Holy Love

Amelia Rose Jones. I'm the opposite of special. Someone blessed me with a curse.

[ameliaholyjones]

eviebrennan:

“I don’t. Truth is I couldn’t care less if my honesty hurts others, no one ever did me the courtesy of treating me with care. And I don’t want them to, I don’t come with the label fragile, I’m not made of porcelain. I’m hardened by life and that makes me stronger but bitter too. I know who I am and I make no apologies so you don’t need to sermon me, if my honesty disturbs you then the fault lies with you, not me. Honesty isn’t meant to hurt of flatter, it’s impartial. It’s facts. As for presumptions, I don’t think I made any. You were commenting on the town’s violences and I am simply telling you black youth knows more violence in a year than on an average Halloween night. I’m sorry if you suffer from oppression yourself but what whatever those may be, there are ways you could hide them if you wished to, if you had to. I can’t hide the darkness of my skin.”

“So because the world was cruel, you’re cruel to others? You may not be fragile, but other people could be. Not everyone is strong. I’m not saying be nice to those who harm you, but being horrid to random strangers isn’t something to be proud of. You never know who needs a kind word. It reminds me of those people who insult you to your face then hide behind honestly. Sure, you were being honest, but you weren’t being kind, or tactful, or thoughtful. And wow, funnily enough, me commenting on one night of violence doesn’t magically mean I don’t care or notice any other day of the year. Guess if I donate money to a depression based charity, it means I don’t care about any other diseases, on that logic. And I’ll be sure to tell that to the amount of queer youth that get attacked tonight. Or the mentally ill kids. Or the chronically ill ones. I’ll tell them to hide it better. Because obviously, they can hide it. They’re just not trying hard enough I guess.”

[ameliaholyjones]

eviebrennan:

“Oh, you can but I am allowed to point out the futility in your wishes. The violence you think of isn’t any worse than what the church goers around here enforce on the rest of us. It’s worse in fact because it hides under a guise of rightfulness. You want to be outraged or sickened about the terrible violence going on one day a year? Do it in front of someone who isn’t oppressed the rest of the time.”

“I don’t really... Get why you feel the need to try and make people feel bad under the guise of honesty. Why do you like, assume that I don’t care about violence the rest of the time because I very literally pointed out that more violent incidents happen more this night than any other, especially against oppressed people. Just because I care about one thing doesn’t mean I only care about that. If you knew me, which you don’t, you’d know I’m not exactly silent about Wind Gap’s violent problems. And speaking of, I’d really love it if you didn’t assume what exactly my oppressions were. I can’t imagine what it must be like for you, and I wouldn’t presume to. It must be horrific. Do me the same respect of avoiding presumption. ” 

[ameliaholyjones]

eviebrennan:

“Nicer doesn’t exactly seems to be the style of Wind Gap. Be grateful we are still allowed Halloween celebrations at all.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t wish things were different. And I would be okay with no Halloween here. It’s too scary, and the amount of violence goes through the roof. It’s like people really do become monsters.” 

[ameliaholyjones]

“I wish Halloween was more about the spirits and things, less about scaring people... It could be nicer that way.”

[ameliaholyjones]

underthehollismocn:

Maybe you just haven’t noticed them inside your small bubble of a town, but out in the real world, there’s all sorts of people.

“Oh. You mean trick or treaters? My house doesn’t get those generally. We live too far out.” Commence awkward fiddling with hand bandages and nervous laughter.

[ameliaholyjones]

joelrnavarro:

“…No, it’s-” he sighs, shaking his head. It’s hard to remember that these are kids and that it might help him more if he toned down his Inner Dick. He shifted, balancing more weight against his cane. “Don’t be sorry, it’s all good.” he says, a little more gently. He squints, cocking his head a bit. “What’d you do to your hands?”

She relaxed a little when he softened, even tried a small, shy smile. Like a retriever, she forgave bad tone instantly. Especially with those older than her. She was used to be that kid in class who smiled brightly at teachers, hoping they genuinely liked her. “Okay. Well. If you need me to answer anything else, just ask. I promise I’m not as dumb as I sound.” Another tentative smile. Which immediately disappeared on enquiry to her hands. She glanced down at them, as though reminding herself that they were in fact covered in gauze, before stuffing them into her pockets. “Oh. I fell and grazed them.” She realised with a little jolt, that was the first time someone had directly asked. 

[ameliaholyjones]

eviebrannan:

“Then I was right not to show you my art before.” Evie spat out as if personally offended by the woman’s statement, the disdainful words left unspoken were in her opinion easy to guess. You wouldn’t get it. She knew it was arrogant and patronizing but she didn’t go around saying it to just anyone. But when you were like Evie Brennan and you breathed and bled for art, when every single filthy no good thought you had ever fathomed was a fuel to it as much as the purest of your emotions could be then it was hard to understand the concept of shame as it related to creation. When she created anything, Evie felt like she was stripping her soul, fraction by fraction and putting it on display for everyone to see. It was raw, desperate and no doubt ugly to some but it washers and she felt no shame. Why would she? Wind Gap did enough policing around so many petty details, why on earth would she inflict that kind of torture upon herself. “So you create lies? Fairytales are nothing but lies we tell children to keep them in line, even those with a moral in them. They’re meant to teach you lessons more than to make you dream really.” The brunette remarked, putting her notebook down and grabbing for the headband she knew was somewhere in her bag, she needed to keep her hands busy and wild locks as hers were the perfect distraction.

Amy could have said or done so many things. She could have copied Ariel, smiled with menace and called her a bitch and told her she would pray for her rotten soul. She could have done what her brother would have done, laughed in the little girl’s face and never thought about the entire exchange again. Or she could have said what she was actually thinking. She could have said there was no one way to create art. There were as many methods as stars in the sky. And while Van Gogh made art out of his pain, and O’Keefe out of her joy, they were still on equal footing. That art doesn’t have to be honest to be beautiful. That something doesn’t have to rip your soul out to be worth looking at. That she was talking pretentious bullshit that was gate-keeping as fuck. And futher more, fairytales taught children that monsters can be beaten, that kindness and goodness were always worth fighting for. That sometimes you could just wait until someone helped you and that was okay.

But she didn’t.

She just took a deep breath, levelled an evaluating look at Evie, crushed her cigarette butt under a heel, and turned and walked away.

Yeah, conflict wasn’t her strong point. 

[ameliaholyjones]

eviebrennan:

“See, that’s where you start off wrong. Art is like a prism to me through which all my emotions shine and I can’t be ashamed of any of them. If there’s anger, spite or joy in the lines of what I paint then so be it. You only make a fool of yourself if you present a piece you didn’t pour yourself a hundred per cent into, if you don’t believe in it but you show it anyway. The question is, do you believe in what you create?” Evie asked, ending her short speech on a thoughtful note. It was not often she gave so much of herself so quickly, she was more open with the fellow artist then she usually was. It was freeing but foreign and she physically recoiled, holding her notebook to her chest like a shield.

“Well, I am ashamed of my emotions.” She shrugged one shoulder, privately agreeing to disagree with a lot of this. Many artists’ best work had started at sketches. Many more had hated their work, but felt compelled to make it any way and sold it for millions. Not that worth was measured in dollars, but still. Her face was neutral as ever though, not wanting to cause trouble, keeping her real thoughts close. “Well, I believe in fairytales. And that’s what I create, somewhat literally.” Gorgeous fairytale scenes, usually tinged with melancholy and nostalgia, those two most deadly of emotions, addicting and bitter-sweet. 

[underthehollismocn]

So does this town even celebrate Halloween by doing fun things? Or are we all just expected to pray over those kids that chant curses in exchange for candy?

[ameliaholyjones]

“...There’s a group of kids that chant curses? That’s a new one.”

[achillesabernathy-blog]

Carefully, so as not to sit on any of the knitted blankets, Achilles sat on one of the couches, sinking into it. Gently, he curled his fingers in the knit, listening to Amelia’s voice, soft and sincere as she thanked him. And Achilles sort of smiled, felt his lips lift to make the shape before falling.

“I think,” Achilles said softly, “That they probably already have. Lost their meaning.” Believing it mostly, thinking about the way the wind in the woods sounded to him like Amma’s ghost though it contradicted what his father preached.

He lost himself for a moment in introspection. The house was so quiet, but warm. Achilles relaxed drom how he’d first sat, perched and careful as to disturb as little as possible. As he leaned back in the couch, Achilles let go of the blanket and tucked his hands under his arms. He looked up with a smile at Amelia just as she said, “…my mom is at work. My dad too, technically.”

“ I’m sorry your here alone when you’re in pain. I don’t.” He couldn’t help but ask. “There’s nothing I can do, is there?”

[ameliaholyjones]

When you were  a melancholic sort of person, you learned to recognise it in others. Achilles didn’t seem much like his namesake. No holy rage, no burning strength. She wasn’t even sure if within him she saw a blessing from God. At least, not in the same way she saw it in his sister. There was a sorrow there, one she wanted to grasp, and whisper to it that she understood. Of course she did. Some people were just built for tragedy. 

“There’s so many myths about them now. I don’t know what’s real about them any more.” Amma was a vampire, obsessed with teeth. Camille was in love with her sister. Her mother kept Marian locked up in a basement. Who even knew the truth?

She sat down, crossing her ankles primly, her posture old-fashioned. She didn’t seem any more at ease here than she did within the corridors of the school. Perpetually nervous, always anxious. That was her. “What does your mom do again?” It was always his father taking centre stage when she heard about their family. 

“It’s okay. I’m sort of used to it. The pain and the lonesome-ness.” She grinned, a little cheekily. “Are you volunteering to be my tea maker?”

[bannerisms-blog]

“Jesus, I just need a "yes” or “no” answer, its not a 3-paragraph essay.“

[ameliaholyjones]

“Oh, shit, sorry, I tend to ramble a bit.” She burst out, hands tucking away a piece of fly-away hair in vain, making little difference to the mess of curls. “Um, I know a little about it. Ask away.” She was a little flustered by the attention given to her when Ariel wasn’t there. Nobody telling her how to reply.

[life-isjust-a-hazing]

[hopecheon-blog]

Hope had already taken her dosage for the day, and being out and about — under the rays of the sun rather than caged within the fluorescent lights of the school hallways — was only amplifying the effects of the poison. 

Her walk down Main Street was being spent in a complete and utter daze, her sense of equilibrium walking a dangerous precipice. So, naturally, when she crashed into someone, she found herself hitting the concrete rather quickly, scraping her forearm in the process. 

After letting out a squeal, she scrambled to collect herself ( it was unbecoming, after all ), though the throbbing from her injury served as a decent distraction. 

             “I’m s—sorry. I didn’t mean to — are you alright?”

[ameliaholyjones]

Ow, ow, ow. 

She never was the most steady of people, and seemed somewhat unsubstantial. So when a shoulder rammed into her shoulder, she tumbled down less like a sack of bricks, but more like a feather being dropped. She hissed in pain when she threw out her hands to catch herself, and her palms smacked into the unforgiving pavement. It was enough to make tears spring into her eyes. She swallowed them down, painfully getting to her feet. 

“No, it was my bad, I wasn’t looking. Oh. You’re bleeding. I have a bandage in my bag if you like?” Her eyes were drew to the flash of scarlet, eerily familiar at this time. Amelia was a maternal sort, and was immediately fretting about the health of this stranger. 

[ameliaholyjones]

eviebrennan:

“Oh, you keep your art to yourself then. I don’t usually show my pieces to just anyone but I am always creating. I don’t think I could seclude myself to my flat to paint, I’d go stir crazy.” Evie replied, her mind drifting off to this fantasy world. Just her, four walls and infinite art supplies. In theory that sounded like heaven but walls weren’t half as inspiring as the colorful characters of the town, she would not admit to that though as that would be admitting she needed others. “That seems like a worthy dream but trust me on one thing, you’ll need to confront your art with the general public and the sooner the better, you want to harden yourself if you want to be the best at what you do.”

“Yeah. I want to make sure I won’t make a fool out of myself if I show people and it’s not good. I’m gonna try sending portfolios to publishers soon just... Not yet. I got a lot of improving to do first.” She considered for a moment, looking up at the soaring blue sky above. “I don’t really care about being the best. I just want to do what I love and keep improving.” She never was the competitive sort, even if it was competing with herself. 

[ameliaholyjones]

renatcsbrowning:

And where others were reachable, Renata remained on a pedestal, preferring to remain out of sight, and therefore launching herself proverbially out of others’ minds, until she reappeared with even more magnificence and inspirational envy to spread like glitter from her fingertips. It was the provocative curse of the theatre which draped her in red velvet and professed she was its shimmering star, claimed that the stage n e e d e d her in order to exist. Sometimes, when she had witnessed the works of others, she had scoffed and thought that she was not such an egoist as some of her peers might have implied her to be, but rather a realist. Things that were published, performed - they were sorry excuses for the art form.

People were art forms as well - their movements, their relaxation techniques, their defence and offence strategies against getting hurt worse than they had in the beginning stages of their life. It pleased her to see that she had ( of course, once again ) managed to read someone well and coax out the fire that might be burning from within. Indeed, it was a small flame, but small little sparks were all it took before it became a raging inferno.

Then - the nomadic instinct. Amelia experienced it. Something with which to connect.

She nodded. “I have. It was a layover flight that got cancelled, so I was stuck there for a few days. I was in Reykjavik.” She thought of the lampposts lighting the streets and the buildings and the industrialisation without its smog, the dead-end alleys without their darkness, magic in the mountain ranges in the faraway background. There were photographs of her time there around in her house somewhere. “Well. I studied abroad for college in Scotland. I’ve been all across the United States, but the places overseas I’ve been are France, England, Belgium, and Germany. Hence why I sound a bit like a collective accent rather than one specific one.”

She ADORED sharing parcels of information about herself. And she knew that it could be returned in kind. She wanted to continue that manifestation of the travelling instinct in the other girl. Her brows quirked, and her face contorted almost sadly. “Have you been anyplace? I can tell you that it might seem impossible, travelling to these places - but it isn’t. Not at all.”

Encouragement. Widely-received, rarely-provided.

“You’re not holding me up, I promise. Though if you’re interested in seeing some memoirs from my travels, I have some back in my side of the office at the school. That’s where I was headed, to drop off this mound of papers to the secretary.” She was pleased, regardless, at the offer. If there was something that propelled others into success, it was offers like these.

“Amelia Earheart is a good one. And damn, did she work for her whole life. But you know what, in the end, she was working for herself. It might be your name, but it’s your decision ultimately what to do with it.”

When it came to travelling, she was a mess of contradictions. Here, she could not bear to be away from home for very long. There were too many tethers pulling her back, too many responsibilities. Away from home, she worried endlessly about her mother, if her hands were being made busy by the devils that lived in her head. She couldn’t stop picturing the dusty hallways, filled with work she needed to do, her brother needing to be kept on the right path. However, she hated the place with everything she had. Just the act of walking down the path could make her chest clench up, a terrible dread sweeping across her, as though a curse had been put on the land. She often dreamt of leaving, of packing a bag, hitching a ride and getting the fuck out of this town that sucked the life from people. But of course, she couldn’t. Not with two people relying on her. Not with no money. Not with her cowardice. Escape was a privilege she simply didn’t have. And if that wasn’t a fact that made everything helpless. 

But still, she could dream. And dream she did. Of sweeping mountains and snow that could reach up to her thighs during Winter, in Scotland. Of galleries and twinkling lights in Paris. Smoky cafes and gondolas in Venice, the churches full of saints. Europe may as well have been Mars for all the chance she had to go there, but she still googled images of every country she could think of for hours. Everyone needed a hobby. 

“Wow. Scotland. My mum was actually born there. I think that’s the place I want to go to the most. I want to go somewhere with age and history, you know?” She wanted to be somewhere where she could feel the stories pressing around her, the culmination of thousands of years of civilisation. Somewhere where her ancestors had walked. Wind Gap only went back a couple of hundred years. It couldn’t even fill a book. “You sound like you’ve had a full life.” She’d clearly really lived, grabbed everything life gave to her with both hands. 

“I’ve been to the next city over a few  times. That’s all. My father has been hundreds of places but, um, I couldn’t exacty go with him. Business you know.” And fucking groupies and doing coke would probably become a slight drag if your kid was tagging along. He always promised he would take her ‘next time’.  She had figured out that was bullshit by the time she was eight thank god. No point getting your hopes up after that. Only hurt all the more. 

“Wow, yeah, I’d love  to. Only if you’re sure though. I’d hate to be a bother.” Clearly a girl who was used to considering herself a bother. She never noticed the subtle ways her language put herself down. She adjusted her bag, wincing when the strap touched her palm. 

“Yeah. I guess. I should be inspired but I always feel sort of feel intimidated when I think of everything I could do, if I was only a little braver.” 

[ameliaholyjones]

calliopeandretta:

“Yeah, that’s definitely a plus. I’m down for no school. But I mean, there’s no school on snow days, but it’s not the same.” Callie shrugged, blowing into her hands to keep her hands warm. “I don’t have that problem. I tan like a motherfucker in the summer.”

“I’m pretty sure here, school is a circle of hell.” She hated it so much. Her nerves couldn’t really take a place where appearence was everything, where your friends were much like Caesar’s and the food was pretty awful. “The red hair really set me up to fail on the tanning front.”  

[ameliaholyjones]

eviebrennan:

Evie visibly relaxed at the red haired’s words, finally loosening her grip on the notebook and ducking her head, the shame didn’t seem to wear off easy now and it should not have bothered her that people certainly thought she was weird or rude or just plain fucking insane but it still did, if only for a beat. “Has someone told you that? That you’re not an artist? Because that’s bullshit, you need to believe in your art before anyone else does. Being an artist is meant to be a selfish calling in my opinion, I do all my pieces for me before I think of anyone else.”

“No, not exactly. I’ve never told anybody that I paint.” It was her happy place really. She would go home after being on her toes all day, and after she had finished cleaning the house and cooking for her brother, would retire to her room, picking up her palettes and get to work painting scenes from fairy tales. “I’m not good at the whole believing in yourself thing.” An understatement to say the least. “Oh, well, it is all for me. Right now any way I want to be a children’s illustrator one day.”