from within a book

How Feyre’s Character Development Is Shown In The Covers Throughout The Series

I love how simply the covers of the ACOTAR series shows Feyre’s character development throughout the series. It’s mind blowing to be honest. 

You can see in ACOTAR how Feyre is standing straight. Although it could be said she’s standing upright for confidence during the last part of the novel, we know her stance could also show her complacence throughout the novel. Especially after reading the books and from the events that happens within ACOTAR. Her stance also looks stiff to an extent, showing how she is still submissive or under someone’s command. Furthermore, there is only half of her on the cover as if she’s trying to hide herself. The red in the background also indicate either her anger, loss, and/or death prior to reading the novel. The roses, obviously, fits with the title of Thorns and Roses but can also foreshadow Feyre and Tamlin’s relationship in the novel being like a rose: seemingly beautiful and sweet but, in honesty, is also harmful like the thorns of a rose. Her dress is also more conservative (?) (if you compare it to the other two in ACOMAF and ACOWAR) yet provocative (?). It covers most of her stomach and legs, showing how she was still insecure about herself and the only reasons she willingly used an outfit with a front that low is because she was either told to (although I have absolutely no judgement if she wore that willingly, she would work it just fine tbh haha). You could say her outfit is elegant (since it’s from Rhysand ofc) yet it gives off the vibe that she was made to wear it - something she is not use to given her awkward stance.

In a ACOMAF you could see how she is standing more fluidly on the side of the book. She is no longer stiff but looks more comfortable with her body. Her pose exerts confidence and strength, especially with her hand and the way it’s positioned above the wind as if she’s controlling it (which she probably is in some way if you think of Rhysand being the wind since he can fly etc., etc.). More of her is now shown on the cover as if she’s having the courage to step out of the book and show herself on the cover for what she is. Feyre’s hair blowing the way it is can show that she is in movement and could be fighting unlike her previous state in the Spring Court. Her outfit has also upgraded into more of an armour, showing that she is stronger now and fighting for herself compared to the beginning of ACOTAR when she was at the Spring Court. Furthermore, the armour could also indicate that she is working with someone else since we know from ACOTAR that the Spring Court does not have armours of the sort for females but only dresses (egh). The cover, once more, also fits with the title in accordance to the Mist and Fury part: misting is a skill Rhysand has (somewhat a foreshadow that Feyre’s mate might be Rhysand) and fury could indicate either Rhysand’s fury at the events that occurred Under the Mountain or Feyre’s fury at Tamlin showing his true self. Her tattoo on her left arm from Rhysand is also much more visible than her tattoo in the ACOTAR cover, as if she’s no longer trying to hide it like before but showing it off. The color blue is also known as reliable, calm, creative, intelligent, and maybe responsible (from a Google search I did). This foreshadows (EVEN MORE) about Feyre’s personality as we know she stopped painting for a given amount of time before starting again in the Night Court. The blue also indicates calm, intelligence, reliability and responsibility, all of the things Rhysand and Feyre are. Especially the reliability part foreshadows Feyre and Rhysand’s relationship as we know that she trusts him even though she denied it at first. The small city silhouette in the background can also show that she is in Velaris instead of the Spring Court where she only knows Tamlin’s home (palace?). 

NOW IN ACOWAR. LET ME JUST TALK ABOUT THE OUTFIT FIRST. Previously Feyre was wearing armour, as if she was an accomplice of Rhysand’s Inner Circle, working with them to take out Tamlin and Hybern. NOW, NOW IT’S A FUCKING DRESS THAT SHOWS SHE’S A HIGH LADY BUT STILL STRONG AND FIGHTING FOR HERSELF. The design (by the lovely @charliebowater ) practically exudes confidence, strength, and her ability to see what is wrong and right (especially with the eyes on her belt but that could also foreshadow Jurian since his eyeball was Amarantha’s ring). The glistening of the bottom of her dress could also represent starlight, connecting back to the Night Court and Starfall possibly. The position of her arms and the way she’s now showing off both hands and the tattoo shamelessly indicates her confidence with being a part of the Night Court and Rhysand’s Inner Circle. The way her hands are resting on her hips further proves my point of her growing confidence as she stands as if she’s ready to face anything. Also, her full body is now on the cover unlike in ACOTAR when only half of her was showing. This can be seen as her way of finally discovering and accepting her strengths and, once more, exuding confidence. She’s also holding an Illyrian blade, far different than before when she was only showing her hands in the ACOMAF cover. This shows how her abilities have furthered and that she could fight now, with a blade (cause we know her speciality is actually a bow) and with her powers (which is explained in the next sentence). The mist around her could show how her strengths in misting may be improving in the novel compared to when she was still first training with Rhysand and, maybe, her fire powers also since we can interpret this as smoke too. We already know she can control her water powers very well. The color green, after a Google search, portrays balance, harmony, nature but also envy. The balance and harmony of the green could be a foreshadowing of the ending of ACOWAR and how, possibly (hopefully, dear lord hopefully), the ending might be peace amongst Prythian once more. The nature part of the green could indicate the Spring Court and her return. However, the envy part of green, what I really think, is referred to Tamlin and his envy. I feel like he will end up finding out about Feyre being mated with Rhysand and he will be even more envious (pray to the Mother that Tamlin doesn’t do anything stupid like he already did). HER HAIR, again it’s blowing showing that everything around her might be in motion and she’s ready to take them down like she promised. The background also has mountains if you look close enough. This may be a foreshadow that Feyre and the Inner Circle may have to return to Under the Mountain once more to fix Prythian (this is making me extremely nervous). Finally, the title. Lord, Mother, I love Cassian so much please don’t let him die. The cover fits with the title of A Court of Wings and Ruin once more although not entirely: the wings part may be a foreshadowing (I’m sorry I repeat this stylistic feature so much) to, sadly, Cassian’s wings (although I still refuse, to believe it). The “ruins” part may be referring to how everything is falling apart just like the ending of the last book but, this time, it might be the actual ruin of the Spring Court and Hybern. Maybe even Under the Mountain since there are mountain silhouettes in the background. 

Well, that’s my interpretation of the covers. I felt the need to do this the moment the ACOWAR cover came out. I noticed her stance change and the way she brings herself. I couldn’t resist myself. 


                                             “She’d felt it before,
                                              she felt it now: the pull to fall in with him,
                                              to fall into him,
                                              to lose her sense of self.”


In the movies they end up together even when the only hope was “no it can’t be”. In the movies, against all odds and all the differences they find the way, or the way finds them. In the movies, in the end everything falls neatly into place.

In real life you won’t even know if all you had was that one, missed, chance. In real life the little wins only serve to lead you further astray. In real life the end was obvious to everybody else, even though they encouraged and supported you all the way down.

Memories played back like home videos, skipping with hard won skill over those shaky parts, slowly become standalone plays, full of colorful what-ifs like promising sunsets. And the whole life turns into a movie set, putting the same worn masks on new random actors, the scenery a curtain where those old roles will create satisfying shadows of another life. Because life within life is also life. Kind of.

I would still take you back, 8 months later and I will still fall to my knees in tears by your demand. I can not believe it, I can not make sense in my head of why I would do such a thing. I guess, I truly do love you, I want to be with you. I shouldn’t, but I do. You just seem to be right, you’re always there even when I can’t see you, I can feel you. So maybe that’s a sign, you know me, I’m always looking for signs and universal things but maybe the biggest sign is the one deep within.
—  hope
I found it really frustrating that, even now that I was being upfront about what the issue was, some people still found reasons to doubt it. But that’s the industry. It’s an aspect of this job that I have to deal with, and I’m trying to accept it. The thing is, I love performing. I love the buzz. I don’t want to do any other job. That’s why my anxiety is so upsetting and difficult to explain. It’s this thing that swells up and blocks out your rational thought processes. Even when you know you want to do something, know that it will be good for you, that you’ll enjoy it when you’re doing it, the anxiety is telling you a different story. It’s a constant battle within yourself.

It’s time to present on what I’ve been working on the past 5 months. In my final semester I wrote my own Pen-&-Paper-Roleplay “Frostlauf”. Adventurers need a thick coat and even thicker shoes, it’s an arctic fantasy setting with snowy mountains and dark caves to explore! 

It was one hell of a work. World building, writing rules and game mechanics, writing a first campaign, test playing and making the entire book from scratch within 1 ½ months taught me a valuable lesson in time management. It’s far away from being perfect but I am nevertheless happy to have a physical copy of my brain child in my hands.

This book is not even my thesis but rather the foundation for what I’ve been working on the two months after: A concept art book with illustrations for this Pen-&-Paper-Roleplay. I am going to share the pieces with you very soon. 

Lots of stuff happend (of mostly troublesome nature, I really had some bad karma going on) but also some good news: I was accepted for the master degree course and will soon work on exciting subjects with an emphasis on creating information graphics and instructional design stuff for your future learning pleasure. :) 

So! I hope you’ll like what you’ll see very soon and thank you for sticking with me an my art in the past and in the future, I really appreciate your support (and I will always stalk every single reblog for your tags, hah!) You guys are awesome!

the son of a god; the bastard

“… how Cassian had thrown that spear, how he’d cut down soldiers like stalks of wheat, how he’d fought like Enalius - their most ancient warrior-god and the first of the Illyrians”

“Like them, and yet Other”

Enalius. Enalius. Enalius. Whispers of his name, of his tales, of his great and powerful deeds had followed Cassian after the Second War, after he had thrown that spear at the commander with such precision. Those whispers, those looks, had not stopped, had not gotten quieter. 

That had caused the Commander to pour over books; to research and dissect what he learned. Everyone knew the story of Enalius. Every little young boy was to be raised to be like him. Strong, brutal, effective. A trained killer with no heart. 

Maybe that was why Cassian was shocked to find the Illyrian god indeed had a heart. Indeed had things the tales whispered and lied about him not having. He tucked the book under his arm, left the library and the priestesses, and entered the mountain ranges. 

He clutched that book to his heart, flying deeper and deeper into the mountains. The wind seemed to carry him, to support him, to guide him to the cabin that rested between two mountains, as if placed there. Placed there to keep hidden, to keep safe. 

His boots crushing against the rocks and soil created a loud thump, the earth shuddering beneath him. Cassian pulled out a long blade, flipping it in his right hand, before approaching the cabin. The book still tucked under his arm, his other hand ready to grab an extra knife, but the door merely swung open, revealing a small woman. 

Small may have been the wrong word. She only met Cassian’s chest, but her presence was suffocating. The air in his lungs ceased to his exist, his arm shook, causing his blade to drop to the ground. Her hand was braced on his heart and Cassian struggled to take a step back, to get away from this creature. 

When he looked downed at her, her eyes seemed a thousand eons away. Cassian blinked slowly and let out what seemed like his first breath when she dropped her hand, gesturing him inside. Her bare feet moved soundlessly against the floor, wings dragging on the ground behind her. 

Cassian left a wide breadth between them as he followed the strange woman. She poured tea, her eyes focused on the table instead of the cup. Cassian reached forward, moving the cup before the tea spilled on the table. The woman smiled. 

“Cassian,” She said, looking up. There was a wide smile on her face, love in her voice. She reached out and cupped his face, sighing, her thumb arching down his cheek and nose. “You’ve found me” 

Cassian wasn’t sure what, exactly, he found. But he took the tea anyway, holding the cup, but not drinking. The woman, the Illyrian, sat down across from him. Blind. She was blind. Even as she looked at her tea, stirred it, Cassian knew she didn’t really see it. 

“I’ve heard whispers of you, Cassian. Whispers of you on the battlefield,” That smile lit up her face again, crinkles forming around her mouth. She had a silent beauty to her, one that only came up on the surface when she summoned it. Those bright brown eyes that seemed to hold worlds within them, those freckles across her face, full cheeks, the dip of her collarbones. Brown skin glowing like a new source of light. 

Cassian decided not to question how she heard anything about him from within this isolated cabin. He brought the book forward, opening it to the page about Enalius. And the woman in the mountains. Her two fingers covered the words, brushing down. “This is you, isn’t it? You’re the woman in the cabin”

“I’m a woman in a cabin, yes,” She sighed, her teeth sinking into her full bottom lip. Her shoulders curved forward, sadness filling those eyes. Cassian reached forward, pressing his hand against her cheek. Her eyes lit up once more and she nodded, “Yes, Cassian. I’m the woman in the cabin. I’m Sutton”

“Enalius,” She whispered, her finger tracing around the rim of her cup, but then she froze. “What do you want to know about him, Cassian, General Commander, a force to be reckoned with, death brought to the battle field, fighter of mighty forces”

Cassian swallowed, digging his fingers into his knees. “Who is he? Who is he - to you” Cassian clarified. Her eyes softened and she reached forward, grabbing his hands, her own small ones encircling his. 

“Enalius is my first love and one day he will be my last love. Together, we made the Illyrians. I am sad to see how they are today, but I do not regret creating them. I had to watch them destroy themselves from within. Until Enalius spared me of that pain, of that torture” 

“He did this to you?” Cassian felt like he was drowning. “How could you blind someone you love?”

“Because you love them” She smiled and gripped his hands harder, pulling herself forward. “Cassian, my curly-headed warrior, the saint’s son, bringer of that is new, the awakener, ask me what you really want to ask”

“Are you my mother?” His voice cracked. The woman sighed and she shook her head, her hands sliding from his. Cassian gripped onto her harder, bringing her hands back to his. If he felt like he was drowning then he knew that if this woman let his hands go he would surely drown as if a boulder was tied to his feet. “Is he…” Cassian swallowed, “Enalius. Is he my father?” 

“Is he not everyone’s father?” But the woman was smiling and frowning at the same time, pressing Cassian’s hands to the side of her face. “He loved your mother very much. The saying, if you love someone you must set them free, and if they are truly yours they will come back. I wish he hadn’t come back, Cassian, I do. I wish he had stayed with you and your mother. I wish he did not love me so much, I wish he had not left you with our tortured kind”

Cassian’s head was spinning, his eyes going cross. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe. What this woman was saying, what Sutton was saying… 

“I wanted you, Cassian. To raise you as our son after your mother had died, for one day she would. She would grow old and die and I was willing to take you in as my own. I love Enalius and I love his son. It was too late and I am sorry for not fighting for you harder, son of Enalius”


General Commander. 

Son of a god; son of Enalius. 

This writing style is really different than what I normally do. Please tell me what you think. It’s all a bit different and I’m testing the waters, but I hope you liked it. It leaves off as if it isn’t finished and I think that’s my favorite part. 

Leave comments, please. 

Cupid's Match: Tom Riddle; Privilege | Edited

Warning(s): a tinge of sadness\

/Update: Heavily(?) edited. Most edits bolded. Read fully for best experience.\


“Father, do you have any information on this boy.” You ask your father, who was the Minister of Magic. You had a lot of privilege and no one dared messed with you. Luckily this didn’t happen often since you were a kind, dainty girl, who wants to act as an equal. “Which one dearie?” Your father questions you. “This boy named, Tom Marvolo Riddle.” You said. “Him?” You father says. “Yes, he’s in the same year as me, but is a Slytherin. Never speaks much to other houses. It’s been six years and we’ve never talked to each other even if we’re paired up to watch the halls.” You told your father.

“Hm, I’ve heard he was in an Orphanage.” Your father tells you. You inspected the photo closer, an pain appeared on your leg, you clutched your leg, while studying the photo becoming infatuated each second not paying attention to your Father’s sayings. “And he was conceived under a love potion.” Your Father said. “What does that mean?” You ask. “He can’t love.” Your Father sighed. “What a shame.” You replied. “Surely.” Your father said.

“School will start in three days and I need to get prepared. Hope you have a splendid time, Father.” You said, hugging him. “Thank you, darling, have fun.” Your Father responded, you went out and to home since you didn’t feel well. “Mistress, are you alright?” An Elf asked you. “No, get help.” You said, collapsing to the ground.


Luck was surely not on your side, as the last three days till school were wasted on home and pain. Yet, you went back to Hogwarts. “How you feel? I’ve heard what happened.” Your friend, Conner, said. “No, I’m fine. Just a little cold.” You replied. “Alright.” Conner said. “Hey, that Riddle boy keeps staring at you.” Conner pointed out, you blushed not expectingly. “Really?” You ask, you look at Tom, he sees that you are looking at him and turns the other way. “Yep.“ Conner said. “Well, I have to go to the Prefects Compartment. See you later.” You told Conner, heading out.

“Y/N!” A female Hufflepuff Prefect squealed. “Hello Kelly.” You greeted. “I’ve heard what happened Y/N, it’s all over the Daily Prophet.” Kelly responds. “Yes, I’m quite alright.” You grinned. “That’s good news, don’t you think Riddle?” Kelly asked, the curly haired, Slytherin boy. “Surely.” Tom said, looking at a spell book. You felt an odd aura, you kept a steady eye on the book he held. ‘Dark Magic Potions and Spells’, it read. You kept silent as no other Prefects came in. {“And he was conceived under a love potion.”-“He can’t love.”} Your Father’s words played through your mind. “What are you reading, Riddle?” Kelly asked, becoming curious. “A book.” Tom said.

“What kind of book?” Kelly questioned. “A bloody book!” Tom growled, standing up about to do something to Kelly. “Stop right there.” You said, pointing your wand at him. Tom looked at you and slyly grinned. “Petrifus Tot-,” “Expelliarmus!” Riddle yelled, you dodged the spell. “Get out Kelly.” You told her. “Calm down, Riddle.” You said.

“Alright.” Tom said, dropping his wand as you snatched it away. Tom sat down, the Compartment became private to the two of you until other Prefects came in. Kelly came in last, frightened. “It’s OK, Kelly.” You assured her. She sat down beside you, she kept staring at you and Riddle. Kelly eventually calmed down and fell asleep as did the other Prefects; only you and Tom Riddle stayed awake. “You’re doing Dark Magic, aren’t you?” You interrogate. “Is that your business, Miss Privileged.” Tom scowled. “I know you were and still are an orphan Riddle.” You said. “So, you have everything.” Riddle retorted. “I don’t. I don’t have a normal life nor a mother.” You told him.

“I’m not a perfect image.” You reply, staring out the window. “But you’re very powerful.” Riddle said. “Well, if you’re a descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw, I guess you do have a privilege. Ironically a Ravenclaw as well.” You respond

“Huh.” Was all Tom said, staring up and down at you. “Your Father told you that I was an orphan, correct?” Riddle quirked an eyebrow. “Yes, because you never talked to me till now and I was curious.” You responded. “Argh.” Riddle screeched. “You OK, Riddle?” You asked. “I am.” Riddle said.

Riddle pulled his shirt trying to find the source of the stinging sensation, which made you look away feeling an urge to look back, but you resisted. “What the bloody hell?” Riddle whispered. “You sure?” You asked. “I’m sure.” Riddle said. You looked back down as his shirt was down. “Riddle, you are not alright.” You pointed out. “Here, let me help.” You said. Riddle stood up, then out of no where collapsed.

“Riddle!” You whisper/yelled. You pushed his softly back onto his seat. This was just what happened to you, you fainted within a blink of an eye. You adjusted Riddle thinking of getting help, yet you helped him yourself seeing if some awakening charms would help, unfortunately none would. You studied his face, he looked peaceful asleep, his curly hair getting disheveled a bit. You snatched the book of dark magic, even though you had to report such book it stopped you from doing so. You put the book within his robes away from one’s eyes. And fell back into your seat keeping a watchful eye on the boy.


Riddle woke up by the time you all made it to Hogwarts. You kept watchful eyes on the handsome man. You finally noticed what most girls saw in him and it stunned you. The Feast had ended and you were paired with Riddle once again. “Greetings Riddle.” You said, in hopes to get another friendly conversation in play. “Call me Tom.” Riddle smiled, surprisingly which caught you’re attention with the fact of his allowance to let you call him Tom. “You’re smiling.” You said with a look of prudence. “Of course I am.” Riddle said.

“Why? Shagged a girl.” You joke. “No, I just want to.” Tom said. “OK.” You replied hesitantly. “I have a proposal, I want you to join me.” Riddle said. “Join what?” You interrogate. “To become a Death Eater.” Tom said. “A what?” You laughed. “Death Eater.” Tom growled. “Is this your little kids club or what?” You laugh a bit more. “No darling, I need you, because your powerful and will help me become stronger.” Tom said a serious tone displaying. You became scared and nervous about all this.

“No thank you, Tom.” You said politely.


“Tom, stop! This is notorious!” You yelled, you were defenseless, Tom had your wand, his pointing at you. “Tom.” You said, trying to reach out to him. “Turn around.” Tom’s lips quivered. “Do it. Kill me, Tom.” You said, knowing your fate. “Avada, Avada-,” Tom stammered. “Do it.” You whisper, closing your eyes. Silence stood in the entire room; you waited. “I can’t.” You heard, Tom held your face, “Riddle, I believed in you. A girl with a privilege, a girl that could expose you, a girl that can destroy your life. I’m not that girl to you, because Tom Riddle people can earn sentiment.” You told Tom, tears running down both your eyes.

{“He can’t love.”}

“Tom, you can’t love, I know that.” You say crushing his heart unknowingly. “But I can.” Tom said, “How?” You asked. “I-I don’t know.” Tom answered. “You can’t.” You told him. “I can. I can Y/N.” Tom tried convincing you. “Tom Marvolo Riddle, you’re one crazy boy. And I’m glad that you’ve opened as much as you wanted too to me. Now cast that spell on me, if it’ll save you.” You risked your life.

Tom’s breathe hitched, his hands loosened your face. Cupid looked at the both of few his own nerves running anxiously, this was a difficult mission for him as for in fact Tom Riddle wasn’t supposed to love, yet Cupid tried and found the right woman for him to love or at least to have a spark for. Cupid felt disappointed that Tom was going to take the chance to kill you, make you his horcrux, Cupid sadly stared at your faith giving up his faith for Tom Riddle to ever love. Then something Cupid never expected happened.

As you waited for him to cast the Unforgivable Curse your back facing him. Tom Riddle turned you around grabbing your waist bringing his lips to yours, his hands moving to your face instead clutching it like he did before, wind blew through your hair, as a beautiful silver and red aurora surrounded the both of you. You couldn’t explain the kiss it was surely something majestic. It felt genuine.

“I won’t do anything to you.” Tom said, holding you against him as his heart beated and you swore it skipped a beat.

Cupid’s PoV

I did it! The boy who couldn’t love, can. He can love now.“ Cupid stared with wide grin on his face.

Of all the books that line the shelves of a Jewish library, it is the Siddur, not the Talmud and not even the Bible, that Jews know best. The prayer book is our Jewish diary of the centuries, a collection of prayers composed by generations of those who came before us, as they endeavored to express the meaning of their lives. To know the prayer book is to know our history from within. It is to be in touch with the soul of the Jewish people, as it has evolved in good times and in bad, through persecutions and Golden Ages. The Siddur is our encounter with 3,000 years of fate, condensed in a form available to the average Jew, who, today no less than yesterday, may have insufficient time and knowledge to dip deeply into Talmud, Midrash, philosophy and Kabbalah, but who can capture the essence of the Jewish spirit just by reading through the pages of our liturgy.
—  R. Lawrence A. Hoffman, My People’s Prayer Book, Vol. 1: The Sh’ma and its Blessings
The Klebolds' letters to the victims' families

The letters that Sue and Tom Klebold wrote to the families of those who had been murdered have been mentioned and quoted in several sources.

The letter to the Bernalls (from Misty Bernall’s book She Said Yes, p. 148-149, and repeated in Dave Cullen’s Columbine, p. 254-255):

Dear Bernall family,

It is with great difficulty and humility that we write to express our profound sorrow over the loss of your beautiful daughter, Cassie. She brought joy and love to the world,and she was taken in a moment of madness. We wish we had had the opportunity to know her and be uplifted by her loving spirit.

We will never understand why this tragedy happened, or what we might have done to prevent it. We apologize for the role our son had in your Cassie’s death. We never saw anger or hatred in Dylan until the last moments of his life when we watched in helpless horror with the rest of the world. The reality that our son shared in the responsibility for this tragedy is still incredibly difficult for us to comprehend.

May God comfort you and your loved ones. May He bring peace and understanding to all of our wounded hearts.

Sue and Tom Klebold

From the letter to Brian Rohrbough (from Jeff Kass’s Columbine, p. 225):

“Our hearts are breaking for you over the loss you’ve experienced,” the Klebolds wrote to Brian Rohrbough, whose son Dan was killed. “Dan was so young, yet so full of selfless courage. He’ll never have the chance to do any of the things he wanted to do because he was taken from you in a moment of madness. We’ll never understand why this tragedy happened, or what we might have done to prevent it. We apologize for the role our son had in your son’s death. We did not see anger or hatred in Dylan until the last moments of his life when we watched in helpless horror with the rest of the world.”

From the letter to the Shoels family (also from Jeff Kass’s Columbine, p. 278):

But now all the Shoels had to depend on were small accounts, like the slightly personalized victim letter they received from the Klebolds. “We read that Isaiah brought so much joy to those who knew him,” according to the three paragraphs that appear handwritten by a female and signed by Tom and Sue. “He was a young man with self-respect, courage and love who was taken from you in a moment of madness.” But they said they still didn’t know why their son killed Isaiah.

The letter sent to the Mauser family (from Tom Mauser’s book, Walking in Daniel’s Shoes p. 305-306):

Within a few weeks of the massacre Linda and I, and apparently all the other Columbine parents, received a sympathy card from the parents of Dylan Klebold, who wrote, “It is with indescribable sorrow and humility that we write to wish you comfort.” The handwritten card asked that God comfort us and our loved ones. They were comforting words, yet we weren’t quite sure how to react to them. It was so soon after the massacre, too early for us to react rationally.

At the time the card seemed to offer little acceptance of responsibility for what had happened, saying Daniel was taken “in a moment of madness” and that they would “never understand why this tragedy happened, or what we might have done to prevent it.” We felt as if the words didn’t come from the heart, but rather were suggested by an attorney. We were dissatisfied with what we received and chose not to respond to it. The card was tossed onto a pile of Columbine-related papers and forgotten.

While uncovering some Columbine papers recently I discovered that card from the Klebolds. I hadn’t seen it for years. I must admit that now, after I’ve read it again, I’m not quite as cynical about it as I was in 1999. Back then I cringed at the statement, “we never saw anger or hatred in Dylan until the last moments of his life,” because I felt the Klebolds were in denial and refused to accept responsibility. But in reading it again, I realized they weren’t quite as unresponsive as I had originally thought. “We apologize for the role our son played in your son’s death.” Their words didn’t seem as hurtful, or contrived or unrepentant as they did in 1999.

In the documentary 13 Families, Lauren Townsend’s stepfather, Bruce Beck, says much the same thing about his opinion of the Klebolds’ letter (from 1:13:00 - 1:13:45).

You know, Klebold’s parents sent us a card that basically had been written by their lawyer–you know, no compassion in it–basically, you know, saying they’re quote-unquote “sorry,” but “sorry” really didn’t come through in the words.  The Harrises–we sat across the table from them, and not once did they say “We’re sorry that you lost your daughter,” you know.  They didn’t say it because they know they own some responsibility in this.  They know they own some responsibility in it, and it’s one of those things that, you know, will drive me crazy for the rest of my life.

The letter to the Curnows (from the “Afterword” to the paperback edition of Dave Cullen’s Columbine, p. 365which is not in the e-book, by the way):

Sue Klebold wrote letters to the Thirteen the first spring, but Bob did not receive his.  It went to his ex-wife.  He heard about the letter and asked for a copy.  She provided one.  Then he asked for the envelope.  He received a copy of the backside.  At first it ticked him off, but then he noticed something.  Sue had written her home address on the flap.  He smiled.  He sent a letter back.  He sent another through the Harris attorney.  For years, he got no response.  That wasn’t so important.  He knew he had been heard.  Meetings came, in time…[he meets with both families and keeps in touch with the Klebolds].

The Harris family also sent letters to families of the victims, but they (foolishly, as it turned out) trusted them to the Jeffco Sheriff’s Office where they basically sat on them instead of delivering them to their intended recipients!

One letter, to injured victim Mark Taylor, read, “Please accept our heartfelt wishes for a full and speedy recovery from your injuries. There are no words to express the tragic events of that day. We would have given our lives to prevent them.

“May you have the strength and the support to continue your healing process.”

It was signed, “Sincerely, Wayne, Kathy and Kevin Harris.”

Jeff Kass, Columbine, p. 244.

neverstopwhileyoureahead  asked:

Hi my birthday is February 10, I'd like one set in college, fluffiness and in any rating. Thank you!

Originally posted by gameraboy

Happiest of birthdays to you! To celebrate in style, the always amazing @titaniasfics has written this delicious little everlark drabble, just for you! Enjoy!


The prompt asked for college!Everlark, fluffy or smutty. This one came out rated T.

Many thanks to @eala-musings for her betaing magic and @akai-echo and @everllarkingnewtina for prereading.

Happy birthday!

Katniss was absolutely positive she’d left her glasses sitting between The Aeneid and her laptop.  A cursory glance over the piles of books on the cherrywood table assured her that her glasses were most definitely not anywhere to be found. Not on the assorted tomes lining her work area, not in the middle of the notes she was taking for her Latin Literature in Translation class. Not on the chair, in her backpack, her shirt pocket or even on top of her head. In a huff, she gave a cursory scan at the stacks she’d visited, but her vision was blurry and nothing stood out at her.

Dammit, she needed those glasses!

Her problem was not the reading or note-taking - she didn’t actually need glasses to read. She had no problem whatsoever seeing what was right in front of her. But she did need her glasses to see far away, especially as she was going to meet Madge for dinner after she finished studying. She needed them most at night if she wasn’t planning on walking into poles and sides of buildings.

She slowly expelled a lungful of air, trying to calm her frustration at having arrived at this predicament. Rounding her table, she checked the floor, the trash bin, even the lamp attached to the wall. Anything that might point her in the direction of her second pair of eyes. Finally, she issued a muffled squeal of delight when she saw the very glasses she sought on another table, just a few feet down and across from her. She walked quickly, oblivious to everything around her except for her goal of reaching her missing accessory. When they were within reach, she scooped them up from the top of the book pile and, with a sigh of relief, put them on.

Yes!  Yes!

Oh, no…

Keep reading

Don’t tell me to stop being sad! Do you think it is my choice to cry through out the day and into the night? I would kill to be as happy as you. More than anything, oh how I wish, I could just find peace within myself…
—  Excerpt from a book I’ll never write