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xxxdragonfucker69xxx · 3 years

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@lyhoradka tagged me in that post about five bits of text from written media that are burned into your brain and, kindly, gave me a theme of places. i am going to annotate this because i am a bitch

1. holy places are dark places. the wisdom that we get in them is not thin and clear like water but thick and dark like blood. - cs lewis, till we have faces

im almost certain ive misremembered this one but its better this way. clive what the devil fuck were you trying to say with till we have faces. burn it down and start over with this. i have a sidenote about hope faith and love but thats beyond the scope of this discussion

2. night falls. the workers put down their tools and point to the sky. “there is the blueprint,” they say. invisible cities, italo calvino

again idr if its sky or stars. this is the description of thecla from invisible cities, kindly appointed to me by my good friend venus. this is not the strongest one but it is a strong one and its for Me and i remember it. inna thought i was going to make this whole post about haunted houses and this one is completely the opposite; i’ll consider it aspirational

3. walk to the east till you can walk no more. swim east until you pass the sunrise; swim east until you pass the stars; swim east until you come to the edge of the sky. there you will find yourself on the shores of a different land. even in that place, they shall know your name, and mine. - adel, kc danine/unlikely flowerings, jenna moran

sorry i cheated on this one bc i looked up the attribution and found my memory was wrong. but i cut it up to match what i thought. this one is actually a combo with

3a. the sea will be the color night behind glass. then, slowly, it becomes green: first rain-wet slate, then darkest jade. green as fresh emeralds. green as remembered rivers - the sun beneath the sea, sunless seas

again ive hashed the first part of that but green as remembered rivers lives in my head rent free. these two live under the heading “an exile in the uttermost east”

4. THIS IS NOT A PLACE OF HONOR. NO HIGHLY VALUED DEED IS REMEMBERED HERE. NOTHING OF VALUE IS STORED HERE.

the warning continues of course but the basis is here. the idea that we cannot produce something so horrifying and terrifying that it does not also fascinate us, as you might guess, fascinates me. nightmare and obsession are such close brothers

5. a woman drew her hair out tight/and fiddled in the violet light/and upside down in air were towers/tolling reminiscent bells that kept the hours/and voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.

in my head sean bean reads these lines in his civ vi voice. why did so much weird fiction pattern weird bits of worldbuilding after this bit. not that i am immune. voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhauuusted wells

BONUS CONTENT

so many things i wanted to add that werent written or that i didnt have memorized perfectly enough

1i. the, like, entire first half of to tundra by los camp, which i will reproduce below

meet me at st nicholas among the oaks behind the church that sway like pigtailed girls as summer wind whistles around your bare-shin knees and the forsythia leaves in the shade lay with me tickled by the feather reeds thats where the trees grow old under the ivys hold as you in my two arms equally safe from harm and in a hazy daydream our bodies married the stream and we broke down into pebbles and silt the water ran from the fields until the oceans we filled and found the seabed the comfiest quilt

there was more life in the weeds than in the few hundred seats that rose from transept to chancel to nave [...]

2i. prim leaves her father’s house. i won’t reproduce the whole story here but there’s a girl prim and her father is the god hansa and they live in a house of iron nails and one day her dad is killed and she has to go bury him and takes nothing but his corpse and a single iron nail. and she traipses all across creation and the void looking for somewhere to bury him but every time she tries his corpse shouts at her for being shit at it. and eventually she collapses, and drops the nail and it springs right up into the same exact house, and she imagines crawling in there with her fathers corpse to die next to him and freaks out and then

A pale face came before her and she was abruptly struck from her despair as though by a great hammer. A beautiful stranger had appeared, mild and tall, of milky flesh, spare in figure, but radiant in voice and visage. "I know you," said the stranger in a small voice, "you are Prim."

"I was Hansa's orphan, the slave, Prim," croaked Prim in response, "and now I am nobody, just a small dirty thing in great emptiness and here I will die."

"No," said the stranger, and the clarity and firmness of her voice and smile send a shock through Prim, "you are Prim, and Prim only, and Prim you shall be." And Prim there realized her tears had made a great pool and she was greeting her own reflection. And she fell into that murky pool and straight away it turned clear as crystal and Prim vomited forth a great black knot from very deep within her, and her body was scoured and lashed by the icy waters of that pool, and great draughts of poisonous filth and despondency were drawn in rushing gasps from her wounds, and her skin was sealed and her soiled trappings were purged and the caked illness and death was ripped away and she rose from that pool fresh and humming. Her back straightened and she scarcely thought on her father's corpse or the faintest echo of that iron house. That is how Prim left her father's house.

so basically abaddon scooped all of tsiy and every other haunted house writer in like five thousand words

3i. berenike

From my words you will have reached the conclusion that the real Berenice is a temporal succession of different cities, alternately just and unjust. But what I wanted to warn you about is something else: all the future Berenices are already present in this instant, wrapped one within the other, confined, crammed, inextricable.

4i. a ghost does not come to stand in the dark doorway of your room because it is an 18th century orphan girl named annie. a ghost comes to stand in the doorway of your room because the doorway is where things come to stand. - i am in eskew, david ward

the formats all fucked up now huh. this has influenced my thoughts on both psychogeo and necromancy. what a fucking guy. theres also the pope lick bridge one but

5i. i hope you will forgive me for including a bit from tsiy

I opened my eyes. I was kneeling at the base of a tree, at the top of a grassy hill, under starry night. Dad was standing a little ways back, head craned back to look at the tree. "What is this place to you?" he asked, looking around. The island came to an abrupt stop at the edges; it wasn't a floating island in space or anything, there just.....wasn't anything beyond the edge of it. Like looking past the edge of your own eyesight -- not the blackness of eyelids, but the colorless place beyond.

"I'll die here someday," I said, and meant it.

i really need to work on getting places and haunted places into the new draft. im slacking. but im also not allowed to go back and change anything rn or ill just never get anywhere

#visible cities #also sprach #christ this took a million years

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survivingthejungle · 7 years

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never fade away, part iv

-i cant tell y'all how much research ive done to write this realistically like im really educating myself here -also i made a playlist fr this hmu if u wanna listen to it -also im writing this while im home alone in my room happy new year lmfao

You had officially been a missing person for 8 days according to the GCPD. Within those days, you had been with nobody but Jerome almost exclusively. You were kept locked in his room all day and all night, and the only time you were ever allowed out was if Barbara and Tabitha decided they wanted to spend time with you. They were nice enough, for a couple of psychopaths, but they still made you tense up when they got near to you.

The same went for Jerome. He was dead set on making you dependent on him. Constantly telling someone that you were all they had and that no one would ever care about them except for you was a pretty well known abuse tactic. So was telling someone that you would do something harmful or irrational if they left you. And with you being 15 and not having a fully developed brain, and being hormonally unstable at this age, he was probably planning to keep up with these tactics until he had brainwashed you into believing it.

All you could hope to do was remind yourself constantly that he was lying. After all, in abusive relationships, it starts out small, and by the time it’s escalated to full blow abuse, the guilty party has already convinced their victim that when they are being told is true. You, on the other hand, had been snatched off the streets and had this all thrown in your face. If the abuse started off at it’s worst, there was no way he’d ever convince you to believe him, right?

Realistcially, you knew that as long as you remained strong-willed, he wouldn’t be able to get to you. All you could do was pray that you could manage to convince him that he had control over you while simultaneously remaining yourself.

Yesterday he came back to your shared room in the afternoon, after a morning of terrorizing the streets of Gotham. Your back was facing him. You sat on the cool tile floor of the bedroom, right in front of the glass window, starting out at the city. “Hey there,” he said, and you didn’t even have to look at him to know he was grinning. You could hear it in his tone. It amazed you that a person could smile that much, insane or not.

“Hi,” you responded, still not moving away from the window. You couldn’t help it, you missed freedom and being outside, no matter how bleak and dreary the city was. Anything was better than being stuck in one room with an escaped asylum inmate who was dead-set on having you for himself.

“(y/n), babe,” he said, sitting down on the floor next to you. His face was a little more serious now and he put an arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to him. “Y'gotta stop starin’ out windows all day. It’s not good for your head.” He tapped your forehead with his free hand.

“Sorry.” You were still having to remind yourself to not fight back at him. “I’ll stop.”

He smiled. “Y'know, if you keep being good, Theo might let ya go to that gala that's in like...2 days. Yeah, me n’ Babs are gonna put on a show, do a little magic, kill a few people…” Your heart started racing. You were fully aware that he was a terrible person and had kind of figured out by now that he had killed people before, but the fact that he was able to imply it so nonchalantly was unsettling to you. “‘Course, ’m not sure if I want you to see all that. You’re too pure for that sorta stuff… Hey, if I let you go out, you won’t try anything, right?“

"No. I won’t.” Lie. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind you would try to escape if you were given the chance. But he didn’t know that.

He smiled again. “Good! And why is that?” It was like he was… quizzing you, or something. In a way, you guessed he kind of was. After all, he had been trying to brainwash you into being completely dependent on him, and you were going to do and say whatever you had to to convince him it was working.

“Because you’re all I have. And… you would find me anyway… and if I tried to leave... someone might get hurt.”

"Exactly, baby girl. 'M glad we're on the same page." Suddenly he straightened his posture and became more alert. "Ooh!" He pointed his finger in the air. "Reminds me. You're famous!" He stood up and grabbed your hand so that you would follow him. He grabbed a newspaper off a dresser by the door. You both sat down on the end of the bed as he handed you the paper. "Look!" He pointed to the second page and then rested his chin in the palm of his hand, staring at you. You looked at the paper and your eyes were almost immediately drawn to a picture of... you?

It was a picture taken by one of your friends from school. You were grateful that at least it wasn't a yearbook picture. The caption above read: MISSING PERSON: Have You Seen This Girl? in big, bold letters. The caption below was just your name, age, and the number to contact the police department. "Oh," was the only word you could think to utter.

"Yeah," he said, "'M gonna have to talk to them about that. You aren't missing!"

What? "I'm not?"

He scoffed. "'Course not! You're exactly where you're supposed to be. With me."

"Oh. Right."

He took the paper and set it down on the bed, standing up and taking you with him. All he did then was hold you close. One arm was around your shoulders, causing you to be pressed up against his chest. The other was running his fingers through your hair. Your heart was racing, and at the same time you felt calm. It was weird and made you want to crawl out of your skin. He rocked the both of you side to side. "I can't wait to show you off later. You'll look so pretty, you'll steal the show."

Just play along, you reminded yourself. "I'm looking forward to it." To getting away from you, creep, you thought.

"Good." He sighed. "Babs is gonna wanna dress you up. But we can wait till tomorrow, right?"

"Right." You were monotone, but inwardly you felt giddy as ever. Two days until you would escape. You would do everything you could to see him behind bars after that. People who kidnapped fifteen year old girls because they were weirdly obsessed with them deserved to be locked into a padded room for a rest of their lives.

But while you occupied your time daydreaming of your freedom, you couldn't help but feel like your life would never be the same once you escaped. Of course it won't be, you told yourself, people who get taken by crazy boys who try to brainwash them are never the same afterward. But you would be damned if you let the experience control your life once you were free.

YAAAAAAAA YEET! 'tisn't over yet......... of course.......... i am very tired and feel weird and so if this chapter is dumb it's because i don't feel like myslef rn,,,,,,,,,, very weird........,,,,,,,,, PLEASE for the loveeeeeeeeeeeeeee let me know if u like it, i am workin on other stuff atm too i swEAR i haven't forgotten abt those other request im just busy and tired a lot anyway YEAH here u go hope u enjoy :-)

#jerome valeska #jerome valeska imagine #jerome valeska gotham #jerome valeska x reader #jerome valeska x you #gotham #gotham imagine #cameron monaghan #cameron monaghan imagine

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