#caledonia's been everything
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#tag urself#im the travelling squad of scottish lesbians#fjiehfiehfeuhfueh#scottish lesbians assemble#lgbtq#caledonia's been everything#lul#og mj
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“Here's where things get intellectually very interesting. They are swept up by Catherine's idea of a new Russia.
So Catherine has this idea, which is very elegant. It's also a classically colonial idea: that these lands that have just been conquered, these are virgin territories.
So the place is renamed. What's now Southern Ukraine, where the Cossacks had had power, and the Crimean Peninsula, where the Crimean Khanate had had power, these places are renamed “New Russia”.
Now that word “new” is magical, right? Like with New England, or New South Wales, or New Caledonia.
More than 200 years later, 300 years later, people are gonna be still drawn by this notion of New Russia.
But when you say something is new, you're not saying it's yours, you're saying that we want it to be ours, right? That's the whole point.
So Novorossiya does not mean something which is Russian, it means something that we're gonna make Russia, we're gonna pretend that nothing else is there.
And how do you do that?
Well, you send multiple expeditions of the Russian Imperial Academy of Sciences to Crimea to name everything, find all the species, map everything.
Because science is one of the tools by which you gather imperial knowledge.
And then the naming — I mean, one has to admit this is quite brilliant on Catherine's part. They rename everything.
So all the Turkic names, the Muslim names, the Crimean Tatar names, are replaced.
And what are they replaced with? Greek names or names that sound Greek.
Like Kherson, that city that's being fought over right now. Mariupol, sounds Greek sorta, right? That's the whole idea.
They took the old names and then they replaced them with Greek names. And when they founded new places, they gave them Greek, or Greek-ish, Greek sounding, Greco whatever names.
And the point of this is to say that Russia is connected with the classical world. And in that we're European. We're in the enlightenment.
Connecting Russia with the classical world, going back all the way 2000 years, means that you obliviate everything that happens in between.
So the Crimeans don't matter, the Ukrainians don't matter, it's Russia here alone with its historical destiny, which goes all the way back to Greece.
And so it's New Russia, but it's justified by this connection to the classical world.”
Source: Timothy Snyder: Making of Modern Ukraine. Class 11.Ottoman Retreat, Russian Power,Ukrainian Populism
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Public Service Announcement
Yes, I'm back! Missed me? :D
I don't know where to start, really. My last year of travels was both an incredible, life-changing, empowering, unforgettable experience, and the hardest, most challenging thing I have ever done (and probably will ever do) in my life.
In the space of a year I have visited 11 countries: New Zealand, Fiji, Australia, New Caledonia, Japan, South Korea, Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia, Poland and Greece. Everywhere I went, I have always tried not to be a tourist, but live like a local, stay with the local people and have as many experiences as I could possibly grab a hold of.
I close my eyes and I can re-trace the exact route from Cashmere to the city centre of Christchurch, or I can still taste the Kava drink, or I remember exactly where to put my feet on the ascent to Yunomine Onsen via the Kumano Kodo Pilgrim Trail, or I can tell what Sumatran elephant skin feels like under my fingers, or which of the rice fields around Ubud offer best views without too many tourists.
I got to do everything I ever wanted, fulfilled every dream I ever had and then some, met some amazing people that will stay with me for the rest of my life, and frequently did 8 absolutely impossible things before breakfast. I travelled on local busses, bought my veggies from local bazars, had local supermarket loyalty cards, dealt with visas, made friends with people who didn't speak a word of English... It kinda made me fearless and unstoppable.
I've also struggled with depression, seriously questioned my life's choices, missed home insanely, been to paradise and hated it at times, doubted myself, and had a real reality check on what's important to me. And I regret none of it.
How do you pick up the pieces of your life after something like that?
The good news is that my love for this fandom has never left or diminished, and in fact it often provided to be a source of great comfort to me. I wrote stories in my head during my walks, I re-read some excellent old fics, I took Fili and Kili with me to some seriously remote places.
But I think the fandom has changed during my absence. And I have changed too. So as I sit down and re-think how I wanna indulge in my love of FiKi, here's what I've got:
I am seriously attached to three of my Verses (and have been focussing on them for a while), which I'd love to continue with: Silence, Isca and Postcards. There will be more posted, when I'm ready with it. Watch this space. Subscribe, maybe?
I have been writing mainly for myself for a number of years now and I can and I will continue to do so. But it's alwas a delight when someone else comes on a journey with you, so I'll continue posting publically.
GF is my Happy Place and I have missed it hugely, especailly as it hadn't continued to function as I hoped it would during my absence. I want to come back to tending that garden, as it's important to me. And I might take part in some events again, if the gods smile at me again, which will mean any and all verses will be considered.
I can't imagine in what possible universe I would have the time for drawing again. Having said that, I am sitting on some unpublished and unfinished artwork, some of it in collabs, and I know I can be stubborn enough to force their completion. Something to think about.
What else? I guess that's it. How have everyone been? What's new? WHO's new? Did I miss anything important? Come and say hi - I'm always happy to chatter.
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January 24th, 76AD, is the probable date of birth of Publius Aelius Hadrianus, who built Hadrian’s Wall.
Right let’s start with the myth, a lot of people believe it marks the border between Scotland and England, and never has. In fact, the wall predates both kingdoms, while substantial sections of modern-day Northumberland and Cumbria – both of which are located south of the border – are bisected by it.
This post is a lot longer than I would normally do, Hadrian himself ruled for over 30 years , and the Roman Empire were in Britain for over 350 years. I've taken this post from the Smithsonian web site as I'm tied up trying to do other things this morning
Stretching 80 miles from the Irish Sea in the west to the North Sea in the east, Hadrian’s Wall in northern England is one of the United Kingdom’s most famous structures. But the fortification was designed to protect the Roman province of Britannia from a threat few people remember today—the Picts, Britannia’s “barbarian” neighbours from Caledonia, now known as Scotland.
By the end of the first century, the Romans had successfully brought most of modern England into the imperial fold. The Empire still faced challenges in the north, though, and one provincial governor, Agricola, had already made some military headway in that area. According to his son-in-law and primary chronicler, Tacitus, the highlight of his northern campaign was a victory in 83 or 84 A.D. at the Battle of Mons Graupius, which probably took place in southern Scotland. Agricola established several northern forts, where he posted garrisons to secure the lands he’d conquered. But this attempt to subdue the northerners eventually failed, and Emperor Domitian recalled him a few years later.
It wasn’t until the 120s that northern England got another taste of Rome’s iron-fisted rule. Emperor Hadrian “devoted his attention to maintaining peace throughout the world,” according to the Life of Hadrian in the Historia Augusta. Hadrian reformed his armies and earned their respect by living like an ordinary soldier and walking 20 miles a day in full military kit. Backed by the military he had reformed, he quelled armed resistance from rebellious tribes all over Europe.
But though Hadrian had the love of his own troops, he had political enemies—and was afraid of being assassinated in Rome. Driven from home by his fear, he visited nearly every province in his empire in person. The hands-on emperor settled disputes, spread Roman goodwill, and put a face to the imperial name. His destinations included northern Britain, where he decided to build a wall and a permanent militarized zone between “enemy” and Roman territory.
Primary sources on Hadrian’s Wall are widespread. They include everything from preserved letters to Roman historians to inscriptions on the wall itself. Historians have also used archaeological evidence like discarded pots and clothing to date the construction of different portions of the wall and reconstruct what daily life must have been like. But the documents that survive focus more on the Romans than the foes the wall was designed to conquer.
Before this period, the Romans had already fought enemies in northern England and southern Scotland for several decades, Rob Collins, author of Hadrian's Wall and the End of Empire, says via email. One problem? They didn’t have enough men to maintain permanent control over the area. Hadrian’s Wall served as a line of defense, helping a small number of Roman soldiers shore up their forces against foes with much larger numbers.
Hadrian viewed the inhabitants of southern Scotland—the “Picti,” or Picts—as a menace. Meaning “the painted ones” in Latin, the moniker referred to the group’s culturally significant body tattoos. The Romans used the name to refer collectively to a confederation of diverse tribes, says Hudson.
To Hadrian and his men, the Picts were legitimate threats. They frequently raided Roman territories, engaging in what Collins calls “guerilla warfare” that included stealing cattle and capturing slaves. Starting in the fourth century, constant raids began to take their toll on one of Rome’s westernmost provinces.
Hadrian’s Wall wasn’t just built to keep the Picts out. It likely served another important function—generating revenue for the empire. Historians think it established a customs barrier where Romans could tax anyone who entered. Similar barriers were discovered at other Roman frontier walls, like that at Porolissum in Dacia.
The wall may also have helped control the flow of people between north and south, making it easier for a few Romans to fight off a lot of Picts. “A handful of men could hold off a much larger force by using Hadrian’s Wall as a shield,” Benjamin Hudson, a professor of history at Pennsylvania State University and author of The Picts, says via email. “Delaying an attack for even a day or two would enable other troops to come to that area.” Because the Wall had limited checkpoints and gates, Collins notes, it would be difficult for mounted raiders to get too close. And because would-be invaders couldn’t take their horses over the Wall with them, a successful getaway would be that much harder.
The Romans had already controlled the area around their new wall for a generation, so its construction didn’t precipitate much cultural change. However, they would have had to confiscate massive tracts of land.
Most building materials, like stone and turf, were probably obtained locally. Special materials, like lead, were likely privately purchased, but paid for by the provincial governor. And no one had to worry about hiring extra men—either they would be Roman soldiers, who received regular wages, or conscripted, unpaid local men.
“Building the Wall would not have been ‘cheap,’ but the Romans probably did it as inexpensively as could be expected,” says Hudson. “Most of the funds would have come from tax revenues in Britain, although the indirect costs (such as the salaries for the garrisons) would have been part of operating expenses,” he adds.
There is no archaeological or written record of any local resistance to the wall’s construction. Since written Roman records focus on large-scale conflicts, rather than localized kerfuffles, they may have overlooked local hostility toward the wall. “Over the decades and centuries, hostility may still have been present, but it was probably not quite as local to the Wall itself,” says Collins. And future generations couldn’t even remember a time before its existence.
But for centuries, the Picts continued to raid. Shortly after the wall was built, they successfully raided the area around it, and as the rebellion wore on, Hadrian’s successors headed west to fight. In the 180s, the Picts even overtook the wall briefly. Throughout the centuries, Britain and other provinces rebelled against the Romans several times and occasionally seceded, the troops choosing different emperors before being brought back under the imperial thumb again.
Locals gained materially, thanks to military intervention and increased trade, but native Britons would have lost land and men. But it’s hard to tell just how hard they were hit by these skirmishes due to scattered, untranslatable Pict records.
The Picts persisted. In the late third century, they invaded Roman lands beyond York, but Emperor Constantine Chlorus eventually quelled the rebellion. In 367-8, the Scotti—the Picts’ Irish allies—formed an alliance with the Picts, the Saxons, the Franks, and the Attacotti. In “The Barbarian Conspiracy,” they pillaged Roman outposts and murdered two high-ranking Roman military officials. Tensions continued to simmer and occasionally erupt over the next several decades.
Only in the fifth century did Roman influence in Britain gradually dwindle. Rome’s already tenuous control on northern England slipped due to turmoil within the politically fragmented empire and threats from other foes like the Visigoths and Vandals. Between 409 and 411 A.D., Britain officially left the empire.
The Romans may be long gone, but Hadrian’s Wall remains. Like modern walls, its most important effect might not have been tangible. As Costica Bradatan wrote in a 2011 New York Times op-ed about the proposed border wall between the U.S. and Mexico, walls “are built not for security, but for a sense of security.”
Hadrian’s Wall was ostensibly built to defend Romans. But its true purpose was to assuage the fears of those it supposedly guarded, England’s Roman conquerors and the Britons they subdued. Even if the Picts had never invaded, the wall would have been a symbol of Roman might—and the fact that they did only feeds into the legend of a barrier that’s long since become obsolete.
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hello hello! can i request a clancy grey x masc!reader oneshot based on the song ‘two birds’ by regina spektor? maybe where y/n and clancy were at east river together but clancy abandoned y/n when the camp got raided and y/n was taken to thurmond, and then they reunite when the camp gets shut down?
Two Birds // Clancy Gray
request: featured above
prompts: none
summary: you were just beginning to fall in love with clancy when he betrayed you and hundreds of other kids. a year later you see him again, and he asks you to join him. will you forgive him for everything that he’s done?
warnings: language, mentions of weapons, mind control, clancy being an asshole, not proofread
word count: 1.4k
a/n: hi!!! this is my first fic in a long time, so i hope it’s not too bad! and im so sorry i didn’t respond to your request sooner, i didn’t see it in my inbox until today!! i really hope you like it though!! :)) also i kinda mixed parts of the book and the movie in this, cause i couldn’t decide which one to base the fic off of! and i wrote this as gn!reader instead of masc!reader, so i hope that’s ok!
Two birds on a wire
One tries to fly away
And the other watches him close from that wire
He says he wants to as well
But he is a liar
It was another magical night at East River. Sure, it might not have been perfect, but anything would seem magical after the two years you spent in Caledonia. You were sitting next to Clancy on a log in front of the campfire, listening to a young Yellow tell the story of when she first discovered her abilities. You tried to pay attention, but it was late and after a long day of working you could feel your eyes slowly drift closed. You felt an arm around you, and immediately jolted awake, before relaxing when you realized it was just Clancy pulling you over to rest your head on his shoulder.
You relaxed once more, and felt yourself beginning to drift off, the voice of the yellow and Clancy’s warmth lulling you to sleep. Just as you were about to drift off, you heard it. The steady thrum of helicopters nearing East River. You woke up immediately, looking to the sky to see three helicopters flying directly overhead. Before you could even stand up, trucks began driving in through the entrances. You were surrounded.
I'll believe it all
There's nothing I won't understand
I'll believe it all
I won't let go of your hand
“Clancy, what’s happening?” you asked, panic rising in your voice.
But he didn’t say anything. Instead he stood up, beginning to walk over towards where the helicopters were lowering their ladders.
“Clancy?” you asked once more.
“I’m sorry,” he said, turning to look at you, before continuing to his destination.
You felt your entire body run cold. He knew about this. He planned this. East River was just a set up. Your so-called “paradise” had turned out to be a trap all along. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t even move, it felt like your entire world had just fallen apart. How could he do this to everyone? How could he do this to you?
Two birds on a wire
One says "C'mon" and the other says "I'm tired"
The sky is overcast and I'm sorry
One more or one less
Nobody's worried
You barely even registered the figures climbing down the ladders until you saw the flames begin to spread. So this had been his plan all along. Give up the location of East River to get the PSFs to come, and to bring Reds along with them. You sat there and watched in horror as the place you had come to call home went up in flames. Cabins burned and children screamed all around you. But you still couldn’t move.
You were betrayed. You were heartbroken. All you could think about was how stupid you had been. Why would Clancy ever love you? Sure you were both Oranges, but you had no idea how to use your abilities. He had tried to teach you how to use them, but it had been fruitless. About two months in you told him that it was pointless. He had assured you that it didn’t matter if you couldn’t use them, but you knew better. He saw himself as better than you, as better than everyone at East River. Maybe things would’ve been different if you could figure out your abilities. Or maybe he’s just too narcissistic to care about anyone else but himself.
Before you could even react, a pair of arms grabbed you harshly and zip tied your hands together, dragging you away from where you had been sitting. Slowly you registered the movement and realized what was happening. You were getting taken back to a camp. And judging by the fact of having already escaped a camp once, you were going to end up somewhere way worse than Caledonia.
I'll believe it all
There's nothing I won't understand
I'll believe it all
I won't let go of your hand
It had almost been a year since you were taken to Thurmond. Almost a year since the guy you thought you love betrayed you and hundreds of other kids, all sent to camps or worse.
In that year, you had changed. You couldn’t remember the last time you had smiled. Hell, you haven’t even spoken a single word since you got here. You were a shell of who you used to be. Filled with nothing but anger and pain.
You were standing at a table lacing up boots, when you heard commotion growing outside. There was screaming and gunshots. You braced yourself for the Calm Control, but it never came. Before anyone could turn it on, the power shorted out. The door to the warehouse you were in burst open, and an army of kids stood on the other side. With none other than Clancy Gray standing front and center.
Two birds of a feather
Say that they're always gonna stay together
But one's never going to let go of that wire
He says that he will
But he's just a liar
You felt yourself freeze, you hadn’t seen Clancy since that night. He looked like he hadn’t changed at all, but there was a certain age to him. His eyes were heavier, and he looked worn down. But still as angry as ever.
“Drop your weapons!” he shouted out.
Every single PSF in the room dropped their guns, their eyes growing milky at his words.
“Leave!” Clancy spoke once more.
The guards began walking, filling out the door and walking straight out of the gates of the camp. You looked around, seeing the shocked faces on all of the Greens standing around you. You had to pretend to be one of them to avoid getting killed.
“Today’s your lucky day! I’m recruiting you. No more rotting away in a prison. Join my army and fight back against all of the people that ever hurt you. We’re not staying silent anymore. Who’s with me?”
Everyone around you practically erupted into cheers. Relief and excitement filling their faces. But you knew better. You couldn’t trust Clancy. Not again. Not after what happened last time. But things were different this time, it turns out that a year alone in your head was all you needed to master your abilities.
And so you yelled your first word in almost a year.
“No!”
Everyone around you fell silent.
Two birds on a wire
One tries to fly away and the other
Watches him close from that wire
He says he wants to as well, but he is a liar
“Y/n L/n,” Clancy said as he walked towards you. “God it’s been what, a year now? I’ve been looking for you. You’d make a great addition to my army. Even though you can’t use your abilities, you can still hold a gun. Right?”
You ignored his jabs at you. “You’re controlling them, aren’t you? Why else would they be following you?”
“Ouch, so harsh. But if you must know, yes I am. How else are they supposed to keep fighting no matter what?”
“That’s fucked up Clancy. Can’t you see that?”
“So maybe it is. What are you going to do about it?”
“This,” you smirked. Looking at the kids standing behind Clancy you shouted, “Wake up!”
Instantly his control over them disappeared, hundreds of the kids collapsed from exhaustion, and a bunch of others started to run away. Clancy’s face fell as the realization finally hit him. You were an actual threat now.
“Impressive. Too bad you couldn’t figure that out a year ago. Why don’t you join me? We’ll lead side by side, getting rid of everyone in our way.”
“There is no way in hell that I am ever working with you,” you said, glaring at him.
“Fine, have it your way.”
Clancy stared at you, his eyes turning Orange. You felt him beginning to prod at your mind. But you stayed strong, fighting him off and keeping him out. Clancy’s smug face faltered as he kept trying to enter your mind.
“What the-?”
“Guess I learned a lot more than you thought, huh?” you gloated.
You were about to walk away to help the sick and injured kids behind Clancy when you had an idea. You reached out and touched his hand.
“You don’t remember anything. And you don’t know how to use your abilities.”
Clancy’s eyes turned milky as he repeated the words you told him.
“I don’t remember anything. I don’t know how to use my abilities.”
“Leave.”
You pulled your hand back, but Clancy’s eyes didn’t turn back to normal. He turned around and began walking, out of Thurmond and into the forest.
Two birds on a wire
One tries to fly away and the other
#imagine#imagines#x reader#oneshot#clancy gray#clancy gray x reader#clancy gray oneshot#clancy gray imagine#the darkest minds imagine#the darkest minds#the darkest minds oneshot#the darkest minds x reader#red#orange#yellow#green#blue#caledonia#east river#thurmond
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Yeehawgust Day 24: Distant Howls
December 1911
Fortune’s Favor, New Caledonia
When Jack was born, down somewhere in Utah the year before it became a state, John had been twenty-two. Been busy at the saloon little more than an hour from their camp. He’d bolted about as soon as he knew for sure she was giving birth. Downing shots of whiskey and playing poker, but absolutely trading no glances with any of the soiled doves working there. Alternately telling himself he was getting away from all the nonsense back at camp and resenting the hell out of the bridle they all wanted to force on him because it was none of their Goddamn business, and being terrified to hell that Abigail would die in childbirth. She’d die like his own mother had, and he couldn’t be sure that kid was his–or at least he kept telling himself that–and then that would be the thing that would tell him the baby had absolutely been his. He’d killed his own mother in being born, after all. If she died, the sheer awful symmetry of it would say everything. Not to mention Arthur would never, ever forgive him, even if that looked like a distant prospect to begin. But he was every bit as stubborn as his older brother, and he was in the right here, dammit.
It had just been some fun, that was all. They were both young and both enjoyed a good tumble and if she talked a bit here and there in a way that indicated she might well be sweet on him, he knew she’d see sense soon enough. She’d been with other men in the camp too, right? Who was to say he’d been the only man warming her bed when the kid got conceived?
If she died…if she died…but Abigail Roberts was made of stern stuff. She was. He might be pissed off with her, but she was tough.
It was Arthur and Hosea who found him there a day and a half later. Arthur spoke first, looking at a half-drunk John with a tight jaw and green eyes hard as chips of ice, slapping his gloves down on the bar beside John’s latest glass. “Congratulations, Marston. You have a son.” Practically spitting the words, dripping with angry contempt. “So get your ass up.”
They looked tired and half-soaked. Had ridden through the rain to find him. Guilt flared for a moment, and then that contrary streak in him that always wanted so much to push back whenever Arthur got high-handed reared its head. “Don’t see what business it is of mine.”
Arthur cursed, grabbing John’s shoulder, and Hosea looked at him and said, “Go outside, Arthur.”
“Hosea!”
“Go outside before that temper of yours makes you do something real stupid.” Arthur had let go and stalked off, a man trailing the air of looking for a killing if anyone would just be dumb enough to give him a reason, and Hosea had sighed.
He had to know, and he couldn’t ask it with Arthur and his angry disgust there. But he heard the plaintive note in his voice as he asked Hosea, “Is she alive?”
“She’s OK. The kid too. Just…come back, John.”
He’d come back. Left again, and never quite been there for far too long, but they’d gotten it right in the end.
When Gracie was born, up in the Yukon territory, he’d been twenty-nine, and stayed in the room with Abigail initially. Insisted on it, feeling like he’d needed to make up for past sins. Ended up just feeling even shittier, seeing the suffering it brought upon her, and imagining how it must have been with Jack too. It was a Goddamn wonder women let a man anywhere near them.
Abigail finally barked at him to go somewhere else, a messy and yet magnificent spectacle, saying he was just making things worse. And he’d skedaddled, and it had been the doctor who found him at the saloon later that night, hoping to hell this one wouldn’t kill her and tell him that there was nothing forgiven nor forgotten. Not drunk at all, just pensive and waiting through what seemed like endless hours.
He’d looked at the doctor’s beaming face after he said, “Mr. Morris, mother and baby are just fine, and you have a daughter.” Alongside the relief and elation, knowing that there would be no Arthur this time, because Arthur was dead and gone, and the grief rose within him so high he could taste it. Wanting so much for his brother to see he was trying so hard, that he was hoping to get it right, that he and Abigail were making this new start.
Gracie. Sweet sunny baby girl that she’d been. Never could quite escape the shadow of the past that hung so heavy even over two years later, and it felt like that darkness came and claimed her as its debt as she breathed her last.
Now they were up in Canada again, but the prairies of New Caledonia, not the mountains of the Yukon. He was thirty-eight now, thirty-nine in two months. Two weeks to Christmas.
It had been a hell of a year. Sometimes he still woke in the night tense with the knowledge of how closely they’d avoided the ax. Seeing too many things–Dutch’s dead body on the ground at the foot of that cliff, a sweet young woman coolly executed in Blackwater, Edgar Ross’ smug fucking face knowing he had John exactly where he wanted him. But once again, his brother had bailed him out. He’d gotten over the resentful hurt pride of it, and at this point, all he could feel was grateful.
Nowhere to go with all this snow, and the doctor, same one who’d treated Arthur’s TB down in Mexico, was in the room with Abigail, as was Sadie. He and Arthur sat there in the parlor, and had for several hours, not saying much, but there wasn’t tension to it between them. Only the patience of waiting. This time, he didn’t worry she’d die. Especially after everything they’d been through the previous spring and summer, he had faith there was no damn way it would happen. Abigail was tough as nails.
He couldn’t resist one pinprick of contrariness, looking over at Arthur and saying accusingly, “I expect you was in the room with Sadie every damn time she gave birth. Holding her hand no less.” He could damn well see it–well, not imagining Sadie in labor in detail, thank you, but of course Arthur being there with her. Expecting that though he didn’t say anything, Arthur judged all the same that John’s commitment was somehow the lesser for not being in that room of travail and worry. Somehow unintentionally managing to put an edge in his voice that suggested Arthur was henpecked for it, and knowing his brother wouldn’t rise to the bait.
Arthur shrugged, smiling a bit at some private memory, reaching for his mug of coffee. “Yeah. But that’s my way and Sadie’s.” He gave John a wink. “Though I always made sure there was no gun in reach, cause you seen as much as me what that woman can do with one. Especially with Mattie, I think she wanted to murder me. But look at you. Nervous as a sinner in church.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “She kick you out last time or what?”
He found himself blushing. “Yeah. Told me I was just making her upset, so I needed to get lost.”
Heard Arthur’s roar of laughter at that. “Pissing Abigail off? You do have that effect on her, Johnny. Always have.”
“Shut up.” But it was comfortable between them all the same, and he found himself smiling all the same. Sitting there in the parlor of this new house, whiling away the hours, sometimes with Jack there too. Listening until he heard the distant tiny bleating howls coming from upstairs, and felt himself relax. So maybe he hadn’t been as entirely confident as he’d told himself. She’d be all right.
They’d be all right.
Arthur leaned over and gave him a clap on the shoulder, and a smile. Sadie came downstairs soon after, amber eyes aglow and practically beaming, and told him, “You and Abigail got a baby girl, John.”
He barely registered the words before he’d popped up to his feet, and was racing upstairs to see the both of them.
#yeehawgust#yeehawgust 2022#rdr2#john marston#abigail roberts#arthur morgan#sadie adler#hosea matthews#a softer epilogue y'all#sunrise'verse
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O Caledonia, by Elspeth Barker, is called a modern gothic novel, but there’s really nothing gothic about it. It says in the novel that the main character’s parents are Calvinists, modern-day puritans. They behave in the novel exactly as puritanical parents behave in real life. And the main character, Janet, is a textbook-perfect example of autism. The novel is perfectly realistic. I saw my own childhood in the novel in painful clarity. The only gothic element in the book is Janet’s murder at the end of the story, and everything thing else is so incredibly, painfully realistic that the murder took me by shock even though I knew it was coming, since the book begins with the aftermath of her murder. Except for the final twist, the book is the perfect example of a high-functioning autistic child born to over-religious parents, the way she’s never good enough for her parents despite being bright and excelling at school, all because she’s different from other kids. It’s been months and I still haven’t been able to stop thinking about this book. I feel like it should be compulsive reading, somehow.
Anyway, the book is also one of the most beautifully written novels on a technical level that I’ve ever read, the prose is so clear and precise and vivid, so I really recommend reading it
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Memories
My relationship with my history is complicated. At one point my reality was whatever I wanted to make it. What was truth one day could change the next and still be just as true as the first. I would override and rewrite memories as needed, and my history was ever changing. Backstory details shifted while a few key cornerstones always remained the same. This was the advantage of existing as a daydream.
But when I stepped out of that existence and into the life of a being a member of a system that slowly changed. The longer I was a fictive the more my history solidified. I had to be careful resurfacing memories, because when I did they fixed permanently in place. There wasn't any more rewriting or deciding I was unhappy with something and changing it later.
I became increasingly unhappy the more I remembered. Then I was introduced to false memories and I spiraled, stuck wondering what was real and what was fabricated. But why was I bothered by the idea of fabricated memories when that was all I did when existing in a daydream? I *know* my memories are exo-memories. I know what that means, I'm not fully delusional to that bit of my reality. So again, why am I bothered by false memories? Technically aren't all my memories false? All of them fabricated? Maybe it's because my exo-memories could be much happier than I'm remembering. Maybe I've been robbing myself. That sure would be nice, even if doubtful.
I'm going to return to my thought on cornerstones. While watching Westworld this in particular stuck with me. Hell, as a fictive the entire first season hit me like a truck left and right. There's this idea that there are key parts, or narratives, to you that can't change. No matter how much your story is rewritten your cornerstone remains untouchable. Something when stripped down to your bare bones you'll always be left with. It's what makes you, you. The building blocks of a personality. My source self is kinda my cornerstone. The backstory of Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe is my foundation. I've got my theme of neglectful parents, Bob, rebellious youth, found family, lawlessness, being a leader, and suffering great betrayal. There's more, but the well known things about me and the key points of my history that shaped my character don't change. These "canon" ideas are the things I could never change, even when daydreaming.
These are the exo-memories that matter I wager. Everything else I think I remember is just icing on the cake, and honestly they are likely all false memories. I'll write them down and when I revisit them later I'll think "what the hell was I on?" when the words look unfamiliar and the memory feels like a lie.
I'll get frustrated, then I'll become angry and bitter. I avoid digging for memories because I hate that even the good ones will feel like a made up story in a few short months later on. I still comment on things I remember doing in a past life, it's natural, its unstoppable. But I don't write these down, I don't bother with consistency or trying to recall them again. They are what they are, and I don't allow myself to dwell.
There are things about my past self I feel required to mirror and display in order to remain true to myself. To remain Caledonia Ashe. But truthfully I don't need to. I'm already me, even without doing the things I did back then. It doesn't matter what I can remember or think I remember. I've got my cornerstones dug into me deep, and as I live this very different life those things aren't changing. This is an entirely new story, new history, new body, new everything. But I'm still gonna be the same ol' me. Just like them Host is Westworld.
A big thing I'm doing as a fictive is making myself a life here. I've done a decent job separating myself from source besides keeping a few familiar faces around. I am making sure I move forward and doing that requires I don't waste time worrying about what I remember from my past life being right or wrong. It's been hard, but it's also allowed me to progress and heal. I look down at the serene, sleeping visage of my partner system and know what matters now is the present.
But, I will admit, I still get just the slightest bit envious when I see other fictives or even kin sharing memories. I've made the choice to not dig for mine, so I am left with very little. But seeing others from my source share their history does make me feel a little left out, and a little bit jealous. Even a little bit homesick.
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Songfics Part Eleven
I'm back!! My friend wrote me an AMAZING songfic and got me really into the idea again! The last time I did these I’m unsure if I talked a lot to @sugxrslushy or @childofblackmaria but since then they've been super lovely friends to me. ;u; So I wanted to do some for them. I hope you both enjoy!
I wanted to do a Roger to this but my hair appointment got moved up so I gotta RUN. Sorry Lale yours is so sad?!?! Why is Rayleigh built for sadness I don't understand.
GN!Reader / SFW / 1.9k
Characters: Rayleigh and Perona
Warnings: Rayleigh's is pretty sad y'all, I'm sorry. The song was just to perfect I couldn't resist.
Song: Nati Dreddd - Caledonia
I don't know if you can see the changes that have come over me,
In these last few days I've been afraid that I might drift away.
So I've been telling old stories, singing songs, that make me think about where I come from
That's the reason why I seem so far away today.
You set a concerned hand on Rayleigh’s shoulder, jolting the man as he tore his eyes away from the fire.
“Are you alright?” you asked and he smiled.
It didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Fine, fine, just lost in my thoughts.” Rayleigh grabbed onto your wrist gently and tugged you into his lap. He wrapped his arms around your waist while burrowing his face into the crook of your neck.
After a long enough pause that told you he wasn’t going to elaborate you hesitantly asked, “Beli for your thoughts?”
Rayleigh chuckled, the sound vibrating through you. “Thinking about the past.” Before you could ask further he went on, “Want to hear a sea shanty?”
Even though you knew he was only asking to distract you, you really couldn’t resist. Rayleigh so rarely sang but you loved it every time. Voice a deep baritone it shook you down to your knees whenever he did, the way he gazed straight at you, whiskey rough voice singing softly just for you. Smiling, you agreed, thinking you’d dig a little deeper later.
Let me tell you that I love you and I think about you all the time
Caledonia you're calling me and now I'm going home
But if I should become a stranger you know that it would make me more than sad
Caledonia's been everything I've ever had
“What was it like?” you asked one night in bed, staring at his weathered face. Rayleigh cocked a brow at you in question, but the knowing smile told you he knew what you were asking for. He just wanted to hear you say it. “Traveling with Roger and the others.”
His silver eyes, normally obscured by glasses went a little distant as he thought about it. “Amazing. The best time of my life, it made me feel alive.”
When you shuffled into yourself a little more his eyes focused once more on your own and he reached out to run a hand down your side, the worn palms catching on your skin slightly. “Don’t be upset.”
“I’m not,” you said, and you meant it. “I just wish…I could do more for you. I see the way you look sometimes, so sad and I just wish…I could fill more of that void for you.” You reached out and cupped his cheek, thumbing at the skin before trailing your hand down to run through his white beard.
Rayleigh’s eyes flashed and for a moment you felt pressure weigh you down before it released. With the hand on your side he pulled you closer, into his chest. “I love you. Don’t worry about it, you do more than enough. What I lost, it can’t be replaced but that doesn’t mean this life is bad either. Just different.” He kissed your forehead, but you still weren’t entirely soothed.
I have moved and I've kept on moving, proved the points that I needed proving
Lost the friends that I needed losing, found others on the way
I have tried and I've kept on trying, stolen dreams, yes there's no denying
I have traveled hard sometimes with conscience flying somewhere in the wind
Still, even if Rayleigh denied it, you couldn’t help but notice the way he looked, at times when he didn’t think you were watching. The way the lines in his face seemed deeper as he stared out at the horizon. The way he drifted—mid-task he’d just stop and stare into nothing, lost in thought. The drinking until dawn. He tried to joke like it was just something pirates did but you weren’t fooled.
Drinking might be what pirates did, but they weren’t drinking everyday to escape into the past. They were drinking to celebrate what they had. You understood the difference and was sure Rayleigh did as well.
You bit your lip with indecision. You knew Rayleigh was a wanderer at heart. When the two of you first started, you were fine with it. Always figured he’d leave eventually. A small blip of time with the legendary man, nothing more.
But then he stayed. And kept on staying.
It felt almost unfair, like forcing you to fall in love with him was a test somehow. To see if it would be enough to fill that ache inside him.
As you watched him, hands frozen half-finished putting up the laundry on a line looking out at the sea you knew it wasn’t enough and your heart ached with all that meant.
Now I'm sitting here before the fire, the empty room the forest choir
The flames that couldn't get any higher they've withered now they've gone
But I'm steady thinking, my way is clear and I know what I will do tomorrow
When the hands have shaken and the kisses flow then I will disappear
Another night in front of the fireplace, Rayleigh stared into its flames a bottle of booze dangling from his fingertips. You tsked before sweeping in to pull it from his loose grip.
“Careful, you’ll spill it everywhere.”
Rayleigh hummed and his melancholy mood seemed to lift just a little as he looked you over, his eyes sparkling. Quicker than you could see, he snatched you up making you screech as you dropped the bottle.
“Rayleigh,” you hissed out angerily, hearing the bottle clatter to the floor. “What are you doin—mmph!”
He silenced you with a hard kiss. Automatically your hands went up to tangle into his white hair as he settled you against him, a strong hand at the back of your neck and the other wrapping around your waist.
Although Rayleigh was engaged that night, covering you with kisses and present in a way he so often wasn’t, there was still something that nagged you about it. But even knowing that, you still got lost in his kisses, in his love.
Let me tell you that I love you and I think about you all the time
Caledonia you're calling me and now I'm going home
When you woke up the next morning to an empty bed with only a note on the pillow, you weren’t surprised, even if you felt your heart breaking already.
Opening it, your eyes were hot with unshed tears as you read,
Sorry love, I just can’t help it. You’re lovely I just gotta go home.
xRayleigh
Home. How you hated that word. As if you weren’t trying to make one with him, here. Your tears splashed, smearing the ink.
But if I should become a stranger you know that it would make me more than sad
Caledonia's been everything I've ever had
Song: Alice Phoebe Lou - Witches
You've got this golden way of making my body sway
Of making my mind fly away
Of making it fly
Hearing a voice echo down the hall you stopped in your tracks. There was only one woman in the castle but you’ve never heard her sing before. Entranced you followed the sound closer. There was a door barely ajar, and you pushed it open wider, the thick carpet covering any sound.
Perona stood in front of a mannequin, fabric pinned to its frame. Her ghosts danced around her as she sang, rotating her hips.
It's a world I love to be in
Come on, let's go high above the ceiling
Oh, what we could be feeling
Oh, what we could be feeling
Putting a hand in the air she did a spin, closing her eyes.
I'm one of those witches, babe
I'm one of those witches, babe
Just don't try to save me
‘Cause I don't wanna be saved
“Wow,” you breathed before you slapped a hand over your mouth in horror, eyes widening. Perona stopped singing at once, large dark eyes snapping open to see you hovering in the open doorway.
“What are you doing here!?” she screamed with rage, and you held out both hands in apology.
“I heard singing and wanted to see! I’m sorry!”
Perona looked so angry, her face flushed to an alarming level of pink and her ghosts drifted closer menacingly.
“I really liked it!” you said loudly before flinching back, expecting to be hit with a hollow and begin groveling on the ground. When nothing happened, you squinted open an eye.
She still looked upset but both hands were fisted in her skirt, and she pouted. “My singing? You liked it?”
Seeing your chance, you nodded your head quickly. “Yes! I loved it, can I hear more?”
Perona narrowed her eyes at you before she gestured you impatiently into the room. Eagerly you came closer, deftly avoiding the hollows that still floated around and giggled at you. When she pointed at the couch you took a seat without argument.
“Now, where was I?” she asked herself, index finger pressed against her chin in thought.
“I’m one of those witches,” you repeated without prompting. She hummed before opening her mouth.
Me, I've got my own little magic
And I'm not tryna wreak havoc
It's just that sometimes I see something and I just need to have it
Let's share a few dirty habits
Let's share a few dirty habits
Now that she had an audience, she definitely put more of a performance into it. Swaying her body more, she kept your gaze as she sang, beckoning you with a finger at the last few lines.
You pointed at yourself with a confused look, not sure if she actually meant you to come closer or not. When she nodded you gulped before standing.
Last night when you pulled through
I put a spell on the moon
It was three times the size
In your moon-lit eyes
Perona tugged you close before running a hand through your hair, nails scraping as she sang. You shivered at the attention.
And I sang you an old tune
Mom sang me when I was half the size
And I looked at you and your moon-lit eyes
And your moon-lit eyes
Leaning against you, she pressed her chest against you, singing so close to your lips you felt the air puff against them, and you shook with expectation and wanting.
I'm one of those witches, babe
I'm one of those witches, babe
Just don't try to save me
‘Cause I don't wanna be saved
Then suddenly, she pulled away with a familiar laugh, leaving you standing there dazed and confused.
“You didn’t actually think I’d kiss you, did you?!” she said with a smirk.
You shifted awkwardly before you frowned. “You could have just let me stay on the couch, I was enjoying the song just fine without the teasing.”
Rolling her eyes, she pushed at you, causing you to crash back into the couch. You opened your mouth to complain but was quickly silenced when she followed you down, climbing into your lap.
“Geeze, you’re so dense. Obviously, I wanted you to kiss me. I don’t sing for just anyone you know,” she said with a pout.
Blinking, you rested your hands at her hips as she sat above you, folding her arms and looking huffy.
“Oh. Give me another chance?”
She sniffed. “Don’t think you deserve it now.”
“Aww come on, Princess, just for me?”
“Hmph.” But still she conceded and started to sing the last bar.
I'm one of those witches, babe
I'm one of those witches, babe
Just don't try to save me—
You reached up and pulled her down before she could finish the last line into a bruising kiss. Your teeth clicked together and the both of you winced before changing the angle and trying again and it was perfect. Everything you thought it would be and you sighed happily.
‘Cause I don't wanna be saved
#bee writes#bee writing#perona#rayleigh#one piece#one piece x reader#perona x reader#rayleigh x reader#FUCK I GOTTA GOOOO
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"Let me tell you that I love you
That I think about you all the time
Caledonia, you're calling me, now I'm going home
But if I should become a stranger
Know that it would make me more than sad
Caledonia's been everything I've ever had"
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Mike Laidlaw on his time at BioWare and starting new studio Yellow Brick Games:
"I worked on Mass Effect 1 for a while, I wrote a huge swathe of the Citadel that eventually got cut so no-one ever saw it or learned the great history of the haggis that was on sale there. From that I moved onto the Dragon Ages, ended up basically Lead Design and Creative Director for DA:I, DA:O and DA2, and all the DLCs, up until, whatever Dreadwolf turns out to be, which I’m excited, because I won’t be spoiled." [...]
"I decided, I guess, to be involved in starting Yellow Brick Games because I’ve been in the industry almost 24 years now, so at this point, for me, it was an opportunity to get back to being able to ‘do’. Instead of always managing, always leading teams, kind’ve having to direct by proxy, a smaller team, a smaller project, and a chance to sort’ve get directly involved again, felt like what I needed to kind’ve shake things up and not feel like I was stagnating. The other big draw for me with the smaller team is, I see it as a real chance to work on, I guess, the best habits of leadership. The ways that you can give direction, be transparent, share with people where things are going and more importantly, why they are going there, the purpose behind the decisions being made. And I wanted to step out of the context I was comfortable with where there was sort’ve this, I guess, known history, known, ‘ohh, this is just how we do things’, but instead to create a new context in which it was going to be required to explain the ‘why’ now. And to me, a new studio was the right place to practise those skills, to try and build something that I hope will be very healthy." [...]
"I have a long history working at BioWare, and that sort’ve leaves an imprint on you, but I like the idea of characters [mattering in writing/story of games]."
[source: "From AAA to Indie: Yellow Brick Games Shares Their Story in Making Eternal Strands", in which the Yellow Brick Games leadership team are interviewed on the founding of their studio and their journey to their first project]
#dragon age: dreadwolf#dragon age 4#the dread wolf rises#da4#dragon age#bioware#mass effect#video games#im contractually obliged as a scot to wish that we got to see the Great History of the Haggis hh... :)#caledonia's been everything
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Let me tell you that I love you, and I think about you all the time. Caledonia you’re calling me, and now I’m going home...
For if I should become a stranger, you know that it would make me more than sad. Caledonia’s been everything I’ve ever had.
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Wednesday 17 June 1840
7
12 ¼
fine morning – breakfast at 9 5/.. just over when Hadji Yussuf came about 10, alone – the Armenian would not go for less than 60 ducats per month – an end of it – he is named Sciahurn gouverneur au gymnase – would lose his appointments and his 2 or 3 pupils who pay him 20/. or 15/. assignat per lesson – I expressed my surprise that he had at first said money was not his object but he should like to make a pleasant voyage – said I should send for the servant I had named – but on talking things over Y- mentioned a young man in the General en chefs’
chancellerie (Naubarroff) who if he could get leave from the General would do better than Chacon – said I should like to know if possible today on account of getting off as at the 1st moment I could – Saturday au plus tard – he will try to give me an answer today whether N- would like it or not for 30 Ducats per month – while I had Hadji, A- had her Georgian Armenian giving her her 2nd lesson in silver braiding – got her frame and all complete this morning – lesson at ./50 silver per hour – Hadji hardly gone before the chef de police came to explain – another mésintendre – the message he sent was, that as George said he would come if he could the next day, but that he desired the servant to tell me, he was very busy and if he did not come begged I would send the servant again to say what I wanted – such was the substance plus poliement exprimée – of course, I expressed my satisfaction to find the fault rested with the servant, adding that I had been annoyed to find here the only inattention chef de police I had met with in Russia – he hoped I would tell General G- how the matter was – said I would do so with pleasure and would also tell General Braïko – of that Mr. le chef took no notice but hoped I would tell the general or chef who it seems reprimanded him this morning – said he had been wanting in his duty, and particularly towards us as strangers – what a difference since this word or 2 from the general en chef! now our chef de police is all civility – he will do anything – will enter into and arrange the matter of Naubarroff whom he knows and who is brave garçon – thinks 30 ducats per month enough – said he would eat with us – quant �� cela, said I, he will have need of doing better than that – we take little or no meat or wine – still he thought the 30D. enough – he will also pay Hein, if H- refuses to be paid in paper at the rate of 3/50 per silver ruble – nobody could be more civil – then on his going away (at 11 5/..) talked a little to A- then wrote the whole of the last page and so far of this till now 12 50/.. at which hour R19° and F75° on my table – then read aloud to A- account of Ouplostsikhé iii. 190 et seq. Dubois and sat talking till the Armenian came about before 3 – Mr. Sciahum, native of Smyrna, came – it seems he would go with us for 2 months for 60 ducats – shewed our excellent testimonial given by the secretary of vice admiral Sir Josias Rowley on board the Caledonia in Vourla bay where Sciahum had acquitted himself well from 25 November 1834 to 7 January I think it was 1835 as dragoman – and only left the ship because she then went off to Malta – the 2 Amer[i]can gentlemen he had been with about a year had only to regret that his health was not strong – he said he was ill then but well now – said I was sorry but I believe that all was now all but arranged with another person – had S- come with Mr. Hadji Yussuf this morning all would have been settled at the moment – but Mr. H.Y. was no sooner gone, then the matter was taken in hand
SH:7/ML/E/24/0130
for the person whom i now expected to have – should there be any contretemps I would think of S- and let him know – but should he hear nothing from me today or Tomorrow he would conclude all was settled – Perhaps he is now sorry that he did not take my offer thro’ Mr. Hadji Yussuf – but he spoke as if he would not be sorry to go with us to Persia – said he had been at Tabriz – he bought everything for the Armenian gentlemen and they expressed themselves in the writing perfectly satisfied – ‘tis now 3 ¾ p.m. and R19 1/3° and F nearly 76° on my table – dinner at 5 5/.. and over and had cut my nails in an hour – changed my dress – A- and I out at 6 ½ and A- seated at 7 on [house] top on the road to the botanic garden left her there sketched and walked downhill and crossed the bridge over the bath-stream, and sauntered about among the gardens along the river and then back to A- by a road in front below her – just over the stream – stood some time by a woman spinning cotton same as the woman used to spin wool long since with us except that instead of standing and walking 2 or 3 steps forwards and back again, the woman here sat and had her little wheel (about 18in. diameter) on the ground and spun out the thread to the length she could stretch out her left arm – coarse cotton thread – A- sketched till 8 10/.. – home about 8 40/.. – cold tea, and lemonade (homemade at the moment of lemons) and figs and were sitting talking when Mr. Hadji Yussuf came at 9 ½ and staid till 10 ½ - the chef de police had been to the chancellerie and spoken to the head of it Mr. Timofaef and to the young man who when asked if he would like to accompany us, did not know but turning to T- said he was his chef and he would go if he ordered him – but the truth is the young man (as is natural) will be very glad to go, and will be very well satisfied with the 30 ducats per month – Mr. Hadji has given some lesson in Tartar to general Scallon of whom he speaks very highly – hopes to get his grammar finished next spring – 4 copies – one for the Emperor one for London one for Paris, one for himself – wrote all but the first 7 lines of this page till now 11 50/.. at which hour R19 ½° and F75 ½° on my table and one of our six windows open (to the East – into the street) – very fine day – sorry we were out this evening – Madame and Mademoiselle Golovin (walked) called this evening almost immediately after we were gone out –
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O Caledonia. By Elspeth Barker. Scribner, 1991.
Rating: 4/5 stars
Genre: literary fiction
Series: N/A
Summary: Janet lies murdered beneath the castle stairs, attired in her mother’s black lace wedding dress, lamented only by her pet jackdaw…
Author Elspeth Barker masterfully evokes the harsh climate of Scotland in this atmospheric gothic tale that has been compared to the works of the Brontës, Edgar Allan Poe, and Edward Gorey. Immersed in a world of isolation and loneliness, Barker’s ill-fated young heroine Janet turns to literature, nature, and her Aunt Lila, who offers brief flashes of respite in an otherwise foreboding life. People, birds, and beasts move through the background in a tale that is as rich and atmospheric as it is witty and mordant. The family’s motto—Moriens sed Invictus (Dying but Unconquered)—is a well-suited epitaph for wild and courageous Janet, whose fierce determination to remain steadfastly herself makes her one of the most unforgettable protagonists in contemporary literature.
***Full review below.***
CONTENT WARNINGS: animal death, attempted sexual assault
OVERVIEW: I saw this book on a list of "Gothic fiction," but after picking it up, I don't know if I'd describe it that way. Though it does have Gothic elements, this book is (more than anything) a story about a solitary girl, misunderstood and unloved by everyone except the natural world in the wilds of Scotland. So while I went in with certain expectations, I wasn't disappointed by what I found. Barker's lush prose and atmospheric descriptions are so masterfully worked that it's difficult not to admire the craft of this novel, so for those reasons (plus my love for the protagonist), this book gets 4 stars from me.
WRITING: As I mentioned above, Barker's prose is superb. It's lush and lyrical, well-crafted in a way that betrays a love for language, and I didn't find it to be purple or overly dense. Instead, I felt the literary mode was incredibly effective at creating atmosphere; Barker's Scotland is wild and mysterious, and there was a lot about the prose that echoed the mood of the novel as a whole.
PLOT: The plot of this book follows the life of a girl named Janet from birth until her murder at roughly 18 years old. As a result, it reads like a coming-of-age novel, though the ending is bleak and depressing.
To be clear, this novel is not a mystery. Barker is wholly uninterested in the "whodunit" of Janet's murder. Instead, this book is an in-depth exploration of Janet's psyche: her loneliness, her refusal to change in the face of opposition, her love of books and classics, the companionship she finds in animals, her love of the natural world. In that, there's something melancholy yet sympathetic about Janet's story. I felt a kinship towards her, though that may be in part due to my own weird interest in the classics and romantic books. Above all, readers may adore this story for the way Janet struggles against expectations; not only is she a disappointment to her family, but she struggles to make friends and finds no pleasure in the things that signify "adulthood" or even "womanhood."
Still, some readers may struggle with this narrative, as it moves rather slowly and isn't necessarily trying to be an action-driven novel. Personally, I found it advanced at just the right pace, and I adored all the descriptions of the world and of Janet's reactions to it. The only thing I can't quite figure out if I like or not is the ending; though we know from the very first page that Janet will die, the manner of her death feels rather abrupt, and I neither felt hollow nor satisfied by it.
CHARACTERS: Janet, our protagonist, is rather easy to like because she is rendered so complexly. From the narration, we get a very clear view of Janet's personality, her interests, her shortcomings - everything we would possibly need to know. This in-depth look at a single character was satisfying, and I liked watching how Janet changed (or stayed the same) through different phases of her life.
Supporting characters were similarly complex and oftentimes eccentric. I particularly liked Lila, Janet's father's cousin, who lives in a room alone with her cat and a collection of fungi. Lila and Janet have a bond that stems from the two of them being outcasts, and I liked watching the two interact. Janet's parents seem rather ordinary, but through Janet's eyes, they are cold and unsupportive of their daughter in all the ways that matter.
TL;DR: O Caledonia is a masterful coming-of-age novel, filled with evocative prose that details one girl's short life as a social outcast who finds solace in books and nature.
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Journey across Australia
Before I left New Caledonia I tried to figure out how I’d travel around Australia and how much of it I’d be able to see.
I ended up with the conclusion that Australia is one big country and that it’s expensive too.
One bus company website I was looking up was quoting over $300 AUD to travel from Brisbane to Cairns.
I was in shock.
When I got to Brisbane I got to talking to other backpackers.
Some had used busses to travel up and down the coast, others had used websites to find other travelers and share expenses, hire car costs and petrol.
That seemed like a good idea.
In the meantime I was in Brisbane, capital of the State of Queensland.
The city was hosting annual Brisbane Festival.
Many of the events held during the festival were paid, but some weren’t, the fun ones.
A free nightly light and laser show was held on the river front.
One day I happened to see an ad by an Irish guy who was going all the way across the country.
Was he mad?, was the trip even possible?
I met up with him, he seemed like a decent guy.
We set off a few days later.
On September 13th 2011 we leave Brisbane at 06.25.
Traffic in the city is busy enough.
We see the first kangaroo early in the morning when the day is still beginning then nothing but dead ones on the side of the road.
Kangaroo are a nocturnal animal, something I didn’t know before.
The number of vehicles on the road become less as the day goes on.
We pass through Warwick and Goondiwindi.
After that we enter the State of New South Wales.
We decide to call it a night in the small village of Louth, which is in the middle of nowhere, literally.
The village, I’m not sure if you can even call it that, has a population of 34 people.
I ask the landlady in the pub (that is also a restaurant, Royal Flying Doctors contact point, shop, meeting place) if Louth is the world or if the world is something that happens somewhere else.
'No’, she assures me Louth is definitely part of the world.
Earlier when we were driving into Louth with the sun going down the kangaroo had been visible on the road and in the fields beside it, live kangaroo, jumping pretty high.
That night we sleep in the car.
I wake a couple of times with the cold, my nose is fit to fall of it’s so cold.
We set off the next day at 06.20, again with live kangaroo jumping about the place. We drive through Broken Hill and pass into the State of South Australia.
An older couple who are travelling in the opposite direction stop and ask if we need any help when we have some car trouble.
They’re on their way home after spending three and a half months touring around the country in their caravan, a common enough sight.
They’re only going home as they want to see their grandkids again. They put us back on the road.
That evening we stop in Kimba, which they say is 'halfway across Australia’.
The caravan park which charges $10 AUD per person is a welcome sight, with free showers included.
The next day we set off at 06.05. We come to Ceduna on the ocean, later we cross the Nullarbor Plain, the Treeless Plain.
At the border into the State of Western Australia (WA) we’re questioned if we have any fruit, as there’s a prohibition on bringing it over the border in WA.
Mark, the Irish guy I’m travelling with, describes the inspector on the border as a 'cross wee woman’.
He was that alright.
That night we set down in another caravan park.
But in this one everything costs extra, no free shower.
The next morning we set off at 05.00 to try to get the final leg done in that day.
We stop at the fly-ridden Head Of The Great Australian Bight to catch a glimpse of some whales.
Mark leaves me off in the old mining town of Norseman and I catch a bus to Kalgoorlie, where I connect with the train that takes me to Perth.
On the train I buy perfectly ugly overpriced microwave meal that hasn’t even been heated properly.
We get to Perth just before 22.00.
The hostels are full and I have to check in to a hotel.
This isn’t doing anything to make me like Perth.
Thanks once again Mark if you’re reading this, it was a great trip and a great way to see the real Australia.
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[ INBOX / always accepting ] - @architaciturn - ❝ rest now. you don’t have to fight any more. ❞ (For Cal, from Gale. - architaciturn)
Vitriol wants to spit from her fang, a loud shout or perhaps a mighty roar while ice leak from her fingers, clawing at everything. That ferocity at which she had displayed in their recent fights hadn't been like that of when the group that Gale had been traveling with had found her first. It wasn't entirely lost on Caledonia the looks of some for the way she'd get now; she didn't fight like a sorcerer or the other mage, she fought like blind beast. Anything reach at risk of an ice shard blasted into one's chest.
A concern arose that it may be her tadpole affecting her, ceremorophosis taking place but it wasn't the case. A danger, a risk, and she wound up hurt with. Battered in the last fight, not just due to tossing herself into the front of the fray; but hurting herself in that action. Spells backfiring and lashing out with fists and staff, not being careful with her swings. She's still on edge, distance herself from the others and not to hear any squabbles of what next as whole over this rotten mind flayer plot and she swore she heard her name mentioned with a glance weary toward her.
Caledonia's spent, in bad need of healing that she's already rejected, and half a thought to take off on her own. Equally ready to argue with the rest, fight and snap at their heads. It'd be unwise, but there's ugly side spawned from a veil of forgotten everything so she didn't know how to explain. All she could say was today made her angry, and then scared and sad. But she rather feel the anger than the other two, rather be fine and move forward. This all had to be fine, right?
Gale's the first to approach her in her skulking, ❝ Rest? Hmm! ❞ She sounds appalled on the word, but her shoulders gives away to that exhaustion and she doesn't want to see that state she must be in anyways. ❝ I can't explain it, 'kay? It's... ❞ A sharp nailed hand raises, waves and makes some vague gesture unable to grasp the words to say. ❝ Whatever. I'm chilled now. ❞
#[ IC ] Caledonia#[ DUO ] caledonia / architaciturn; gale#architaciturn#[ VERSE ] Baldur's Gate#she's so hard headed sometime.#addition thoughts in general for tadpole crew is the idea of like whenever someone else's secret gets out or makes trouble for the group#the image of say like shadowheart having to kill the nightsong comes out. and so she has to stand likee 5 feet away.#while everyone else huddles in discussion about this. or vampire astarion. or gale and the orb.#instead of a tav/durge ultimately having final say but group vote in group meetings and the offender has to sit out. i just#THAT'S what i imagine in my head. and so this is that kind of energy.#sitting on the timeout log. or toadstool. or patch of dirt.#anyways that is this. and thank you <3#ice magic. ice puns. she's silly.
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