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suzannahnatters · 1 year

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So here's one of the coolest things that has happened to me as a Tolkien nut and an amateur medievalist. It's also impacted my view of the way Tolkien writes women. Here's Carl Stephenson in MEDIEVAL FEUDALISM, explaining the roots of the ceremony of knighthood: "In the second century after Christ the Roman historian Tacitus wrote an essay which he called Germania, and which has remained justly famous. He declares that the Germans, though divided into numerous tribes, constitute a single people characterised by common traits and a common mode of life. The typical German is a warrior. [...] Except when armed, they perform no business, either private or public. But it is not their custom that any one should assume arms without the formal approval of the tribe. Before the assembly the youth receives a shield and spear from his father, some other relative, or one of the chief men, and this gift corresponds to the toga virilis among the Romans--making him a citizen rather than a member of a household" (pp 2-3). Got it?

Remember how Tolkien was a medievalist who based his Rohirrim on Anglo-Saxon England, which came from those Germanic tribes Tacitus was talking about? Stephenson argues that the customs described by Tacitus continued into the early middle ages eventually giving rise to the medieval feudal system. One of these customs was the gift of arms, which transformed into the ceremony of knighthood: "Tacitus, it will be remembered, describes the ancient German custom by which a youth was presented with a shield and a spear to mark his attainment of man's estate. What seems to the be same ceremony reappears under the Carolingians. In 791, we are told, Charlemagne caused Prince Louis to be girded with a sword in celebration of his adolescence; and forty-seven years later Louis in turn decorated his fifteen-year-old son Charles "with the arms of manhood, i.e., a sword." Here, obviously, we may see the origin of the later adoubement, which long remained a formal investiture with arms, or with some one of them as a symbol. Thus the Bayeux Tapestry represents the knighting of Earl Harold by William of Normandy under the legend: Hic Willelmus dedit Haroldo arma (Here William gave arms to Harold). [...] Scores of other examples are to be found in the French chronicles and chansons de geste, which, despite much variation of detail, agree on the essentials. And whatever the derivation of the words, the English expression "dubbing to knighthood" must have been closely related to the French adoubement" (pp 47-48.)

In its simplest form, according to Stephenson, the ceremony of knighthood included "at most the presentation of a sword, a few words of admonition, and the accolade." OK. So what does this have to do with Tolkien and his women? AHAHAHAHA I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED. First of all, let's agree that Tolkien, a medievalist, undoubtedly was aware of all the above. Second, turn with me in your copy of The Lord of the Rings to chapter 6 of The Two Towers, "The King of the Golden Hall", when Theoden and his councillors agree that Eowyn should lead the people while the men are away at war. (This, of course, was something that medieval noblewomen regularly did: one small example is an 1178 letter from a Hospitaller knight serving in the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem which records that before marching out to the battle of Montgisard, "We put the defence of the Tower of David and the whole city in the hands of our women".) But in The Lord of the Rings, there's a little ceremony.

"'Let her be as lord to the Eorlingas, while we are gone.' 'It shall be so,' said Theoden. 'Let the heralds announce to the folk that the Lady Eowyn will lead them!' Then the king sat upon a seat before his doors and Eowyn knelt before him and received from him a sword and a fair corselet."

I YELLED when I realised what I was reading right there. You see, the king doesn't just have the heralds announce that Eowyn is in charge. He gives her weapons.

Theoden makes Eowyn a knight of the Riddermark.

Not only that, but I think this is a huge deal for several reasons. That is, Tolkien knew what he was doing here.

From my reading in medieval history, I'm aware of women choosing to fight and bear arms, as well as becoming military leaders while the men are away at some war or as prisoners. What I haven't seen is women actually receiving knighthood. Anyone could fight as a knight if they could afford the (very pricy) horse and armour, and anyone could lead a nation as long as they were accepted by the leaders. But you just don't see women getting knighted like this.

Tolkien therefore chose to write a medieval-coded society, Rohan, where women arguably had greater equality with men than they did in actual medieval societies.

I think that should tell us something about who Tolkien was as a person and how he viewed women - perhaps he didn't write them with equal parity to men (there are undeniably more prominent male characters in The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, at least, than female) but compared to the medieval societies that were his life's work, and arguably even compared to the society he lived in, he was remarkably egalitarian.

I think it should also tell us something about the craft of writing fantasy.

No, you don't have to include gut wrenching misogyny and violence against women in order to write "realistic" medieval-inspired fantasy.

Tolkien's fantasy worlds are DEEPLY informed by medieval history to an extent most laypeople will never fully appreciate. The attitudes, the language, the ABSOLUTELY FLAWLESS use of medieval military tactics...heck, even just the way that people travel long distances on foot...all of it is brilliantly medieval.

The fact that Theoden bestows arms on Eowyn is just one tiny detail that is deeply rooted in medieval history. Even though he's giving those arms to a woman in a fantasy land full of elves and hobbits and wizards, it's still a wonderfully historically accurate detail.

Of course, I've ranted before about how misogyny and sexism wasn't actually as bad in medieval times as a lot of people today think. But from the way SOME fantasy authors talk, you'd think that historical accuracy will disappear in a puff of smoke if every woman in the dragon-infested fantasy land isn't being traumatised on the regular.

Tolkien did better. Be like Tolkien.

#tolkien #middle earth #jrr tolkien #lord of the rings #lotr #the lord of the rings #eowyn #writing fantasy #fantasy #female characters #writing #historical fiction #medieval women #medieval history #medieval #history #womens history

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sibelin · 1 month

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I don't want people to reblog that AI art post so I'll put my addition here:

One thing that will always make me cringe with those AI imitations of middle to late 19th century art is how the intelligence will always try to match ALL the women figures with the current 21th century beauty standards. Now, of course, I wouldn't be complaining if these kind of images weren't plaguing the "classical art" or "oil painting" tags. But since they are, I will show you what 19th century painting of women really looks like. And yeah, I know, some paintings match with current beauty standards but it's still more complicated than that. "Classic" painting is not all about representing pretty ladies. Otherwise historians of art would be bored.

Okay, if it's a "classic" painting, let's go with neoclassicism which is basically a return to the classic inspirations from antiquity and a return to simplicity after years of the wild Baroque and Rococo of the 18th century. Want to see portraits of women in that time?

(Left : Detail of Portrait de madame de Verninac by Jacques-Louis David, 1979. Right : Portrait de Madame Duvaucey, 1809, Jean-Dominique Ingres).

So far, notice how these two women don't look at all like the women in those fake AI paintings. They are portraits of real women, thus real models. But even when they were painting gods, 19th century painters HAD models! Not only that, they were also inspired by antiquity, which wasn't really doing realism either, they had their own ideals like, to cite one exemple, the really straight noses you always see in greek statues. Well, that's also in neoclassical paintings! Look:

(Detail of La Mélancolie by Constance Marie Charpentier, 1801)

On the other side, you've got two strong opponents (and logical responding movements) to this return to classical culture : Romantism and Realism. Once again, look at the diversity :

(Left: Details of Les foins by Jules Bastien-Lepage, 1877. Right: Jeune orpheline au cimetière, Eugène Delacroix, 1824.)

Realism is pretty self-explanatory. The painters were going back to show normal people, farmers and workers. They weren't here to make them beautiful or to conform to beauty standards but to show the world as it is. Result was a lot of controversies, notably with Courbet and Les baigneuses, a representation of a strong woman in an unflatering pose and dirt on her feet that shook the beauty standards so dear to the academic ideals of his times. Check it out if you're interested, there's plenty of articles about it. And romanticism? Once again very diverse. Just look at pre-romantism, with Goya, who loooved representing fucked up little scenes. Or with Delacroix, here with one of his most famous portrait (Jeune orpheline au cimetière) probably because of the expression, the pose, everything that makes that girl look alive, real, unique.

But wait.... You've already seen classical paintings were the ladies looked like all the ladies nowadays, right? Maybe you've seen those very pretty pre raphaelites paintings with those women that look kinda like Florence Welch. Maybe you've seen academic art, the most palatable of 19th century style when it comes to beauty norms. And it's true, it could be similar to these prompted AI classical babes, except once again, it's not. Because once again, they had models, and models were different from paintings to paintings. And this is this systematic same face vibes that makes AI so boring. Because even when real historical art comes close to that, it is always way way way more rich and full of surprises.

(left : The North-West Passage by John Everett Millais, 1878. Middle: Detail of Contemplation by John William Godward, 1922. Right: Detail of La Naissance de Vénus by William Bouguereau, 1879)

Then, you have all these art styles that AI weirdly stays away from : those where the style and process is so strong, so much more important than the subject, that it would be hard to copy without noticing the difference. It could be impressionism, it could be symbolism or better, it could be the avant-garde artists that announces then blends into the wild, colorful and tortured art of the first half of the 20th century.

(Left: Le chemin de fer by Edouard Manet, 1973. Middle: I lock my door upon myself by Fernand Khnopff, 1891, Right: Jane Avril by Henri de Toulouse Lautrec, 1892)

Conclusion/ TLDR : If fake historical AI art becomes more realistic every day, it will never be as rich and diverse as the real deal because it will always be used to appease an algorithm for people who just want to see pretty images that catters to them and never challenge their views. When it comes to beauty norm, this could be dangerous and make people believe that these was always how women looked like. That all girls were born with removed buccal fat and symmetrical faces, even in old paintings. I don't know, it may be nothing, but it may be something. Thank you for those who read all that and I hope see many cool paintings in museums :)

Addition: This is of course a very european centric vision of art but it's what the AI will take inspiration from anyway. For the same reasons, these paintings are very white but I was also trying to avoid the icky orientalist representations that were so trendy in the 19th century. Note that there is an even better diversity in paintings when you open your eyes to non-european centric art.

(If I see a terf reblogging this, i'm blocking on sight)

#history of art #art #classical art #paintings #anti AI #ai #long post

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nalyra-dreaming · 1 month

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I know there is a lot more to look forward to, but Jacob and Sam's chemistry is just so special, and it makes me sad to think that we might not see them together as much in future seasons. Do you think they will really be able to keep Jacob as a lead, since Louis doesn't have as much of a role in later books? I know they are aware how exceptional Jacob is, and how special his chemistry with Sam is, so I hope they can keep him as a lead.

Oh, I think we will "keep" them :)

AMC (and Rolin Jones) know they struck gold with them, and especially in the later books there is a LOT to build on.

I think the show will build up the "core four" next season, there won't be just "one lead"... and as such, the story lines can be quite nicely interwoven. There are some things Louis is instrumental for, some things he can take over from other characters, and of course we have already seen how ingeniously they're spinning the different timelines and hints already?

I honestly wouldn't worry.

Louis will stay, and will stay a big part, just as Armand, Daniel and Lestat will. But of course he won't be able to "be" in the backstories of Lestat and Armand (though I have a feeling he will be more than in the book involved in the one for Daniel and Armand).

There is also a high chance that Daniel might stand in for David for TtotBT too, imho, so...

And the show just cannot build up a cast like in the books, it would be too much. Which in turn opens up a lot of possibilities for Louis?! (Also, I believe Anne considered Armand once to be more involved with the fight against Akasha/Amel iirc? I do think Rolin & co have read the Tulane sources, so maybe they're taking "twist inspiration" from there as well).

Again, I think we will have "four lead" characters, after season 3. Built around Loustat, as Rolin said.

It would work very well, imho.

(Especially, again, imho^^, if they get Merrick out of the way (which is also why I think Rolin will do the Merrick ending in s2), because not only can it explain a lot, or work in a cataclysmic way, it also frees Louis up. The Louis after is a different one. Far more powerful, eventually far more sure of himself. TtotBT would fit perfectly with that phase where they're not quite there yet, and then... 😈)

I don't see Louis going anywhere.

Which, in turn means, Jam Reiderson will not go anywhere either *laughs*

#wendyliddel #asks #ask nalyra #amc iwtv #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire amc #iwtv amc #iwtv 2022 #interview with the vampire #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #loustat #sam reid #jacob anderson #iwtv cast #jam reiderson

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zkaus · 5 months

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Daniel's Journey Towards Armand:

"He had been a young reporter, roaming the bars of the world with his tape recorder, trying to get the flotsam and jetsam of the night to tell him some truth."

"Well, one night in San Francisco he had found a magnificent subject for his investigations.

And the light of ordinary life had suddenly gone out."

"Now he was a ruined thing."

"He was an expert on Armand, wasn’t he, he had studied every detail of Armand’s youthful body and face."

"He had never been revolted by Armand, he had to admit it. What he always felt was ravening and hopeless desire."

"Everything would go all right for months as Daniel felt compelled to move from city to city, walking the pavements of New York or Chicago or New Orleans. Then the sudden disintegration. He’d realize he had not moved from his chair in five hours. Or he’d wake suddenly in a stale and unchanged bed, frightened, unable to remember the name of the city where he was, or where he’d been for days before. Then the car would come for him, then the plane would take him home."

"You came back to me because you wanted to, Daniel,” Armand always said calmly, face still and radiant, eyes full of love. “There is nothing for you now, Daniel, except me. You know that. Madness waits out there.”

"I’d rather die than see you die, Daniel.”

“Then give it to me! Damn you! Immortality that close, as close as your arms.”

“No, Daniel, because I’d rather die than do that, too.”

Armand on the pain of loving Daniel

"In time I conceived another love naturally, a love for a mortal boy Daniel, to whom Louis had poured out his story... I later made into a vampire for the same reasons that Marius had made me so long ago: the boy, who had been my faithful mortal companion, and only sometimes an intolerable nuisance, was about to die."

"Daniel himself had no use for the world, and had come to me hungering for our Dark Blood"

"Heaping every luxury upon him, I only sickened him with mortal sweets so that finally he turned away from the riches I offered, becoming a vagabond. Mad, roaming the streets in rags, he shut out the world almost to the point of death,"

"I, weak, muddled, tormented by his beauty, and lusting for the living man and not the vampire he might become, only brought him over to us through the working of the Dark Trick because he would have died otherwise."

"My love for Daniel had never been entirely honest, and always viciously possessive, and quite entangled with my own hatred of the world at large, and my confusion in the face of the baffling modern times"

"That is no mystery unto itself, the making of Daniel. Loneliness will always inevitably press us to such things."

"I was a firm believer that those we make ourselves will always despise us for it."

"There was never any innocence for us, there was never any springtime.There was never any chance, no matter how beautiful the twilight gardens in which we wandered. Our souls were out of tune, our desires crossed and our resentments too common and too well watered for the final flowering"

On Marius caring for Daniel while he was mentally unwell

“. . . I took Daniel with me because he needed me. I took Daniel because it’s unendurable to me to be utterly alone."

“Daniel is very good at putting together the houses. See how intricate they are? This is all that Daniel does now.”

"I’ve come here with Daniel alone. Daniel always needs someone to look after him. It suits me to be near Daniel. Daniel doesn’t have to speak. That he is here is sufficient.”

David on seeing Daniel sane again:

"Quickly, he locked in on his companion: the tall thin boyish young man with the violet eyes and the ashen hair whom Lestat had so aptly called “the Devil’s Minion.” It was Daniel who had interviewed the vampire who was Louis de Pointe du Lac, thereby giving birth unwittingly and innocently enough decades ago to the collection of books known as the Vampire Chronicles.

It was Daniel who’d captured the damaged heart of the Vampire Armand and been brought over by him into Darkness. It was Daniel who had languished for many a year—shocked, deranged, lost, unable to care for himself—in Marius’s care until only a couple of years ago when his sanity, ambition, and dreams had been restored to him."

On Marius loving Daniel

"Marius loved Daniel. He had salvaged Daniel from the aftermath of that storm, and never for one moment regretted it. Marius knew that Daniel had also salvaged him from the same chaos, becoming for Marius someone Marius could care for, someone Marius could personally love. It meant the world to Marius that he was not walking on this beach alone, that Daniel was walking at his side."

"Daniel was a disciplined hunter, master of the Little Drink in a crowd, and a slayer of the evildoer only. Marius was certain of that."

Louis on the reunion of Daniel & Armand

"Armand and Daniel Malloy were out hunting alone in the gentle warm rain."

"[Marius] he'd lost his longtime companion, Daniel Molloy, to Armand again, and these two remained at Court only because of the threat to the Prince, and hoped some night to be free to go to Trinity Gate in New York."

#interview with the vampire #😭😭😭💔💔💔#amc iwtv #iwtv #the vampire armand #daniel molloy #the vampire chronicles #quotes #anne rice #iwtv amc #Armand #devil's minion

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amuseoffyre · 9 months

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Had a bit of a day at the weekend :)

Thanks to @primevideouk I was one of the lucky folk who got to visit the Soho set and honestly, I was entirely blown away on every possible level.

The set is so much more than I could ever have anticipated. Not just the size, which is staggering enough, but the love and attention to detail poured into it, the layers, the tiny things that build and build to make it feel real are incredible. From the hand-written adverts for flats in the newsagent window to copies of New Aquarian on the window sill of the coffee shop, there are little human touches and easter eggs everywhere.

Aziraphale's bookshop is perfect inside and I love it and they were very lucky I didn't just squirrel down in one of the armchairs with the Robert Louis Stevenson collection on the cherub-table at the front door.

The behind-the-scenes team who were there to tell us about their work were amazing. Producers in the coffee shop, costume designer with an array of new costumes, concept designer in the bookshop and the set decorator and graphic designers showing us around in the street. They love this show as much as we do and it pours out of them. You can tell how much thought and feeling they have put into every single detail of the show. Also, we have been warned/assured that David Arnold's score is going to blow us away.

Yes, I have seen episode 1. No I am saying nothing about it except AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!! (And that we watched it in the frigging Dirty Donkey :D :D :D :D)

#good omens #good omens s2

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dementorfromazkaban · 18 days

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☆Welcome hotties, nerds and fools☆

(yes i changed tools to fools. who's gonna stop me? not you.)

i'm here, at your service to assist in stalking this user. what would you like to know?

Basic Info:

I'm Ani, your friendly neighborhood slytherin residing in cabin 3.

I don't mind any pronouns, but i prefer she/her.

i'm a turbulent infp, a bisexual disaster, a september virgo, and a regulus kin.

everyone is welcome to this blog, and please do not hesitate to interact! 🤍

(exceptions being queerphobes, sexists, racists etc. you know the drill)

Things I Love (Misc.):

absolutely obsessed with dead gay wizards from 70s, a bit of harry potter (separating the art from the artist) and pjo. i love flowers, coffee, the sound of rain and the smell of soil after (not a big fan of rain itself), photography, sketching, reading, music, art, night sky, stargazing, delivering speeches (ik that's random af), making friends, poetry, having long conversations (debating ideas), writing, singing, sunsets, dark chocolate and scrolling tumblr and spending an unhealthy amount of time on ao3

that's all i can think of for now 🤠

Books:

hp, pjo, the hobbit, the picture of dorian gray, pride and prejudice, agggtm, the diary of a young girl, several geronimo and thea stilton books, shatter me, thunderbolt (by wilbur smith), some roald dahl works and more i can't remember

also, a lot of amazing fanfics <3

Music:

i'm not very picky but i do have some favs; conan gray, kpop (mostly bts and itzy), lana del rey, girl in red, taylor swift, david bowie, queen, abba, hozier, louis tomlinson, pixies, harry styles, mother mother, lorde

(is the impact of marauders on my music taste obvious?)

Lovely Mutuals:

@silence-between-seconds @daydream-of-a-wallflower @wolvesandshine @re-is-back-in-black @chaserofstars11 @good-oldfashioned-lover @lady-stardust-incarnate @kurt-cobain-is-jesus-in-disguise @sleepinginmygrave @ecstarry

(and the others i've never interacted with, directly or indirectly. i love you all 🤍)

i'm not very much into movies and shows, but recs are always welcomed 🤍✨

congratulations, you've successfully wasted your time ✨

now that you know about this user more than her family, this is me, ani, officially signing off.

*bows, salutes, runs away*

#i thought it was unprofessional of me not to have an intro post #anyway here we are #ani tries ig

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monstersinthecosmos · 8 months

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September 8, 1973

Everything hurts.

Joints rusted shut, and a migraine brewing behind his eyes.

And the sunlight. In his face, squeezing deep in his brain as he tries to lift his head.

Everything is heavy.

His neck cracks as he straightens up, and there’s static in his mouth, spots in his vision. And the room around him is so familiar, like he’s seen it in a photograph, but he isn’t sure where he is right away, or how he got here.

The microphone light is still on, even though the recorder is out of tape. Hot when he touches it, and he flinches, and it all comes back to him.

David Bowie, and a gross little room, and realizing too late that he was in the presence of a predator.

And the other things, too.

The chair skids, then clatters to the floor as he stands up too fast. As he claps his hand over his neck. The skin of his palm stings against the tiny leftover wounds, and he stumbles over to the wash basin, the filthy mirror, tugging as his collar to see better.

It’s because of the lasers, look how good it healed.

Daniel bends over the sink and pukes.

The two punctures are so tiny. They could be insect bites. Not proof enough.

He spins on his heel, frenzied as he looks for his bag. Still here. And he’s across the room a moment later, reaching his hand in to touch the cassettes for himself. And rewinding the tape deck back, just a little, enough to hit play and hear Louis’s voice.

His fingers wiggle at his sides, and his mind warps around it, trying to see a path through, to come up with a task list.

Louis had been so calm at the bar, didn’t hesitate when Daniel proposed an interview.

“But no one will believe you,” he said gently. Amused, but not gloating.

And, god. Daniel knew. He knew something was off, but came anyway.

He rubs the bite mark on his neck, shaking all over. Trying to make a plan. Louis’s voice drifts up from the tape and he scrambles for his notepad to write the details down. His handwriting doesn’t look right. Hands are too shaky, or his world is upside-down.

What the fuck are you doing?

Shaky breath. The tip of his pen digs a dimple into the paper. Ink pools there as he waits for his ears to stop ringing.

The list starts to take form. He flips to a clean page.

- pack - get gas - find him

Somehow he can see Lestat in his mind. Louis’s words were too vivid, and Daniel doesn’t feel like he’s been in this room all night. Feels like he went through something, like a fever dream, and his mind feels completely fucked.

He wonders if he has time to get his oil changed before he goes. Definitely can’t get the noise checked out. But maybe if he doesn’t push too hard, if he takes his time…

Could be bad if he got stuck out there. In one of those desert roads, where there’s nothing in any direction except the open sky.

A part of him wants to be there now. Drawn to it, a little flame inside that’s possessing him already.

I have to know, he thinks. He rubs his face and says it out loud. “You have to know.”

And he’s out the door, before he can think about it any more. Squeezing his bag to his chest, panicking over the safety of the tapes. He imagines the list in his head, adding to it as he breaks out into the daylight.

- make copies - write a transcript - keep them safe

He doesn’t remember where he is. Squinting against the sun, and everything hurts again, and if he hadn’t emptied his stomach already he might puke right here on the sidewalk.

Saturday morning, and people are outside. A mom with her kids. Someone taking a run. The brunch crowd at the cafe on the corner. He has the grace to be embarrassed, just for a moment, imagining hurling in front of all of them. Even dry heaving could be bad. But it clears after a second, as he watches them, and he feels like he’s wrapped in plastic. Like the slipcover they had on the couch when he was a kid. He’s frantic as he looks back and forth, at all their faces.

They don’t know, he realizes. He imagines screaming it, and imagines no one would hear him. They don’t know. YOU DON’T KNOW.

Sickness rises anyway. He hugs his bag to his chest and staggers to the next house, ducks his head over their fence, dry heaves until yellow bile drips down into their flower bed. His face burns and he squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to catch his breath, waits for everyone to move on before he straightens up and heads on his way.

The neighborhood, like the room, feels like he’s seeing a photograph. Like he’s trapped under plastic. Unsure where he is, but he heads up the block on instinct, lets his subconscious bring him home. Squeezes his bag, hearing the tapes rattle, passes block after block in a daze.

Not quite that he doesn’t know the way. He thinks he knows the way, even with his mind so disjointed. But it’s… not the same world anymore. Like he woke up something else.

And he’s out of breath when he makes it up to his door, and his face is cold as he pats his pockets for his keys. Wonders if he has the composure to talk to the super, if he can talk to any human right now without screaming, but he finds them tucked into the side pocket on his bag.

The apartment should feel safe.

He locks the door behind him. Rushes to the window to shut the blinds. Turns in a circle, looking at everything he’s amassed since he’s been out here. All the second-hand furniture, and his record collection, and the posters he hung on the walls.

The collection of tapes. The wedding invite dangling off the corner of his bulletin board. The book he borrowed from Connie.

His heart races. He wonders if he should take anything with him.

Clothes, sure. That’s fine. But.

Everything else is just stuff.

He grabs a duffle from the closet. Doesn’t pay attention to how many outfits he grabs, or what they look like. Whatever’s clean, whatever he can reach. And he grabs his toothbrush. Chews a few aspirin before packing the rest of the bottle.

And food, food. He chugs a glass of water over the sink, then another. There’s not much, being honest. A few apples, a bag of chips. He grabs the cereal box off the top shelf—not cereal at all, but his savings account—and squeezes his hand around the rolled up wad of hundreds. Needing to know it’s real.

Well, he can get food. He’ll get food on the road. That’s easy.

He stands in the kitchen doorframe, looking over the apartment. Dim, with the dirty yellow light coming through the closed blinds. It makes everything feel drab, but he tells himself that he was happy here. It wasn’t like this before.

There’s not enough room in his bag for the tapes. Maybe room in his trunk, but he’s shaking, wants to go now. Go go go. Doesn’t think he can stomach two or three trips to load them into the car. Maybe he can leave them for somebody. Maybe if—

And the phone is sitting there. He wonders if he should call his mom. And his eyes burn, stupidly. He rubs at them, and sniffles, and shakes it off as he crosses the room, sliding his apartment key off his key ring. Not calling his mom, but he kneels on his desk chair, tugs the phone closer to the edge.

The typewriter, he should take that. It has a case, though. He feels around for it under the desk as the other line of the phone rings.

Connie answers.

Daniel pauses for a moment, unsure what to say. She doesn’t know. They don’t know. And his voice is raspy when he tries to speak.

“It’s Daniel,” he says quickly. He tucks the receiver against his shoulder as the tugs the case out from under the desk. “I have to leave town. Can you do something for me?”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t have time, can you do something for me?”

“Sure? Daniel are you—“

“I’m going to leave my key under the doormat okay? I don’t know if…” he grunts as he gets the latch of the case unstuck. “I’m not sure when I’m coming back, I don’t know. They might evict me or something. Can you just come get my tapes?”

“Your tapes?”

“Yeah you know. My interviews. All my…” he looks at then, lined neatly on the shelves. Each labeled. Each one of them is a real person. “All my interviews. I don’t have time to pack them up, can you just. Is it too much?”

“Well, no, I just—“

“And anything else you want, just. It’s yours. I have your book, and. You know if you want any of my records or anything.”

“Danny you’re scaring me.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. Eyes burning again.

But he laughs.

[previous day] | [next day]

#vamptember #vamptember 1973 #daniel molloy #vampire chronicles #stuff i wrote

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brightlight-dazzlingeyes · 1 year

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the french exit | chapter 05

kylian mbappé x original female character [+18]

synopsis: alice is a lonely rich girl whose biggest fear is to become a lonely rich woman. ever since they moved to paris, her fiancé doesn’t seem to be interested in her anymore. so alice decides to find comfort in the arms of another man. warnings: cheating; angst; smut; i have never been to france; minors dni.

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Chapter 05 | A Burning Hill

“I am a forest fire

And I am the fire and I am the forest

And I am a witness watching it”

Alice goes home intentionally when she knows David won't be there. She grabs her Louis Vuitton luggage and starts to pack, looking around the apartment for anything she might like to take with her. There isn't much. She has a plan. She’ll take a french exit, she’ll go to a hotel and stay there until her head stops spinning. And only when that happens, if that happens, she’ll talk to David. It feels like a good plan. She was always non confrontational, her whole life. She was raised to be a good girl and good girls don’t argue, they don’t raise their voices. So she prefers to just leave. Except David also decided to go home when he thought she wouldn't be there. And he just stares at her in disbelief, watching her pack. He knows what it means, she’s leaving him. But he doesn’t know what to do. So Alice helps him.

“I know you’re cheating on me.” She says, surprisingly calm.

“Alice, love–”

“I cheated on you too.”

“Oh.”

They stay quiet for a while, just looking at each other. Alice continues talking when she notices he’s not going to say anything.

“We’re not people we’re pretending to be.”

“No, I guess we’re not.” David’s voice is low, he almost looks like a statue, unmoving. Or robot, only answering her sentences, without a single thought of his own.

“You used to be my best friend, David.” Alice starts crying when she says that. She didn’t know she had any tears left, but they’re just rolling down her face like a waterfall.

“I’m so sorry, love.” David is still unmoving.

“What happened to us?”

As she says that, David shakes his head and gets closer, he holds her face, trying to dry her tears.

“I don’t know.” It is as painful for him to say those things as it is for her to listen. “I just woke up one day and I wasn’t happy anymore.”

Alice almost laughs when he says that, and David raises his brow when he notices the spark of humor in her eyes.

“It was the same for me. That 's funny.” She chuckles.

“Yes, it is funny.”

They both laugh at that, a genuine, teary eyed laughter.

“Who–who was it?” David asks as she’s leaving.

“Does it matter?”

She doesn’t want to say it. And she doesn't want to know who he was spending his nights with either. It was the last thing they needed as they were saying goodbye.

“I still love you, Alice.”

“I still love you too.” She says, hoping that it matters. Hoping that maybe it means it wasn’t that bad, since they were still loving each other in the end. She leaves the engagement ring on his bedside table. And just like that, it was over.

After that, she spent as much time as possible at work, or at work related events. When she didn’t have anything else to do, she would return to her hotel room. A Garden Terrace Suite at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. She decided to spend her entire inheritance money in Dom Pérignon and drink herself to sleep for the rest of her life. Alice had another issue to deal with, another loose end she was in denial about. She was non confrontational, she told herself. If she never saw Kylian again, they wouldn’t have to break up. Or end things. Or whatever is called in those situations.

One day, Alice hears a knock on her door. She shouldn’t be surprised, she could have predicted that visit coming from a mile away. Ever since she stopped answering her phone and ignoring her texts. Still, she says, in shock:

“Mom?!”

Caroline Fischer stands on the other side of the door looking like she just came out of a photoshoot. But Alice knew better, that’s just how mother looks like. Strangely, there’s an orange little thing in her hand that doesn't match with her outfit.

“What is that?” Alice asks, still in shock.

“That’s a kitten, honey.”

“I don't think they allow pets in this hotel, mom.”

“They don’t. That’s why I hid him in my purse on my way here.”

Caroline moves her daughter out of the way and enters the suite, looking side to side at the deplorable state of the room. The place was a mess. She felt like she was walking into Alice’s teenage bedroom.

“Okay…” Alice is still unsure on how to behave, she closes the door behind her and just stares at her mother.

“He is yours! Here, take him.” Caroline hands her the cat.

“Oh… You brought me a cat?”

“Yes, Alice. Because you didn’t follow my advice.” She sounded bored, like she was saying something obvious that was already said hundreds of times. “So I came all the to France to deliver you a fucking cat.”

“He is cute.” Alice holds the kitten close to her face, the tiny thing can practically fit on the palm of her hand.

“Yes, I know. You have to name him, but don’t hurry. Take your time. Pick something chic. Something you won't get bored of. Choose wisely.”

“Are we still talking about the cat?”

Caroline sighs at the questions, and then she looks serious at Alice. A kind of look her daughter didn’t get to see very often. A look of genuine care and love.

“I’m not upset about the wedding. I’m strangely proud of you.” Caroline then immediately avoided her daughter's gaze, she felt ashamed of admitting such a thing.

“You are?”

“Yes, yes. Don't make me say it again. I guess I raised you better than I thought. You became an ambitious woman, Alice. And ambitious women don’t settle for men like David. I’m still worried, though. You’re your own now, starting over in the middle of your twenties! That’s dangerous. I figured the cat would help.”

“Thanks. Really. The job you got me is also helping a lot.” Alice smiles, she feels like teasing her mother about her strange behavior or maybe even hugging her, but she won't push her luck.

“Yeah? Good.” Caroline sighs in relief. “So you’re going to be fine?”

“I’m going to be fine, mom.” Alice agrees.

“And you’re sure you don’t need a psychiatrist?”

“Not right now, but I’ll let you know.”

“Good. Good.”

Hiding the cat in the Suite turned out to be hard work. Especially sneaking in all the cat food and items. But it made her happy to, for once in her life, be doing a harmless bad thing. She felt like Eloise at the Plaza, like a little kid doing shenanigans. One night, when it was just her, the cat, a bottle of Dom Pérignon and another episode of Succession, Alice started thinking about Kylian. And how he would have named the cat by now. She wondered how angry he was at her, or if he even remembered her at all. She went back to the apartment the next day.

As soon as she arrived, holding Cat, somebody opened the apartment door. A man she never met.

“Oh, merde. You’re not delivery.” The man looked at her from head to toe. “Shit, you’re Alice?”

He is suddenly pushed from the front door. It’s Kylian, and he replaces the guy in the same position, holding the door, staring Alice from head to toe. Behind her in the hallway another person shows up, holding bags from a nearby restaurant.

“It’s the delivery guy!” Kylian’s friend says behind him, who is still blocking the door. The four of them stand awkwardly in the entrance hall as the food is delivered and only after that Kylian acknowledges her presence.

“This is my friend Tchaga,” he points to his friends, who waves. “and Tchaga, this is my friend Alice.” Alice waves back.

“That’s a cute cat!” Tchaga points at the kitten and Kylian rubs his eyes, feeling stressed at the situation.

“Can you give us a minute?” He asks and his friend vigorously nods.

“Yeah, I’ll take the food to the kitchen.”

As soon as he leaves, Kylian turns to Alice, both still at the entrance hall.

“What are you doing here, Alice?”

“I wanted to talk.” She feels shy immediately as his attention is turned solely to her. She can feel her face turning red. “I fucked up. I know. So I figured I owed you a talk. If you want.”

“Did you bring a cat to help you?”

She recognizes the tone of voice and the look on his face, he’s teasing her and it feels like a victory to Alice.

“No.” She 's smiling. “I just couldn't leave him alone, he’s still a baby.” She holds up the cat, introducing the two of them. “So, can we talk? In private, hopefully?”

Kylian chuckles and agrees, gesturing for her to follow him.

“Yeah, come on.”

He takes her to the bedroom. Their bedroom. It looks different, in a way, even though nothing really changed. There’s a big box on the bed and Kylian sits right next to it.

“That’s…” He points to the box. “That’s your stuff. I was angry and I figured you wouldn’t come back, so I just…”

Alice continues to look around the room and notices a broken lampshade.

“Like I said, I was angry…” Kylian gestures to the lampshade, feeling embarrassed. He broke it the day she left, right after he came out of the shower, and hasn’t cleaned yet. For him, it served as a reminder. Alice handles him the cat, hoping it would help with his anger issue. She didn’t want him to be that angry during their talk. As he takes the cat, Kylian finally notices her hand, and the missing diamond ring.

“You left him?” His eyes turn twice its size when he says that. He can't believe it.

“Yes. For many reasons.” She’s staring at her feet. “I actually had a whole speech ready and now I can’t remember a single word I wanted to say.”

The cat looks comfortable in Kylian’s lap, and Alice smiles. She wants to be comfortable like that too, lying in that same bed, cuddling with that same man. Instead she just finally sits on the bed. closer to the middle, crossing her legs. Cat goes to her, asking for pets, and Kylian follows her movements, also crossing his legs. Now they’re sitting facing each other with only the tiny kitten in between them.

“You left him.” Kylian repeats, almost as if trying to convince himself. “All of my friends told me I was being an idiot, that you were just using me.” He says.

“You talked about me with your friends?”

“You didn't talk about me with your friends?”

Alice shook her head.

“Oh. Fuck. Well, I had a speech too.” He takes her hand and it’s almost insane that he’s allowed to touch her again. Or finally allowed to touch her. “You were half right. At first this was only about the trill for me, –” As he says that, Alice bites her lower lips, remembering their early days and Kylian laughs at her reaction. “Baby, pay attention.” He kisses her hand. “My feelings for you changed. I thought this was just an affair, that I could hide you here in this apartment, but then… You were everywhere. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Alice. I fell in love. I’m in love with you. And I just wanted to keep you here as much as I could, until you had to leave to marry someone else.”

“I was so angry when you said that last time.” She comes closer to him, practically sitting on his lap and Kylian holds her waist. “Because I thought you meant that you didn't want me. That you were fine with me leaving.”

Kylian shook his head.

“I want you so much. Baby, how can you think that?” He brings her even closer, with Alice now fully in his arms. “Can’t you see how much I want you? Because I know you want me too. I've always known.” He starts distributing kisses all over her neck, and face. He missed her so much.

“I was an idiot.” Alice returns the kisses, trying to tell him she misses him too. “I’m so sorry, Kyky.” For everything, she tries to say, but he kisses her lips as soon as she apologizes.

“It’s okay, baby.”

“Kylian…”

“Yes?”

“I’m in love with you too.”

...

@mywhimsyjournal @lalunaenamoradasworld

#the french exit #kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe fanfic #kylian fanfic #football fanfic #football fic

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nils-elmark · 8 months

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My New Book About three Brave Americans

On August 25th 1914, a group of young Americans joined the Foreign Legion and “with a cowboy swing” marched through Paris, wildly cheered by the crowd. They were the first Americans in the Great War. I have written the intimate story of three of those young men: • David Wooster King - a 21-year-old dropout from Harvard and son of a rich businessman whose family can be traced back to Mayflower. • Alan Seeger - a 26-year-old poet and a dreamer from New York and a family of highly educated intellectuals. His ancestors too, can be traced back to start of the American nation. • Eugene James Bullard - a 19-year-old entertainer and boxer from Columbus, Georgia. His father was born a slave and his mother was Creek Indian. King ended up as an officer in the US Army chasing German spies in Switzerland in 1918. Later, he became a modern global adventurer, met rulers across the world and was sent to Casablanca in 1941 as the very first OSS agent reporting to President Roosevelt. Eugene Bullard too survived the war years. He was wounded at Verdun and invalided out of the French Army but despite all odds he became the world’s first black aviator. After the war, he married a young French woman and settled in Paris where he opened a bar. In the roaring 20s he was surrounded by every artist and intellectual of the day from Hemingway to Louis Armstrong. Bullard fought for the French again in 1940 before he was wounded and had to flee to New York with his two children. Here he was ignored except by the first lady Eleanor Roosevelt. The French never forgot him, and Bullard ignited the eternal flame at the Arc de Triomphe in Paris in 1954 and was kissed on both cheeks by President Charles de Gaulle.

The third legionnaire, Seeger, was not so lucky as his two comrades. He was killed during the Battle of the Somme on July 4, 1916. However, six weeks earlier, he wrote the famous poem, ‘I Have A Rendezvous with Death’ which was to become his legacy. President Kennedy’s daughter Caroline recited it for her father six weeks before his fateful trip to Dallas in November 1963, and the poem has since inspired a line of American presidents during the 20th century. It has become an indestructible poetic lifeline linking France and the United States of America. The three young Americans, rooted in the nation, each has an amazing story to tell. But when their adventures are brought together we get a three-dimensional perspective on how America broke its isolation from the world and started to unite as a nation during the 20th century. The three men represent different pillars of the American soul, and their lives and dreams symbolize the story of how America became modern and remind us of the strong historic ties between France and America. Most of all, this book is a fantastic saga full of brave men, great adventures and terrific sacrifices that bring hope and a new direction in a time of human division.

You can buy the book at most online bookshops and at my publisher Pen & Sword.

#ww1 #alan seeger #eugene bullard #david king #french foreign legion #nils elmark #the great war

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