some people make music. All of us are going to come to terms with very awful things, a lot of us already have. Because as lonely as it all can be - and the loneliness in losing someone can drive you crazy - we live in a time where human warmth can extend through anything. We can observe the world and try to find something that brings us back to it. People have incredible ways of radiating empathy; through bytes and sound waves, through pixels and scribbles, in silent ways and ways that scream out the words “you’re not alone.”

That is what I heard when I listened to David Bowie’s music for the first time - quite literally. Rock and Roll Suicide came at the tail end of the first album I (and a lot of people my age, I feel) heard first. It wasn’t really revelatory then. I didn’t burst out in tears, as if I could. Instead I just listened to it over and over and over again, and - at the time - I really couldn’t tell you why if you were to ask.

Every kid who leaves home comes to terms with the realness of their physical separation at one point or another. If you haven’t yet, then pretty soon now you’re gonna get older. I’ve learned that some would stay away for good from their old lives if they could. For me, being away at college came with an altogether different home life as well. Half of it disappeared, forever. Where I was, I couldn’t make friends. It’s not that I wasn’t friendly, or that people weren’t friendly towards me. There was such a wall between myself and my reality that even the nicest, most engaging people were only part of a very sad looking backdrop. I hid in my headphones when I walked around campus. I was a bit of a weirdo to begin with, so my behavior didn’t help me make friends, but it was what I needed to do at the time to keep myself from going off the deep end.

There are people who can wander into that weirdly lonely spot you’re in and help you feel like you’re not alone. David Bowie is the star he is not only because of his many personas, not only for being an icon in so many ways, but for having an otherworldly empathy reflected in his music. There are lots of clever things to say about him being some sort of alien thanks to Ziggy Stardust, but in reality he was so human that it almost hurts to think about. He inspired myself and others to go on and be ourselves. When we are at our worst, or even at our best, he is one of the rare figures we can look on and find something new and fascinating in. He can make stiffs like myself dance, even if it’s alone in our dorm rooms. It is that kind of inspiration that makes him legendary. To me, he embodies the very point of making art.

A lot of people believe in the five stages of grief, which I think they’re accurate enough, but I also believe in a sixth stage. There is a kind of never-ending weariness that comes from missing somebody that you’ll never see or talk to again. I don’t think it’s depression. Where depression is quantifiably unhealthy, the longing for those we’ve lost is the sort of all-too-normal thing that shapes who we are in it’s own altogether shapeless way. I can’t find the perfect word for it. It’s a wistfulness without real form, and it never leaves. This feeling is a ‘stream of warm impermanence’ in it’s own way. You don’t forget people who die. It’s especially hard to lose sight of the ones who lead particularly colorful lives..

A lot of people might disagree with me about not talking about the feelings that kind of loss stirs up. A year ago, the world went wild with it’s mourning, but I handled David Bowie’s death the same way I did my father’s. I took my time with it, and it’s taken this long for me to come to terms with what he meant to me. This works for me, don’t be ashamed if it works for you too. I don’t mean to say you should internalize your sadness to the point where you’re lying to yourself and everyone around you, though. The state of your own well-being can be a surprisingly easy thing to hide if you do it right. If you do a bad job keeping a stiff upper lip than people will know and, unless they really care for you, they’ll see you as someone who needs their space. I think most people can smell grief on you and if you’re not too close they’ll probably avoid you. But no matter how you go about alleviating your pains, just do it at your own pace and do what you can to bring stability back to your life. In the case of my father and I, it was found in the tiny things that brought happiness back. Music, writing, drawing. It was opening up to other people’s worlds, exploring them, and letting them guide me for a little bit. It’s not giving into fantasy if you’re partaking in other’s reality. If this were unhealthy, then all art would have died as well a long time ago. 

As mentioned earlier, during my first month at university, my father passed away after a long sickness. First it was lung cancer, then it was brain cancer. It all happened while I was prepping to move on with life after high school and start doing new, exciting things away from home. I couldn’t. I was skipping classes for hospice trips. Everything was fast and slow all at once, altogether out of time. We eventually learned that David Bowie, like my father, had cancer. Cancer is it's own force of nature that is by definition awful and senselessness. It kills all of our heroes; the ones singing under shining lights, and the ones who tuck us in at night - the ones with a capital H. If you've had cancer or watched it work itself on someone, then you know what I mean. And if you haven't, good. It’s the great and terrible unifier. It makes the inhuman among us human once again.

When dealing with monumental grief, you’ll sometimes find yourself absorbed in a quietness that feels very empty and breeds bad thoughts. Maybe crying is our natural fix to this, but as thinking creatures we’ve evolved beyond basic instincts. We’ve created art to kill the danger hiding in our most quiet moments. We record our thoughts and voices for these instances of forced introspection. It’s why people listen to music and look at paintings and watch movies. It might be why you’re reading this. It might be why you listen to David Bowie. And you may not have found that empathy anywhere yet. I implore you to take your eyes off the ground and look around you, listen, read. Absorb yourself in other people’s worlds and take from them what you can to make yours better.

After a long while though, I used those tiny things I took to find happiness again.  It was through big people with ideas that reach toward the infinite that I got myself to a better place. People close to me, and people rumored to be from beyond the stars. I could no longer be who I was - and with every time I lose anyone, I’m just gonna have to be a different man. Time may change me.

But no matter what I write, I don’t know if I could ever quite convey how much David Bowie’s music means to me. Despite everything that has happened, I know I’ll be okay, and I can only hope that others find their stability through means as comfortable as my own. There are some things that can be talked about forever, but when it comes to myself I’m not that complex. I can be summed up in the confines of a four minute pop song. So, I’ll end all this with the words of a valuable friend:

I’m happy - hope you’re happy too.