#(this one is a little different tone on purpose. it's supposed to come across as an outsider writing it.) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mistiell · 2 years ago

Text

Let me put my Lips to Something

Pairing: Spencer x Fem! Reader

Summary: After learning about his aversion to touch, you tone down the physical affection. Spencer finds himself missing your touch, and after weeks of yearning, he’s had enough. He decides it’s time to fix this.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Fluff, it gets pretty steamy towards the end but nothing graphic so I don't think this needs age restricting lmao

A/N: Part 2 to “I’m Starvin’, Darlin’”. The feedback on the last part motivated me to finish this in like, a single sitting lmao. Hope y’all enjoy! :)

P.S. My requests are open so if you wanna send something in for Spence, I'll do my best to get to it quickly!

Part 1 - Current - Part 3

Spencer hadn’t realised how much he wanted — how much he needed — your touch until you stopped. Where there was once that warm, tingly anticipation whenever he made you laugh, there‘s now a strange absence left in its wake. Where there used to have been a bump or a squeeze, there are awkward smiles and nervous glances. Like a line of dialogue without end quotations, left to hang in the balance while the author considers what should be said next.

It’s killing him.

He’s come to realise that this want extends beyond the bounds of anything that could ever be considered platonic. He wants more than your touch. He wants you.

He craves you, finds himself remembering the way your arms felt around him the last time you hugged him. Finds himself fantasising about how it would feel to be the one to take you in his arms. How it would feel to be the one to hold you; to cradle your face between his palms and lose himself in your kiss; to let go of his inhibitions and drown himself in the depths of your affections.

He wants your time and energy. He wants your attention and praise. He wants to be the one to make you smile and laugh so hard your stomach hurts. He wants to be yours, and he wants everyone to know it.

It’s only been three weeks since that night at the bar, but even so, he feels like if he doesn’t figure out how to tell you how he feels, he might very well lose his mind. You’re right across from him all day, five days a week. It’s torture. Perhaps he’s being dramatic, but at this point, he’s well beyond caring.

The problem is, how on earth is he supposed to go about confessing to you? He’s never been suave or charismatic. He’s awkward and dorky and breaks a sweat every time anyone even remotely attractive looks his way. He’s never felt this intensely about anyone before, never desired anyone this way before. Sometimes, late at night when he’s finally tucked himself into bed, he attempts to calculate the probability of you ever wanting him in the way he wants you.

In his pessimistic mind, that number is despairingly low.

“Spence?” He startles at the sound of your voice, snapping his head up to look at you.

You’ve worn a different lipstick today. It’s a little darker than your usual colour, a rather glossy, rosier shade of mauve. He thinks he’s seen it somewhere before, and the name pops up from somewhere in his memory.

“Rum raisin.” He mumbles, staring intently at your lips and wondering briefly if it would transfer if he kissed you.

“What?” You cock your head at him with an amused sort of confusion.

He blinks once before clearly his throat, “Oh, um, your lipstick.”

You raise your hand so your fingertips hover over your bottom lip as you smile at him, “How’d you know?”

“I saw it in a drugstore once.”

You chuckle and shake your head, “Your memory never ceases to amaze me, Spence.”

His heart swells as he smiles sheepishly, “Thanks.”

You hum before gesturing to two big boxes of files that are sitting on your desk, “Could you help me run these down to records?”

“Oh, yeah.” He’s quick to cross the short distance to your desk and purposely picks the heavier of the two boxes.

The trip down to records is a rather tedious one as of today. The elevator is out of order so you have to take the stairs from the sixth floor to the third.

“Do you like rain?” You ask, and it takes him a moment to realise you’re looking out water speckled windows at the stormy street below.

“Yeah.” He leaves out the part that the possibility of power outages and the darkness that accompanies them unnerves him greatly.

You turn your head to smile at him as you reach the records room, “Me too.”

He opens the door for you before you have the chance and lets you go in first, letting the door shut behind him. He follows you into the room, weaving between shelves and stepping over boxes that have yet to find their places. He watches you skim over the yellowed labels, your lips twitching as you read them off in your head.

You find the spot you’re looking for and make a sound of satisfaction before bending at the waist to slide the box into place, your skirt sliding a little further up to press against the plush flesh of the backs of your thighs. His gaze wanders up the length of your body and stops at your chest. From this angle, he’s able to see the curve of your breast and he swallows hard. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shakes his head, feeling ashamed for ogling you like that.

Behind the darkness of his eyelids, he sees the lights flicker and when he opens them, he finds he’s not able to see much more than when he had them closed.

Shit.

“Damnit, the power’s out.” You curse, taking the box from him and slotting it in next to the other.

He takes a deep breath. The dark isn’t as frightening with you there in front of him, but that familiar anxiety pricks his chest and settles heavy in his gut.

“Spence?”

He wonders when the emergency lights will come on. Maybe they’re already on in the hall. He feels along the wall and shuffles back over to the door. When he tries the knob, he finds it locked. Now he’s panicking a little.

Well, maybe a lot.

There’s a clap of thunder outside that’s so powerful that he feels it in his chest and he jumps, breath catching in his chest as he screws his eyes shut as if it’ll make a difference.

“Spence?” You call again softly, “Are you okay?

“Y-Yeah.” He stutters.

“You don’t like storms?”

He shakes his head before realising you can’t see him, “No, not really.”

“Me neither.” You whisper, and he hears the shuffling of your clothes as you shift your weight between your feet and huff a breathy puff of nervous laughter, “I don’t like the dark either.”

“Me neither.” He echoes, wetting his lips briefly as he considers how to comfort you despite how anxious he is himself.

Carefully, tentatively, he reaches for you in the dark and takes your hand, just barely brushing his thumb over your knuckles. Your skin is soft and warm, and he attempts to find your face in the dark as he murmurs ever so softly, “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” You reply just as softly, squeezing his hand.

It’s a little unsettling not being able to see you. He can hear you breathing, and having your hand in his feels so nice, but he wants you closer.

“Can I…” He trails off, but tugs at your hand so you’ll step a little closer. He swallows his nerves, “Can I distract you?”

It’s a lame excuse, but it’s all he can come up with on the spot.

“Distract me how?” He can hear the smile in your voice and it encourages his steadily growing confidence.

He pulls you closer, and you step further into his space. He places a hand on your waist, and you don’t recoil. In fact, you come a little closer and set a hand on his chest. You slide it along the length of his shoulder and up the back of his neck to thread your fingers in the hairs at the base of his skull and he shudders, lips parting to sigh softly. Your thumb settles just behind his ear and strokes the skin there tenderly and he can’t stop himself from leaning down to gently bump your nose with his, giving you plenty of time to pull away, to tell him you don’t want this.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask so innocently, breath fanning over his lips in a steady rhythm as his eyelids flutter shut.

“Please.” He breathes, leaning in to meet you halfway.

Your lips meet his timidly and his heart stutters in his chest. There’s a second where you pull back to let him breathe, let him get used to the feeling. His eyes open a sliver, just enough to make out the edges of you in the dark as his brain catches up with his body. And then the shock passes.

And he devours you.

The hand that was on your waist comes up to cradle your cheek as he brushes his tongue against your bottom lip in a silent request. You grant it, opening up to him to let him roll his tongue against yours. You stand on your tiptoes and lean further into him, returning the kiss with a fervour he wasn’t expecting but welcomes happily. He can taste your lipstick and is pleasantly surprised to find it tastes a little like vanilla.

There’s a push and pull of tongues and teeth and soft little sighs as he dares to slip his hands down and pull you flush against him by your hips, revelling in the breathy moan that slips from your throat and meets his mouth. He pulls away only to kiss sloppily at the corner of your mouth and down your jaw. He nips at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, smiling against your skin when you gasp and tug at his hair. Mouthing at your skin, he searches until you whine and shudder after he drags his teeth over a particular spot and focuses his attention there.

He sucks a nice bruise into the spot, some primal part of him driving him to mark you up and claim you as his while he has you here. He bites a little too hard and you hiss, making him pull back and search for your face in the dark.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“Mm-mm.” You hum before immediately capturing his lips again, slipping your tongue into his mouth and swallowing the moan that escapes him.

He guides you by your hips until he has you pressed against the door, sliding a hand down the length of your thigh before slipping it up past the hem of your skirt to grab greedily at your flesh. He hikes your leg up by his hip and you hook your knee around it to pull him impossibly close.

His touch is tender even as he practically swallows you whole, thumb stroking the side of your thigh where your skirt has ridden up. He rolls his hips up against your experimentally and you whine, urging him to do it again. This is what he’s wanted — craved — for so long. You’re warm and soft in ways that his imagination could have never replicated. He’s dizzy, drunk on your kiss, on your touch, on you.

He’s attached himself to your neck again — the other side this time — when the lights flicker on, startling you both into looking up at the ceiling.

The room is filled with nothing but the sound of your combined laboured breathing, and when he looks back at you, he finds your face flushed and your lipstick smudged. You look back at him and he notices your pupils are blown wide as you suddenly smile and start giggling.

“What?” He chuckles, letting go of your thigh so that you can stand on your own two feet again.

“Rum raisin looks good on you, doctor.” You laugh, thumbing the remnants of your kisses off of his bottom lip.

He kisses you once again, smiling against your lips.

You tug him back and laugh again, “You’re making it worse!”

He does it again, and again, and then peppers kisses over the side of your neck until you’re giggling something awful and have to scrunch your shoulder to your ear to keep him from tickling you.

“Spencer!” You squeak as quietly as you can and he pulls away laughing.

Your giggles die down, and then you’re both left in a silence that isn’t awkward, but isn’t quite comfortable either. He has to say something, but what?

“Hey, would you, um,” You start, glancing down at his lips and biting at yours nervously, “Would you like to go out with me sometime? Just us?”

He blinks, wanting to pinch himself to make sure this is actually happening, “Like, a date?”

You nod. He blinks again before practically beaming at you.

“Yeah.” He nods, attempting to correct the smudged edge of your lipstick with his thumb, “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

“Saturday? Five o’ clock? We can do whatever you want.”

He nods again, “Sounds good.”

“Good.” You smile, leaning up to kiss him, your touch so saccharine and gentle that his legs feel like jello beneath him.

The doorknob jiggles suddenly and he instinctively reaches to help you button up your blouse a little more while you fiddle with the collar until it covers the rather obvious hickey on your neck.

“Hey, are you two still in there?” Derek calls from the other side as you attempt to help Spencer fix his hair to no avail.

“Uh, yeah!” He calls, clearing his throat after his voice cracks up an octave, “We accidentally locked ourselves in.”

“Here.” You bend to slide the key under the door, and this time, he stares unabashedly, “That’s the key.”

The knob jiggles a little more before the door opens, and when it does, Derek eyes the two of you suspiciously, “You guys okay?” He locks eyes with Spencer and smirks, “You seem a little winded.”

“Yeah, we’re okay.” You smile, hastily walking out, “The boxes were just heavy. Plus, we had to walk all the way down here.”

“Yeah, okay.” Derek says, though it’s clear he isn't convinced. When you get a little further ahead of them, he claps Spencer on the back with a bright grin, “About time, loverboy!”

“Shut up.” Spencer shoots back, though he can’t help the smile that creeps up on his face.

This is not how he expected his confession to go, but — as he watches you walk down the hall a little ways ahead of him with a renewed pep in your step and your hair a little dishevelled — he is so glad it went the way it did.

———————————————————————

Edit: I had a couple people request a part 3 (Possibly smutty, but we shall see), and I'm curious about whether or not y'all would want that? Just let me know in the replies/reblogs. :)

Update: Part 3 is posted and linked at the top of this post :)

Taglist:

@louderfortheback @theblaxkbird @marimorena06 @special-forces7 @lolilkkk

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

4K notes · View notes

sugoi-writes · 5 months ago

Text

Invictus - Alastor x GN! Reader (Fluff / Comfort)

A/N: Ahh, depression! Here is a little piece that hit me across the face while I was trying to recoup. Mentions of Alastor's regrets/angst, his mother's death (briefly/sparingly), reader is struggling mentally. I hope this can bring some comfort to folks who are going through it rn!

(lightly proofread, and made in heat of the moment, so sorry in advance!)

"...do you ever wish that you weren't the Radio Demon, Alastor? That you weren't the person you became?"

Alastor blinks, looking up to you from across the table. What an absurd, curious question to ask. You were always full of these ideas, ones that perplexed him to no end. But when he saw the look in your glazed over, simmering gaze... he decided that humoring you would be best.

"...come again? I don't quite understand the question, dear."

Hands were fidgeting below the table, chest feeling tight as you formulated your next sentence. You felt like your ribcage was being crushed by a hydrolic press. The grueling, agonizing pressure from your anxiety was threatening to make you keel over. And for a moment, you thought you might give in to the feeling. Thank the stars for Alastor's reciprocation in this conversation.

"Like... Do you ever hate the place you're at right now? As a person? Do you ever wish you could start over again? Turn a new leaf? New name, new face, new space.... I know you think 'redemption' is bullshit, but..."

You continue to avoid him and his steely eyes, a sad smile gracing your forlorn face," If you had a chance to... Not be yourself. To start over and lead a different life... Would you?"

Alastor's mind pondered many things. The reason he was sentenced to rot hell. The reason that his mother died. The way that he was raised, the people who he fratenized with in life. The accursed deal he was entangled in. There were many things that made him who he was. There were things that even he regretted. But for all intents and purposes, he was exactly who he needed to be... But he could always be more. 'More' would never be enough, truly.

And so Alastor took a sip of his coffee, eyes down cast to the newspaper in his other hand," ...I suppose anyone would like a chance to start over. For menial reasons or otherwise."

You didn't notice the way he smiled, your eyes still down cast to your trembling hands.

"But if it's all the same to you, darling... I rather like the person you are now."

Your eyes developed hot tears, threatening to cascade down your flushed face at any moment. Alastor sighs heavily, setting his newspaper down on the coffee table.

"Invictus. Have you heard of the poem Invictus by William Ernest Henley?"

You blink, a few tears tumbling down your cheeks," I... Can't say that I have, honestly." Alastor hums in acknowledgement, manifesting a parchment out of thin air.

"Would you care to hear it?"

You make eye contact with Alastor, his smile simple, unforced. His face hung perfectly neutral as he waited for your permission. You, of course, had no qualms about hearing his voice.

"O-Of course... Go ahead."

Alastor cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair as he began.

"Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul."

A part of you smiled on the inside. Unconquerable.... This was definitely Alastor-coded to you. You didn't comment on this as he continued.

"In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed."

You feel the tension in your shoulders disappearing, slumping forward as your body finally relaxed. Something about his voice, the evenness and clarity of his tone made you react physically. You couldn't put your finger on it... But he soothed you. He always had.

When Alastor stood, your eyes widened, watching as he started to advance towards you.

"Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds and shall find me unafraid."

The filter over his voice thickens, typically a telltale sign of Alastor's emotions fluctuating. Was he frustrated with you? Cross with you? You should have known better than to talk to him like this... God, what an idiot you were. But Alastor didn't feel this way. Alastor strode directly to your side, a hand settling on the top of your chair. With a flick of the wrist, he dismissed the parchment. He was quoting the poem from memory now.

"It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll"

Alastor leans down to you, his free hand going to your shoulder. He shakes it gently, his radio filter fizzling out. His voice was left raw and bare, only for you to hear. His smile reached his eyes as he continued, his gaze not wavering from yours.

"I am the master of my fate,

I am the captain of my soul."

A comfortable, round silence fell between the two of you. You were conscious of his warmth, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. You were aware of his heartbeat, strong and steady like a metronome. You were aware of his stature, bent heavily at the hip to match your height. Your felt his eyes, kind and sincere, searching yours for a spark. You felt your heart flutter for a moment, as the weight of the poem and it's meaning settled over you.

"What a lovely poem, Alastor," was all you could mutter, voice dry and brittle from your fragile, emotional state.

"Of course. A powerful one, at that. I reflect on it often when I feel an inkling of... Doubt. Trepidation."

Alastor, the one-and-only Radio Demon, having self doubt? What a troubling thing for him to entrust in you.

"I encourage you to remember it well. And, you must reflect on it when these feelings of regret and anguish wash over you. I find that it can be very helpful; illuminating. It can remind you of your importance; your agency in your afterlife."

Alastor, in a rare moment of tenderness, pats the top of your head, letting his fingers curl and run through your hair.

"Shall we talk about anything else that troubles you, darling?'

You blink, still reeling from the poem, it's gravity, and the kindness being showered upon you," N-No I.... No, I think I feel much better now. Thank you, Alastor."

The Radio Demon accepts your answer, giving your hair a playful ruffle. He stands back up to his full height, his hand retracting from you slowly.

"Anytime, dear. Though I think it's time to get a head start on the day, hmm?" You look up to the Radio Demon, who already has a cup of coffee summoned for you. You smile, graciously accepting the offering.

"Of course... But... Could you... Y'know?" You tilt your head torwards Alastor's free hand, asking for more contact. Alastor sighs dramatically, before granting you more affection. Just look at how hopeless you were... It was almost too much.

"I suppose a minute or two more of this wouldn't hurt, would it?"

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor x oc #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fluff #comfort #i am feeling the writer's block HARD so i hope this can get me out of my funk #lol

238 notes · View notes

touchtheinvisiblestars · 7 months ago

Text

Imagine Pope telling Benny you've gone missing while on a stakeout

"Come on man, why all the cloak and dagger?" Benny jibed, "you're going to have to tell us why we're here anyway. Why did we have to follow some ridiculous instructions to get here."

"'cause we're all probably being watched, I couldn't risk anything else going wrong with this mission."

"What do you mean?" Frankie questioned. The atmosphere suddenly got very thick and uneasy.

"I um, so-" Santiago paused, unsure of how to start.

"Spit it out Pope." Tom jumped in.

"Okay, so you know I mentioned the set timings they brought people in, under the cover of night so they had more privacy?" the silence continued, "so with them knowing who I am. I needed to bring in a face they wouldn't bat an eyelid at..."

All four men wore heavy set expressions, cogs turning in their minds at where Santiago was going with this. Benny shared a look with his brother. Not liking where this was going.

"So I called in some help. Just know I didn't force this okay. I asked for a favour."

"Christ man. Spit it out." Will snapped. Not liking how sheepish Santiago was acting.

"It's Y/N. Okay she was doing some night recon for me and two days ago she went radio silent. And we had a strict agreement to check in once every 24 hours. So I knew she was okay." Santiago blurted out.

"Are you fucking kidding?" Benny asked, not sure how to take the news.

"I can't tell you how much I wish I was Ben. I'm sorry."

All five men had a soft spot for you. Having known you for a number of years. Friendships had developed across continents with them. They all cared about your safety as they did each other. Spending time both on the battlefield and at home. You'd even moved cities to be closer to the group. Since then spending a huge chunk of your time with the Miller brothers. Well. One to be particular. Benny and you had a different kind of relationship. One that had never progressed from the gooey eyed longing looks at one another from across the pool table. Among every other place you guys hung out. You supported him ringside at every match. Cheering him on and giving him the push to fight just that little bit harder. Earning you the title of good luck charm after Bennys fourth win in a row once you started coming along.

Saying that you had a special place with all of the guys. You were a constant with Frankies family. Supporting his wife while Frankie had his drug charges cleared up.

You even introduced Will to his fiancée.

Tom had listened to your advice on how he would be able to start repairing his relationship with his daughter. Resulting in them going on their first dad-daughter camping weekend.

Pope had always been a bit of an enigma with the group. But you too had a special place with him. You helped him hash out many a crazy idea. Toning them down when he got too into the idea of taking down huge conglomerates widely known to be untouchable.

"Fuck. Where was she last supposed to reach you?" Benny asked, leaning forward in his seat.

"She always called my phone from a payphone just outside the market. At two o'clock. But that last two days I've heard nothing."

"Where was she staying?"

"At a hotel on the outskirts of town, room 203. Self catering kind of deal."

"Right, Fish and Will. Go to that payphone and see if there's any sign there. I'm going to stay put see if she turns up here. Benny-"

"Go to the hotel. Got it."

The boys sprung into motion. Grabbing what they needed and heading for the truck they arrived in.

"Benny, I'll drop you off at the hotel." Santiago offered, earning a nod from Ben.

He followed closely behind Santiago. Still on the fence about whether he should give him an earful in the car of the way.

"She better be alright."

"I know. You're gonna kick my ass if she isn't."

"Damn right. But I know you didn't do this on purpose."

The ride was pretty quiet from then on. Both men itching to get to the hotel to confirm their hopes.

Benny couldn't help but scan everyone's face as they passed. Hoping she would just appear on a street corner unharmed.

Pulling up in the car park to the hotel. Benny was out the door even before Santiago could turn off the engine. Scanning the room numbers he headed for the stairs. Taking them two at a time, he followed the descending numbers. 213, 212, 211... Round the corner to the side of the block. He continued, 206, 205, 204... Pausing as he locked eyes on 203. Bracing himself for the worst he reached to twist the door handle, light pressure made the already opened door swing fully open.

Letting out a quiet whistle. Signalling to Santiago, Benny reached for the pistol he had stashed in the back of his trousers. With the curtains pulled the room was dim, when he didn't immediately spot you his guard remained on high alert. The room didn't look trashed. But it didn't exactly look neat and tidy. There was some semblance of disarray.

Benny recognised your belongings though. The notebook you always scribbled in. The snacks you never went anywhere without. He even recognised one of his boxing sweatshirts in the messy bed.

Relaxing his stance, Santiago took over scanning the rest of the room. Benny looked through the ripped up paperwork on the bed, seeing you'd made notes about the targets for him. Santi headed for the bathroom, to cover all bases.

"Benny get in here now!" Santiagos voice jolted Benny out of his thoughts.

Preparing himself to see something he didn't want to, he practically ran into the bathroom. Almost tripping over a crouching Santi. Who was hovering over your unconscious figure slumped in between the wall and the toilet bowl.

#benny miller x reader #benny miller imagine #benny miller #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier

137 notes · View notes

undertheopensky · 4 months ago

Text

Catch Your Breath

Whumptober Day 30: “Not much longer…”

Characters: Legend, Sky

Trigger warnings: allergies, breathing difficulty, asthma, falling

Read on Ao3!

---

A lot of people, Sky reflects, thought of allergies as kind of funny. Lots of sneezing, watery eyes, even gastrointestinal misery is just funny. People looking foolish when their bodies betray them.

As he watches Legend struggle to breathe, he thinks those people are stupid.

---

It’s not that they didn’t know Legend has an allergy.

Way back when, when the group as a group was new, and Wind asked what the white stuff Wild was adding to the stew was, they’d realised in short order the differences in their eras had real consequences. Sky and Wind can’t have any kind of dairy. Time has a nut allergy that he says was worse when he was a kid, but no one wants to risk it. Shellfish makes Four violently sick. And Legend?

Legend’s allergic to feathers.

“Okay, I know we promised not to make fun of each other for medical stuff, but feathers?” Warriors says. “That is hilarious. Are you pulling my leg?”

“Nope,” says Legend. He’s unbothered, more interested in arranging the contents of his bag to his liking. “When I visited my grandparent’s farm, I was always banned from the cucco coop and anything to do with the pigeons. Prob’ly not as bad as the Old Man’s nut allergy –” and he points a bizarrely carved little twig in Time’s direction that Sky suddenly desperately needs to see in detail – “but it’s something I’m supposed to tell the healers, so.”

“Yes, and thankyou, Legend, it’s important to know,” says Hyrule. The healer smacks Warriors when he goes to open his mouth again, and that’s pretty much the end of it.

After that, it just… doesn’t come up. The one time they visit the ranch and Legend accidentally ends up on cucco duty, he quietly switches out with Four. Otherwise, there’s just not much cause for the heroes to interact with feathered creatures. Though several of them have had experiences with marauding crows, the mischievous birds don’t really count as monsters. They’ve never come across any infected ones at least. (“Not that those bastards need to get any smarter,” Four grumbles with uncharacteristic acid in his tone.) In fact, none of the infected monster hordes they hunt down includes any feathery fiends, except as very occasional decoration. It never seems to bother him, and Legend never brings it up himself. It falls to the back of everyone’s minds.

---

Sky’s carefully cleaning dark blood from Fi when he hears Wind groan in complaint. “What, already?”

He can’t help but agree. It’s been less than five minutes since the last stalfos fell; they’re still breathing hard, still patching up scrapes and bruises and the one arrow-slice from where Wild had not quite dodged in time. And they’re already being thrown through another portal?

At least it didn’t show up right as they were bedding down this time.

One by one, they head for the portal, Sky following at the tail end of the line. It’s not on purpose. He’s just feeling it, a bit, feeling the poor sleep from the night before (ha) and the heavy weight of the humidity. Actually the thought of leaving the humidity behind is what finally drives him to step through and let the dark nothingness of the portal suck him under.

It’s always an eerie feeling. Ghostly fingers trailing over exposed skin. The cold chill of the void, so dark it doesn’t matter whether your eyes are open or closed. The adrenaline rush of falling. Wind yanking at his hair, his clothes –

No, wait, there’s no wind in the void. He’s really falling.

Sky opens his eyes to a landscape of eye-searing white touched with blue and gold. It’s dizzying, it’s blinding, it’s familiar. For a moment all he can feel is the incandescent joy of coming home.

Then he remembers eight heroes with no loftwings to catch them, and his whistle is more than a little desperate.

Flashes of colour spread out below him, bright against the clouds; Sky starts marking a path in his head, who to catch first. Wars and Time and Hyrule and Twilight, all the people without gliding items. He prays the others can hold out long enough for him to come back for them. None of them are meant for true flight, but with so many already – can Crimson even take the weight? If it came down to it, who would he leave behind –

A loftwing’s cry breaks his train of thought, and the relief would knock him over if he was standing. Crimson’s diving for him, but a pair of Skyloft knights are diving alongside, aiming for his scattered friends. He doesn’t have to catch all of them.

Sky twists on himself to face the clouds; the wind is tearing at his hair, at his sailcloth, at his blurred and watering eyes. It’s freezing, he’s not wearing as many layers after Wild’s muggy jungles, but he doesn’t have time to change. All he really needs right now is his sailcloth, not to catch but to stabilise.

Crimson’s back rises to meet him. Sky hits the saddle with stinging force and scrambles to get into position; to see over Crimson’s head and tip him back down towards his still-falling brothers. Who’s closest, who’s –

There’s a flash of red that isn’t Crimson, as Legend wrestles with his Roc’s Cape and tries to keep it from tearing free. It’s not made for this kind of use, and – he’s close. If he spirals around – Four is lighter and his cape held him longer, and Crimson can snatch him out of the sky with his talons before it gives out, and then they’re dropping through the sky after Legend when the magic in his Cape falters and fails.

Four screams. Sky can’t spare the breath or the focus to reassure him – they’re drawing even with Legend, then easing underneath, then coming out of the dive in a smooth arc that intercepts Legend’s fall at the precise moment he crosses Sky’s saddle.

Before his momentum can drag him back into open air Sky snaps an arm around Legend’s waist, as ungiving as iron. Legend helps by clinging to Crimson’s saddle. Passenger secured, Sky quickly scans the air. The last scrap of colour has just been snatched up by a third Knight, and if he squints he thinks he counts out the six of them, all safely in someone’s charge. Everyone is safe. He didn’t lose any of them.

Adrenaline and panic-sweat cooling on his skin, Sky shivers. They’d gotten almost frighteningly close to the cloud layer – Sky’s a knight, he’s used to seeing it, never mind how often he’s deliberately dropped through it – so it takes a few heavy wingbeats for Crimson to steer their trajectory back upward. It’s slow going. It gives him time to sit back, to steady his breathing, to realise just how fast his heart was beating and let the grey haze at the edges of his vision fade away.

Legend coughs. Then coughs again.

Sky frowns. There’s a thin whistle to the vet’s breathing that the wind had disguised. “Legend, you okay?” he asks, just as the veteran doubles over into a real coughing fit.

He sounds awful. He hadn’t taken any real blows in the fight, he shouldn’t be struggling to breathe like this. Had he been hiding an illness? After the fit Hyrule threw the last time Wind pretended he didn’t have a cold the whole group had wordlessly decided to just let the healer have his way, and he’d thought Legend was on board with that.

It doesn’t – it doesn’t sound like he’s trying to bring something up, though it’s deep and in his chest. It sounds like he can’t get any air, almost like Sky when the thick air of the Surface gets overwhelming. Like his throat is closing over, wind whistling through narrower and narrower passages –

Sky realises all at once.

Not an injury, not an illness – Legend’s allergic to feathers, and he just crash-landed on a whole platform of them.

Sky scrambles to prop him up, though he suspects the damage is done. Legend leans back against him. His breathing is maybe a little easier with his chest open, coughs louder and further apart. When he sucks in air, it sounds like it’s screaming through metal pipes, high and thin. But he can breathe.

They level out. There’s an island in the distance that the overloaded knights are headed for, but it’s small and isolated, intended as a jumping point for people with loftwings to catch them. It’ll take time to explain the situation, that they don’t have loftwings and need lifts back to the mainland, and that’s time Legend may not have.

Sky leans forward, holding Legend to his chest, and tries to think.

They need the infirmary, they’ll be able to treat the breath attack – but then they need somewhere feather free for Legend to rest, and there’s nowhere on Skyloft that fits that description. Loftwings are everywhere. The infirmary’s even got special-built troughs for them when their riders are in there and they refuse to leave! Every building has windows Loftwings can open and at least stick their heads in, if not hop straight through, and every floor bears scratches from their talons.

Legend wheezes. His fingers dig painfully into Sky’s supporting arm.

Determination solidifies. That will have to wait.

Sky leans into the turn as Crimson changes headings. Goddess, he loves his loftwing – as soon as Sky realised what they needed Crimson was responding. It’s the loss of this kind of bond that’s so devastating to him, when he considers the disappearance of loftwings over the ages. That the others have never known having a partner who knows your every move.

Legend’s stopped coughing but his breathing’s worse: pained little wheezes as he struggles to breathe, shuddering with every inhale like it’s a fight – his face is red and his eyes are wet and Sky doesn’t know if it’s breathlessness or pain.

“Hang in there Legend, we’re nearly there,” he says.

When they make landfall Crimson hovers long enough to drop Four the short, safe distance to the thickly grassed area meant for such deposits, then they’re off again. Sky hears Four shout behind them. Realises belatedly that between the wind and his own terror Four likely didn’t know what was happening – but he’s safe where he is, and if someone else finds him they can help him regroup if the others don’t land in the same spot, and –

That’s a problem for later. Right now, he needs to save Legend’s life.

No sailcloth dives with a passenger. Crimson lands on the tiles right in front of the infirmary with a soft grunt, and Sky flashes gratitude at him as he throws himself off his back and runs.

“Aren,” he shouts as he shoulders the door open, “Aren, I need help!”

#whumptober 2023 #skies writes #linked universe #lu sky #lu legend #lu fic

45 notes · View notes

crescent-blades · 2 days ago

Note

[I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK FAR TO LONG AND I'M SORRY IF NOW THIS IS COMING AT A BAD TIME- 😭 Also I'm sorry if I took to much control of Kokushibo.]

In the deepest part of a forest, moonlight hardly shining through the trees you stood. For an unknown reason, unless you knew yourself you stood in its small opening with little trees to get in the way. The moonlight shone nicely down on the ground, the levees caught in the mess glowing brightly. The forest was covered in these trees, all the same kind yet shaped differently like any other forest. Grass covered the ground and some flowers poked out, useless flowers as Muzan would say. The night was always cold, but the forest could keep some heat though, did it really matter?

That should hardly be a concern when someone is hiding behind a tree near you.

🌸💜 Kanao Tsuyuri had been sent on a mission alone, demons still needed to be killed and since she had completed the Hashira training it was safe for her to continue missions. So there she was, sent onto a mission into the forest that a demon seemed to be spotted at. She kept a sharp eye out for anything and noticed a tall demon far beyond inside the forest. The trees covered her way from seeing them closely so she quietly jogged forward, hiding as much as she could from their sight.

Thinking she was doing well, she carefully unsheathed her blade and continued forward. Changing her direction every now and then. Kanao now was a few trees away, staying hidden behind one, finding a time when Kokushibo was distracted enough to hit him. What she doesn’t know is his rank and why he’s carrying an old sword, that doesn’t seem to spark a question inside her. What matters is cutting the demon’s neck, that’s what a demon slayer is supposed to do… 🌸💜

As the demon stood amidst a forest, the trees stood tall above him, their gnarled branches stretching high up into the starry night, casting intricate shadows that lay across the forest floor. The wind rustled through the air, causing his long, spiky hair to sway, while the symphony of crickets filled the air, emanating from the small bushes and delicate bluish flowers that rested quietly below.

"—Useless flowers.." A voice echoed in his mind, a tone laced with irritation—his lord's voice—a reminder of their long, fruitless quest.

"It has been nearly a millennium. At this pace, humanity may go extinct before we ever obtain that flower."

Day after day, they would search for the elusive flora, or at the very least, the location of the Ubuyashiki mansion. The demon recalls that this mission had once been a privilege reserved solely for him and his master. However, after numerous unsuccessful attempts, they found themselves enlisting the help of lower-ranked demons.

The reason his lord refrained from involving humans in this endeavour remained unclear to him, and despite his deep respect for the man, he often viewed him as somewhat... 'foolish'. This was no longer a time for chasing after the 'blue spider lily'; those days of whimsical pursuits had long since passed—this was the time of war.

Taking a deep breath in, the upper one found himself in solitude, standing amidst the foliage, kneeling down as he tenderly held the saphire flowers between his fingers.

"Almost perfect.. until fate's hand intervened.."

A flower similar in appearance, similar in structure, yet it had little to no value that the other—useless in comparison as it served no other purpose than to please the eye—ornamental, just like the rest. How.. familiar lamentable.

He concentrated solely on his breathing, attuning himself to the flow of blood in his veins and the gentle caress of the breeze against his skin. Yet, amidst the calmness, he felt a presence. Something was approaching, drawing closer and closer with each heartbeat. A presence that seemed formidable, stronger than the rest—a demon hunter.

How convenient..

"Seizing your essence for another design.."

Hiding behind the foliage as she remained concealed, a shadow among the leaves, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. A demon slayer—her heart pulsed with a fierce resolve, one with determination and courage.. and yet—deep down it also carried a sense of sorrow. He could sense the burden of her anguish—a life marred by violence and bloodshed—a life filled with the pain of lost loved ones and the remnants of past suffering. They all carried the same story—

—Ornamental, just like the rest.

"What does it feel like.."

Just like any other demon slayer, marked by a young age—a mere child—her aura radiated the strength of a seasoned warrior. So much potential. As the man lay kneeled on the ground in the distance, seemingly frozen in place as he merely stayed there—still as the tranquil sea, when the whispering tide retreats just before the tempest's fury.

Until—

"..To be scorned upon by the gods..?"

A voice, low and quiet emerged right behind you.

//ooc: pff no problem, I dont mind! You can take as long as you'd like, no pressure. And nah, you’re good. Though.. I just hope I didn’t ramble on too much, heh.

#ʟᴜɴᴀʀ ᴛᴡɪʟɪɢʜᴛ | ɴᴇᴡ ᴍᴏᴏɴ'ꜱ ᴇᴠᴇ 「ᴋᴏᴋᴜꜱʜɪʙō」#kokushibo #kokushibo rp #kokushibou #kny kokushibo #kny rp #demon slayer rp #kny rp blog #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #demon slayer rp blog #kokushibo demon slayer

12 notes · View notes

goldentigerfestival · 5 months ago

Text

Due to Tumblr's image per post limit, this is the continuation of my dub changes in Vesperia post.

Part 1.

Part 3.

Part 4.

(Other) GTF Favorites.

In the dub this was changed to "I guess I'll have to play by own rules", but this is actually supposed to be Yuri repeating what he told Flynn before he killed Ragou (of course since it has to do with Flynn in some manner they changed it 🤪). Basically, they changed him reflecting on his own words which I just really don't get why they'd change that since it's literally a callback.

--------

A break here because it's less directly a translation note and more a very large grievance of mine. I am also terrible at explaining things in only a bit of text, so... yeah.

See how much plot I skipped over here because nothing was heavily changed? This is what I mean when I say a LOT of it has to do with Flynn. A lot of the time when he's not around/saying anything/being talked to or about, the translation itself (barring Yuri's vocal tone, and Raven and Karol are much more lively in JP) is mostly on point with very few alterations (there are definitely some, but nothing really important in a lot of cases).

We go this long with things being pretty much fine (minimal changes and nothing important or glaring), but right as Flynn is brought back into the picture, things start going haywire with Yuri's dub again, only to eventually end up at the Nordopolica port scene that was completely botched and torn apart.

The thing is, I can understand why a person might not notice it if they've only played/heard the dub. Coming off of JP audio/context though, (at least for me) it comes off as "why did they make these changes that often paint him in a worse light", i.e. the tonal/contextual changes perceive him more negatively than the original, which I can't fathom why a loc team would do that unless it was intentional, which is a whole can of worms in itself (and again, especially when chunks of the translation are perfectly fine when he's not involved).

Whether or not it changed your personal perception of Flynn when dealing with him (at any point in the story) I don't know, but coming off the JP side, it feels like there was an intention/motivation to make Flynn be perceived more negatively (again, due to both tone/context). It's like Yuri was used as the vessel in the dub to create this negative vibe around Flynn as a character (or, in a sense, to make the player view him negatively through Yuri as the lens - the main character we're supposed to be rooting for), which also sucks doubly because they're supposed to be closer than that.

Again, I don't know what went on in that loc room, but I do know the original did not treat Flynn this harshly. Again! You may not notice it just from the dub by itself, or you may. What I'm saying is that, looking at all the original context and hearing the original audio, Flynn is treated completely differently (I'm not just talking about Yuri himself, but this sort of pull for the audience that the dub seems to have), and everything comes across for him as worse from the get go upon meeting him.

--------

As previously mentioned in the last post, if the subtitles just copied the exact same thing the dub said, I left them out as it defeats the purpose of these posts.

Would also like to preface this by saying this particular conversation was not particularly off the rails in what got changed. It's mainly just interesting things worth noting between the two versions.

I'd like to get a little more literal with this one. The dub kinda stuck flair into it (that imo takes away from how heavy the plain original sentence is), but Yuri more specifically says the law is always on the side of those in power. This is a bit different than saying the laws are tools of whoever happens to hold all the chips. I wouldn't say the localization here is necessarily wrong, but I find that it's more powerful to say the law is just an ally of people in power, because that's the truth of what they're going through.

Saying "all the chips" implies more that it's one person at the top (Alexei in this case). Not everyone in power can have "all the chips". The law can, though, be used to aid anyone in enough power to twist things.

That said, again, I don't think the dub's version is necessarily an incorrect thing to say (especially since Alexei does hold all the chips technically and is manipulating everything, but in the more literal JP sense it's not what's being said here), but I find that the implication of (current) law only existing to aid powerful people means more. It gives more of a variety to me in its meaning, and basically more properly conveys that laws are made by the powerful for the powerful. Hence, in this case, why Yuri isn't taking to the law. The current laws were not made for people like him, nor to defend people like him or the innocent civilians.

So this one is a bit trickier to translate into English, but essentially, what Yuri is saying here isn't about dying ("sorry you have to die today"), but rather sort of the inverse. He's basically saying, you would save their life only to tell them to just bear it (the suffering) for now and that [Flynn] will someday rectify the issue causing them to suffer.

In other words, he's basically telling Flynn he can't watch as people continue to get trampled over while [Flynn] works to fix things. Sort of like, you'll save their life but leave them to continue to bear/put up with the suffering in the meantime until things get better. You'll save their life, but they'll still continue to suffer while you're working to fix things.

For me this one holds more weight than the dub. "Go on hurting people" is a lot less extreme than hurting people until they die, which is what was at risk of happening in Mantaic. Yeah, of course he cares about the repetitive harm, but them being pushed around until they die is even worse, and he knows that's exactly how far this has all gone (and he saw it happen at Heliord, also with Cumore. Basically, Ragou and Cumore both saw others as nothing but playthings to be used until they die, which can further emphasize Yuri's decision to decide they needed to die because all they would ever do is continue causing innocent people to die).

Not too much of a change, but Yuri is mentioning how people will be oppressed by such villains, rather than victimized. Bit of a different meaning! You can be a victim, but it doesn't mean you're necessarily being oppressed.

This is Flynn's response to Yuri telling him, "I'm not choosing. I've already chosen" (to dirty his hands).

This is basically along the lines of "so this is how you do it?" This is a callback to Yuri saying he'll do things his own way (and this turning out to be his way). With the existing context I'd translate this to something like, "so this is your way of doing things?"

First one, just to note, is him just saying "you", which obviously sounds stupid in English, but it's more reflective of saying "you..." in response to Estelle saying she won't go back to the castle. It's sort of like saying "you... (won't even after this?)". They changed this to "hey...", which I'm guessing is because they weren't sure how to translate just "you". Personally, I'd just translate this to "you..." as a trailed off sentence (i.e. adding ellipses for proper language tone).

Second one is actually a really unfortunate loss that is trickier in translation. This is the same thing she says and does to him after they fight Zagi off at the castle (which is not the case in the dub between these two scenes).

Unfortunately this is partially because the term can technically be translated various ways (it doesn't literally mean "nice to meet you" as there's a completely different phrase for that, but this is often translated to that which is what happened in the dub). She was basically telling him at Zaphias to please take care of her (i.e. she was in his care to get out of the castle). He asked what she was holding her hand out for, to which she says "it means, please take care of me". More literally, it's asking for a favor (sometimes you'll see this translated as something like "looking forward to working with you" and so on. Again, various ways to translate it).

Here, she does the exact same thing she did back then when she tells him she won't be returning to the castle. She's telling him "it" (what she's doing, holding her hand out) means "please take care of me", i.e. she's once again in his care (or, again, also "looking forward to working with you" as in I plan to continue to work with you despite this), i.e. she will be continuing to travel with him, cementing that she truly means she's not going back and that him killing Ragou and Cumore isn't coloring her opinion on him. By telling him the exact thing she told when they were leaving the castle, she's telling him she's still entrusting her safety to him (despite knowing he's "a killer" now, in difference to that he wasn't back then).

Again, the dub changed this term when they met to "it means, nice to meet you". Not that I don't get why they did it and it still realistically makes sense (but Estelle in JP does not say はじめまして, i.e. hajimemashite, which is literally "nice to meet you", so the intention behind it was different and was possibly written with the intention of the later callback, which is meant to say Estelle is still entrusting her safety to someone who views himself as a killer and has actually killed. It's supposed to have more impact/weight to it, which is unfortunately lost in the dub).

I'd say it's more common that that phrase is translated that way, if only because in English, we don't usually use phrases like "please take care of me"/"I'm in your care/looking forward to working with you". In this case the dub change does make sense, and it's primarily an unfortunate loss of difference in language. She's basically telling Yuri that she still trusts him and the statement is (likely) meant to make him feel better.

Yuri uses slightly harsher language here, basically calling the decision to cut off the route unlikable, bad or even disgusting (versus who do they think they are).

As some of you know I've already made the Nordopolica port scene its own entire post because the dub was that fucking bad. It completely skewed the perspective of Yuri's real emotions and how hard the whole thing was hitting him. If you want to give it a read, I've detailed everything already so I won't be doing that in this post as well and am just linking it here.

For this post I just put what I found to be the most jarring, unnecessary and conversation-tone changing part in this scene contextually (as I obviously can't use vocal tone here, but that's why I linked the video!). To put it simply for this post, Yuri wants Flynn to answer him and is expressing that. He's not treating this conversation like he's got all the answers. He's not shoving it in Flynn's face that he isn't answering back. He wants him to. This isn't a one sided smackdown conversation. It's Yuri trying to get answers but also to get Flynn to see and understand that he can't be doing this. Meanwhile, Yuri's voice is cracking the longer he goes on talking (and his voice only cracks a few times in the whole game, but when it does, he's extremely emotional).

Here, Rita is fully siding with Yuri and expressing that basically, she doesn't think people would blame him/have a problem with it. It comes across a bit differently than her dub counterpart, which seems more detached and only based with reasoning. Like Estelle earlier, she's kind of sticking in a means of making Yuri feel better in her own way and expressing her trust in his decisions.

In the dub she says, "though the severity of the crime may differ, there's no such thing as someone suspected without cause". It doesn't hold the same weight imo, and I'm not sure why they added "severity of the crime", when Ragou and Cumore's crimes were both horrendous and murderous (they were just done in different ways, but they both would've resulted in death if Cumore's plans hadn't been stopped both times. Ragou's actions had already gotten people killed by the time he was found out).

Suspected with cause, sure, puts Yuri in the right, and I don't think this one is extremely out there or anything, but I definitely feel that the emotional attachment/trust aspect of it between Rita to Yuri was lost. Her wording here is more of a Rita way of trying to make him feel better.

The dub mentions Flynn using extreme measures, whereas here Yuri is calling it unlikable/unwanted/unpleasant/etc. It adds to how he's feeling about the situation, and how he's seeing Flynn progressively worsen his tactics and expressing that he doesn't like it. "Using extreme measures" doesn't have any emotional attachment or any personal opinion attached to it, which imo is partially the point here with the original text.

The dub goofed here. They had Patty ask if Don met him/Aifread somewhere recently, but they all know Aifread is "dead" and has been. She was supposed to be asking if she herself had met Don before, which is a hint to her being Aifread and having personally met Don before, hence her having this feeling she's already met him.

Don can't tell because she's a child now because of the curse (and it's possible if he thinks Aifread is a man that he never directly met Patty, instead having met Seifer, but Patty may have been there and saw Don herself at some point). This is why Don isn't sure if he's ever actually seen Patty before and can't say, versus the extremely odd "can't rightly say (if I've seen Aifread recently who we all know is and has been dead)".

Not sure why the dub changed this to him going after Karol when he specifically mentions going to where Don is, but... yeah, that happened.

Dub changed this too slightly. Not sure why other than they thought it sounded weird, but... it doesn't lol.

Raven calling Harry an idiot was changed to "like hell you are", and him saying goodbye was changed to "it's been fun". Minor changing, but I figured since a lot of this scene got altered in some way that I'd add these.

THIS one is the one I hate the most in this scene right next to them changing Yuri's dialogue. The dub changed this to him saying "Whitehorse", indicating a distance in their relationship and a power dynamic that still exists between them on Raven's end even in Don's final moments despite how close they are.

In the original they're on a first name basis in Don's final moments, and Don clearly doesn't care or feel offended by this, indicating closeness between them. Raven doesn't just respect Don, but sees him as a friend and a companion and is letting that be known so Don can at least hear that before he dies.

No idea why the dub changed that. Changing which name Raven uses here really changes the entire vibe of their dynamic, and not for the better.

All Yuri literally says is here "I'll do it" when Don asks for a second. He says nothing about honor in being the one to slice off Don's head, and saying that very much conflicts with how he feels after doing it. I get the feeling the dub was trying to go with the idea that it was honorable to help Don in his final moments, but I'm not so sure it's honorable to slice off the head of the most respected man in Dahngrest, and much less when it's weighing Yuri down afterward.

Yuri also gives a kind of resigned "I'll do it because nobody else is stepping up" voice. I get the feeling the dub wanted to try to make him sound cool here (and that really seems to be the general idea of what they were doing overall with Yuri), but if nothing else the scene itself was... very much opposite of cool.

This entire line got left out of the dub (or just replaced outright with the line about Patty) in the DE version and I'm not sure if that was a bug or not because it was present in the 360 version ("but what about Karol...?"), but basically in the dub Estelle goes from talking about Rita and Patty to Yuri saying "I said he'll be fine". Not really a translation issue, but I think it's possibly a bug/glitch in the dub that yeeted a line so I figured I'd add it here while passing by it.

Another case of the dub just adding random lines in for no reason. Really don't know why they did that here. She never said anything about that being weird and is only asking it in a "why would you say that" sense.

This is actually more along the lines of calling someone an idiot/a fool, but the dub just slapped on a "geez" and moved along, as it does (honestly not sure why the subtitler put that line here).

Here Yuri doesn't say her answer will "decide her fate". He just says depending on her answers that they may not be able to forgive her.

"Not very honest" was changed to "you're a slippery one" in the dub. Another instance of I'm not sure why they changed it, because at least to me they don't really mean the same thing? I guess in a sense they could, but it's still a weird change to me.

While this is a bit of a smaller case, it's little things like these that add up with Yuri. Here he's not saying he doesn't want to disappoint Phaeroh if he wants to fight, he's just saying if he's going to do it (fight them), then it can't be helped (implying they will fight back). The dub tends to stick in a lot more aggressive attitude with Yuri and make him way more pushy than he is.

Part of this also sort of includes my opinion but this is also my blog and I want to talk about it.

Here Karol was saying Yuri needs to be punished too for the guild. The dub pointedly leaves his awkward agreement out and just has him say "well..." as if he doesn't agree with it and/or is just going along with it not to argue. Here, Yuri is basically saying "w-well, yeah" or "w-well yeah, I guess". In other words, he understands Karol's reasoning and sees why Karol thinks he should be punished with himself and Judith. He may not like it, but he can see where he's coming from.

Leaving out his agreement just makes it sounds like he's no good at taking responsibility or understanding someone's reasons for him needing to be punished (which is now a running theme for him, since in the original he also was understanding about Flynn's response at Nor to his smalltime crimes, which the dub also made him sound annoyed about instead of understanding). It comes across as part of this aggressive, attitude driven demeanor he has in the dub, as if it makes no sense to punish him when he's done things for the good of others (which does not fit his character all and he's willing to take responsibility for everything he's done, but in the dub, suddenly not this? When it's about their guild?)... when Judith was doing exactly the same thing, and yet he was saying earlier to Karol that even though she did that, she did break their guild laws, i.e. it was for the good of others, but she still did it so they need to figure out what to do with her. Both of them were doing things for the sakes of others and not telling anyone about it, and Karol is punishing them equally for it.

Simply having "well..." gives off this vibe of "well I don't agree but I don't want to argue either", but imo the tone also gives off this vibe of "but also I kinda do want to argue it", versus his actual admittance/acceptance done in a way that's actually fitting to his character.

Yuri doesn't say Karol is full of surprises, he outright calls him amazing.

You could also read this as "this is kind of a strange place, isn't it". The dub, uh, changed this to "Man... this is amazing!". Yeah. I don't fuckin' know, guys.

Continuing in the next part due to the image limit!

#GTF JP Vesperia Things #GTF Vesperia Localization Woes #I'm not posting all of these in the main tag since I'm linking them all together anyway #and I don't want to flood the tag when they're all linked anyway. I just want to help #get ppl more knowledgeable about JP Yuri bc I love him so muchhh ;;#but I figured in the meantime I'd just go through the whole game and point out the other whacky things #like the mistakes and such while I was at it so... here we are I guess

5 notes · View notes

mcl38 · 1 year ago

Note

How will chokedo fuck it this weekend?

get outwualified and outperformed by a rookie?

get track limits penalty?

get involved in a first lap incident?

all of the above?

obsessed w this poem actually

1. the composite word neologism of 'chokedo' places us firmly in the tradition of tongue-in-cheek, provocative poetry, typical of the 21st century

2. 'fuck it' instead of fuck it up is brilliantly ambiguous in its succintness. it's almost like the speaker is reaching towards the platonic ideal of 'fuck it up' but cant reach it, hand perpetually outstretched as they seek solidity in the epistemologic uncertainty of the future. theres also the implication of sexuality in it but so subtle its almost freudian

3. outwualified im not sure if its a typo or an ingenious way to bring back the bwoken meme but either way its SO fascinatingly tought-provoking. it hints at age regression, going backwards in time (reinforced by the mention of the 'rookie'), but is also more literally a tiny mistake in an otherwise correctly spelled word, possibly a physical representation of the image the author is trying to paint: a single mistake rendering a qualifying lap worthy of ridicule

4. we all know track limits result in your lap being deleted rather than a penalty, but i think so does the author - they just choose to lump them all in at once, foregoing the indefinite article 'a' on purpose, to express the desperation of the speaker in their ill-will wishing. they won't be satisfied with one misfortune, they want track limits - penalty - it all. the factual error also invites the reader to question the soundness of their argument more generally, implying that perhaps the speaker themselves is subconsciously aware of the unlikely nature of their wish

5. the fourth line is where the repetition of the word 'get' starts to become especially poignant. the rule of 3 has a long history of association with magic and curses, not least of all referencing macbeth's three witches. the wishes written out as questions, all employing the same repeated formula, start to almost feel like a chant, a spellcasting. the 'get' is also ambiguous in its grammatical displacement. not attached to a verb construction like 'will get' or a subject like 'will lando / he get', the word exists basically in semantic homelessness. it floats at the beginning of the lines in a tantalisingly incomplete lowercase, hinting at whatever is supposed to come before it but ultimately cannot come before it, because of the speakers underlying uncertainty that these things will even happen. or, read differently, the 'get' almost transforms into a vocative command, asking me, the reader, to 'get' it - to understand, to show compassion, empathy

6. 'first lap incident' is a wonderful little bit of intertextuality - it shows the speaker's awareness of past correspondence between myself and (i assume) them, where i pointed out that lando has never had any dnfs out of his own driver error. the remarkably neutral and blameless 'incident' reinforces the poem's tendency to contradict itself, portraying the speaker's conscious hate and subconscious admiration of the muse (lando) for his driver skill. the balance is so impressively delicate its almost seamless

7. all of the above is such a powerful ending to the poem - due to its strong association with exams and multiple choice forms, it seems to place the burden of proof and expectation of knowledge on the reader, absolving the speaker themselves of any responsibility. although the poem obviously uses the interrogative mode as its main medium, the 'all of the above?' at the end is pushes past the rhetorical and challenges the reader directly, seemingly the last and most important attempt to get the confrontational tone across

all in all i would say this poem is very reminiscent of chelsey minnis's brilliant 2007 collection of poetry 'bad bad', in which the speaker's disillusionment with the practice of poetry is positioned as an aggressive front to mask what is really unprocessed grief and love for her late mentor. there is definitely an undercurrent of that 2000s in-your-face defiant poetry in this text, which i think plays beautifully with the characteristically 2010s broken up loose lines. fortunately, despite the author being anonymous, we can date the poem pretty exactly to anywhere after the 2023 qatar gp and before the 2023 cota gp, and i would be quite comfortable to even make the conjunction that it was typed directly into my askbox. lastly, i would ask the anonymous poet to keep applying themselves to the craft, because they have a marvellously promising future in front of them

#lando #anon #ask #turns out eng lit degrees arent useless after all #this is time well spent i suppose #my magnum opus #lando norris #f1 #everyone witness my creation #mine #the lando hater

15 notes · View notes

ghost-in-the-hall · 2 years ago

Text

Dances In The Moonlight (Falk Maria Schlegel x GN! Reader) - Part 1

(A/N: I'm trying something different again! I'm really nervous about posting this one, so I hope you all enjoy it. I'm probably going to be working on this pretty heavily until it's done so expect some hopefully quick updates!)

WARNINGS: None for this chapter, just introduction stuff, some slight pining/mutual flirting. Soft Falk hours.

Part II

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You slid into the confessional booth with a sigh, eyes meeting with the Clergy member through the cross hairs of the fence that separated you. A ghost of a smile played on his lips as he took a moment to study you. You were greeted with a thick German accent that had a tinge of curiosity behind it. "What can I help you with, my dear?" You swallowed thickly, you thought coming to talk about what was troubling you was supposed to help.

"Father… have you ever felt like no matter what you do, you just don't fit in?" You had been floating through your life with no real sense of purpose. You had spent so long trying to live up to everyone's expectations that you had truly lost yourself in the process. The man on the other side of the screen breathed out a laugh.

"I know a thing or two about not fitting in." He shifts in his seat as he ponders what to say next. "If it were me, I would do my best to cut ties with everyone and everything from the life that isn't suiting me… for a little while at least. It would probably give you a chance to find what exactly you want out of your life." Your brow furrowed slightly as you listened to his words. Before you had a chance to ask any questions he began to speak again. "Our Abbey welcome's all here without question, it might even be able to provide something you're missing." You'd be lying if you said it didn't appeal to you. A full change of pace, people, scenery, it sounded like a good idea.

"I…" you weren't sure how to respond. You sighed, anxiously cracking your knuckles.

"You don't need to make a decision right now." His soothing tone lulled you back into a state of comfort. "Maybe sit in the chapel for a while, think things over, yeah?" You nodded.

"Thank you, Father." He dismisses you with a polite nod. You sat in the front row of pews before the altar, listening to the shuffle of footsteps as various people entered and left the confession booth. Shapes in all colors of the rainbow shifted across the altar as the sun gradually began to set.

"Still thinking, are we?" The pew creaked as the Clergy member you spoke to earlier sat beside you. He folded his hands neatly in his lap. This was the first time you actually had the chance to see what he looked like. Slightly unkempt light brown hair and sharp features contrasted the softness his gaze held. Beautiful brown eyes that only greatened how easily you were drawn in by his presence. "What's making you so apprehensive about staying?"

"Who said I was thinking about staying?" You challenge, concentrating on the toe of your shoe kicking against the floor.

"You would have left by now if you weren't." The steady taps of your foot stopped in an instant. "I have a feeling you and I might not be as different as you think. It wasn't too long ago that I was in the same position you are now. Going through the motions day by day, not truly feeling like any of it mattered… does that sound about right?" You paused for a moment before nodding in response. He stands, motioning for you to follow him. "I'd like to show you something, come with me." He led you through a doorway to what appeared to be a maze of hallways. "Stay close, we wouldn't want you getting lost." He chuckles slightly at your amazed expression as you took in the sight before you. He walked slowly, allowing you time to get distracted by the different artwork that lined the walls until your focus eventually wandered back to your guide. "You're smiling." He points out with a grin of his own. You look down at your feet, letting out a slightly embarrassed laugh.

"I guess I am." You hadn't even realized it, but it was the first time you had genuinely smiled in a while. You looked back up at the man before you, kind gaze never wavering as he studied you. "Father, this place is incredible. I never realized how massive the Abbey was."

"These halls would be yours to explore if you decide to stay." You took a deep breath, this could be your one and only chance at a fresh start. Something you had always longed for was being gifted to you by a complete stranger. "You're looking to find a place where you belong, right?" He takes a small step forward, cradling one of your hands gently in his own. "My dear, I think that is something you would absolutely be able to find here. Let me help you keep that smile on your face." You took a deep breath, glancing around the candle lit halls as you thought about whether or not this was somewhere you could call your home. Starting your life over was terrifying, sure. But, the hands that held yours were so warm, the way he looked at you made you feel important. Standing here with him even just for this short amount of time had ignited something in you, a sense of want, for what exactly you couldn't place. The man's eyes glowed in the candle light, watching the smallest shifts in your expression as you ran through every possibility that came to mind.

"I'll stay." You respond abruptly. He smiles brightly, elated by your response. He, however, didn't move from his position. Almost as if he could feel that you had something else to say. You had entered this church on a whim and now you were agreeing to dedicate your days to it while you searched for who you really were. All of this because of the man that stood before you with the mischievous glint in his eye. "Father, I do have one more thing I'd like to ask you." He hums in response to your statement, giving you his full attention. "I don't believe I ever asked for your name." He chuckles softly. Thumb running slowly across the top of your hand before he reluctantly released it.

"You can call me Falk." He leans down slightly, almost as if he was ready to tell you a secret. "Also, I don't believe in using honorifics outside of mass, so just Falk is fine."

"Falk." You repeat the name back softly, liking the way it sounded as it tumbled from your lips. "Thank you."

"The pleasure is all mine." Falk insisted that he help you take care of your arrangements, he wanted your transition into the Abbey to be as seamless as possible. Before you knew it you were caught up in lessons, mass, and your daily chores around the Abbey. It felt right being here, but there was still the sense of want you had experienced that very first night. You gazed at the window as you picked at your breakfast, the dining hall nearly empty aside from you and a few people others. The smell of freshly brewed coffee caught your attention first, then the sound of footsteps casually approaching your table.

"Good morning, Falk." He effortlessly slides into the seat across from you. He sets his mug down with a sigh before pointing an accusatory finger at you.

"You weren't at my mass this morning." Your chin perched on the palm of your hand, playful smile on his lips letting you know he wasn't upset. "You never miss my mass."

"I overslept." His eyes narrow. You oversleeping wasn't the issue, it was why you overslept. He didn't need to say another word for you to confess. "I might have stayed too late in the library."

"You know it's important to rest-"

"I know." You groan, thinking of a way to try and defend yourself. "The Abbey just has such an amazing collection."

"Which will still be there when you wake up." He chuckles. He moves to reach out for your hand, he stops himself and decides to fold his hands in front of him. "You have all the time in the world to read those books, it's important you take care of yourself." He takes a long sip of his coffee, his gaze switching between you and the window. "I was concerned when I looked out there and you weren't in the front row."

"I'm surprised you noticed I wasn't there." You exchange a soft smile.

"Your smile is always the brightest in the room, of course I noticed." You couldn't hide the blush on your face. He was beaming with pride over the fact he managed to get you flustered. The two of you got to sit and talk for a while longer until he had to leave for a meeting. "I take it you'll be in the library again tonight?" You nod in response, causing Falk to chuckle. "If I don't see you, make sure you don't stay there all night."

"I won't, I promise." He bids you one last farewell before he heads off. You found yourself unable to wipe the smile off your face as you went about your duties for the rest of the day. As expected by the end of the day you had made your way to the library. Now sat comfortably in front of a roaring fire, bare feet tucked beside you under a blanket, and a pile of unread books at your side, you were all set to enjoy your evening. You were interrupted not too long after by the sound of the library door opening and thudding back close. You looked back over your shoulder, from your nights spent in here you knew no one was usually in here this late. You could hear footsteps approaching you, weaving their way in between shelves of books. Your body tensed, only catching flashes of a shadowed figure as they grew closer to you.

"Well you certainly look comfortable." Falk emerges from the darkness with a chuckle. You let out a sigh of relief, laughing slightly at your paranoia.

"You scared me." You giggle. He chuckles, approaching the couch you were seated on slowly.

"Would it be alright if I joined you?" You hurriedly collected the books, moving them aside to make a space for him.

"Please do." He sits with a groan, a result of the long day you were sure he had. "What brings you all the way down here?"

"I was curious about what you were reading that had you so interested." He narrows his eyes, struggling to read the spines of the books next to you before leaning in to get a closer look. Your breath hitched in your throat as you watched his face hover in front of yours. It took you a moment to realize he wasn't wearing his paint anymore, you noticed a few spots he had missed where the paint had settled into the wrinkles by his eyes. Your heart was pounding in your chest, it was a wonder he couldn't hear it. "You can read German?" You were forced to release a breath you hadn't noticed you had been holding. You were finding it hard to find any words at all to say with him sitting so close to you.

"Hardly." You chuckle, holding up the German to English dictionary that you kept plastered to your side. "That's part of the reason I'm here so late, it's a little difficult to get through a book when you have to translate it word for word." He glances between you and the stack of books.

"Maybe I could read some of it to you, give you a break." He offers with a smile.

"Oh, you don't have to, I'm sure you've had a long-" He cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

"Nonsense, I'd just be reading in my room anyways." You exchange a smile. "What would you like to read first?" He asks as he cuffs the sleeves of his shirt. You swallowed thickly, struggling to tear your eyes away as you watched his nimble fingers work their way around the fabric. You simply grabbed the first book in the pile and handed it off to him. His fingers brushed against yours as he grabbed the book, his hand soft and warm. Your mind instantly wandered back to that first night you arrived at the Abbey, your hands wrapped securely in his own as that same warmth spread through your whole body. Your eyes found his, golden in the light of the fire. He hesitantly reached out, brushing some stray hair from your face. You reflexively leaned into his touch, a blush slowly creeping across your cheeks. His eyes widened slightly as he realized what he was doing. "I'm sorry." He clears his throat, hurriedly opening up the book you had handed him. If there was one thing you were sure if it was that Falk had a wonderful voice for reading stories. His soft tone threatened to lull you to sleep. You found yourself drifting closer to him, reading the German on the page that he almost effortlessly translated for you. You leaned back into the couch, your eyelids heavy as the plush cushions wrapped your body in their warm embrace. You eventually drifted off listening to Falk read to you. The last thing you remember was someone gently cradling you as they laid you back on the couch, pulling the blanket up over your shoulders.

#falk maria schlegel #powerwolf #falk powerwolf #falk x reader #powerwolf x reader #powerwolf fan fiction #falk maria schlegel powerwolf #falk maria schlegel x reader #falk fan fiction #falk maria schlegel fan fiction #x reader #fluff #fan fic writing #fan fiction #falk x reader fluff #falk x reader fan fiction #powerwolf fan fic #powerwolf x reader fluff

26 notes · View notes

symphonyofmalice · 6 months ago

Text

The more I think of it, the more the scene where Armand kidnaps Nicolas in the most recent ep comes across as accidentally more silly than sad. Armand just...picks him up like a piece of luggage and walks off. And yes, Sam Reid is acting his little heart out looking upset, which should tell the audience how much he cares. But a little two minute clip show isn't really enough to build up serious pathos or emotional investment. And yes, I get that in a narrative sense, this is Armand's version and he's not going to tell the suspenseful version of TVL where it's weeks of stalking and taunting and mystery. But I can only imagine to show-only folks that the whole Lestat-Armand flashback seemed kind of random?

Like, look, I feel like I can even use the same exact amount of content (so no new scenes, using what they filmed) and still get a different emotional tone:

Armand: Lestat was breaking all of the coven rules, but I found him fascinating *Scene of the Children following/watching Lestat* Armand: I was supposed to destroy him, but in the end, I found myself drawn in. We came to love one another *scene of them exchanging blood* Daniel: How did you meet? How did you approach him? *Scenes of Armand taking away Nicki, Lestat screaming* Armand: As he told Louis, Magnus was dead. I was the only vampire he might speak to about his own nature. We were the only equals in the city. He was all too happy to talk to me. Daniel: You mentioned he turned someone else, someone "fragile", what was that supposed to mean?" Armand: Oh, Armand had a human lover, Nicolas. *Scenes of Nicolas and Lestat together* Armand: But as Lestat and I grew closer, Nicolas became jealous* *The scene at the theater plays out as Armand describes it, with Nicolas looking jealous. But the story is uncercut with the scenes of Nicolas in the catacombs, imprisoned, bloody, hurt* Armand: In the end, Lestat proved as fickle with me as he was with his precious Nicki, and disappeared the next day without a word.

Exact same scenes, exact same meta-purpose (Armand is telling his version of the story) but the filmed scenes are used to contrast where he is lying, instead of just being randomly presented in order, like Armand would admit to kidnapping Nicolas and then give the cliff's notes of 'he was fragile, ANYWAY'. Also more of Daniel being an actual journalist and poking holes in Armand's story, the way he's supposed to.

#Vyt watches AMC #amciwtv #amc interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #ooc #nicolas de lenfent

3 notes · View notes

ajdionysus · 1 year ago

Text

Back when Ocarina of Time came out I was very young and it was my favorite game, so I created a self-insert character named August.

My head-canon was this: Since Koume and Kotake had influenced the creation and birth of Ganondorf he might not be the actual destined male, born every 100 years. Another Gerudo named Ra’Hel had gone out, met a nice Hylian and gave birth to August, the centennial Male. But as this was a threat to Ganondorf, he was disguised and raised among the women and girls. He also had a twin sister and best friend named Havah who knew his secret. (Why didn’t Ra’Hel just take August and Havah and leave? I dunno I was a kid.)

Years later, Link comes and befriends the Gerudo and August in particular. This began the adventures I would write about where Link, Sheik and August quested across Hyrule to stop Ganondorf’s evil plans.

August had the unique weapons of a whip named Sirocco, which he could use for various purposes like Indiana Jones, a beautifully bejeweled Gerudo Scimitar, and a golden, clawed glove of his own making on his right hand that helped him scale/slide down walls as well as fight.

Character wise he was a soft spoken and deeply sensitive, but very confident young man with strong convictions who was very excited to see the outside world and be himself without having to hide. In one story, I wrote that he found out Sheik was Zelda in disguise but kept her precious secret as he deeply understood her predicament, having lived it himself for years. In later stories, he was confused because he found both Sheik (Zelda) and Link attractive! He ultimately fell deeply in love with Link but never told him… although the fact that Link seemed attracted to the male-presenting Sheik gave him hope… Yup, slow-burn/unrequited romance! (Young pre-out bisexual me was pretty spicy don’t you think? Haha)

In the end, he helped Link and Zelda retake the kingdom and while he was supposed to become King, as per tradition, having seen the Gerudo culture from a different POV, he was a strong proponent of abandoning this tradition and passed the crown to his twin sister, Havah. August continued his adventures and friendship with Zelda, but now, sadly, without Link. He journeyed far and wide helping rebuild, looking to rehabilitate the image of the Gerudo across Hyrule. The last story I wrote was a short one where Zelda and August reminisce and share how much they miss Link.

I kept this character locked away for years. Then when Breath of the Wild came out and Link was disguised as a Vai, I remembered August and eagerly found and touched up an old drawing of him. I was so excited! I thought “This old story still works and he fits even better in the BOtW world!” (I didn’t get my own skin tone quite right, as I am a little darker than August in this picture.)

Now that Tears of the Kingdom is out, I am sharing this for the first time. Seeing Link’s arm and the art style of everything as well as the story of ToTK, which is all about finding yourself and finding a family of friends, I felt August fit better than ever! Like it or not The Legend of Zelda has long been a safe, inviting, exciting world for people like me (Jewish, Spanish, Cis-Bi Male) as well as for many others. I hope it continues to be for years to come. Hyrule is big enough for everyone.

10 notes · View notes

justafrogandherumbrella · 2 years ago

Text

Welcome to Nowhere: Where's Jerrell?

You’ve been searching the house for an annoyingly long time now, and quite frankly, you’re getting frustrated. You’ve searched seven bathrooms, five closets, as well as an endless maze of empty rooms- and have found nothing of use. So far, the only “useful” thing you’ve encountered was a life-size, cement baby head- which you used to throw at the wall in order to vent your frustrations. Why is Mr.Rotary’s house so gigantic anyway? The sheer amount of useless, empty space you’ve come across after only a little while is astounding. You’ve walked staircases that have led to nothing but a leaky ceiling, and waded through half-empty pools that suddenly fill up past their brim, flooding the whole room.

You think the house is confusing on purpose. Not just that, but you’re pretty sure that it’s growing. You’re not really sure why you think that if you’re being honest. After all, you have no memory of what the house would have looked like originally if your theory is correct. That being said, you don’t even remember coming to this house in the first place- so how do you know it wasn’t smaller when you first arrived. You know you didn’t just appear in Mr.Rotary’s dining room- you came here for a reason. What Adryn said tells you that much. Not only that, but there was something Mr.Rotary himself said too…

“You’re lucky I’m giving you a second chance- I suggest you take it.”

Second chance. He’s giving you a second chance. What happened to the first chance? He knows you're up to something, so that’s why the house is changing and twisting to form something entirely different from before. The house itself is hiding from you.

The funny thing is, despite Mr.Rotary’s attempts to make you forget the events from earlier, there are still at least two things that you can remember. One being your evil-eyed reflection that has burned itself into your brain, constantly staring. The other you didn’t remember until just a few moments ago, but you know it now. The lock. You don’t remember what it was guarding, or even everything it said to you- but you remember speaking to it. You remember that it had the same eye that… that you have. You weren’t nearly as disturbed by it at the time, but thinking back on it now you’re overwhelmed by the amount of nausea you feel.

By circumstance, you happen to find the same, endless tower of red-marble stairs from…. Earlier. You don’t really remember them, but looking at them rings a familiar bell somewhere in your mind, so you make the climb, fully expecting to find the office doors.

Halfway up the stairs, you find something- or someone else entirely.

“Oh!” She cries out, jumping back upon seeing you. She fumbles, tripping over her own feet and tumbling to the floor. She drops something- a frayed rope- down the stairwell, causing it to fall into the darkness below.

“Who are you?” You ask, looking at the girl suspiciously as you extend your hand out to help her off the floor.

She looks to be around Bianca’s age if you had to guess. Like everyone else you can remember meeting- she doesn’t have a human face. No, rather than being “perfectly human,” she looks to be a dog with cinnamon-colored fur wearing a large, pink hoodie and a shorter, equally pink skirt.

She won’t take your hand, instead opting to look up at you with fear in her eyes.

“Uhmm…”

“Who are you?!” The girl shouts suddenly, standing back up to her feet on her own. “I’m supposed to be here- but I’m pretty sure you’re not!”

“Oh?” You say, raising an imaginary eyebrow. That’s doubtful. “If you’re supposed to be here, why don’t I go back downstairs and get Mr.Rotary then?”

“G-go ahead,” she stutters, crossing her arms. “You won’t do it because you know that you’ll get reset if you do.”

“Reset?”

“Ugh!” She shouts, shoving you away. “Forget it! Just go back downstairs!”

“Why?” You ask, keeping your tone even before shoving her back.- lightly, of course.

“You know what?” She stops, holding her paws to her chest and taking a deep breath in. “If you go downstairs and sneak off right now, I won’t tell Mr.ROtary you were ever here. You’ll get away, and I won’t be c- have to deal with annoying people like you.”

“Why?” You ask again, taking a step past her. “Whatcha hidin’ up there?”

“Nothing!” She shouts hurriedly, running out in front of you, trying to block your way up. “I’m not hiding anything you weirdo!”

“Sure,” you say while continuing to walk up the stairs. “By the way, you never answered my question.”

“What question?!” Huffing, she runs up in front of you again, but you only continue to push past her.

“Who are you?”

She sighs, exasperated. “If I tell you, will you please go back downstairs?”

You stop, staring at her. “Yeah, okay.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“Okay,” she sighs, relieved. “I’m Felicity.”

“Cool. I’m Rue,” you extend your hand, shaking her paw.

Now that introductions are over, you push past her once again and continue your way up the stairs.

“Wha..? Hey!” She lunges past you. “I thought you said you would go downstairs?!”

“I lied.”

You go on like this all the way up the stairwell. A very angry Felicity continuously tries to convince you to go back downstairs, and you decide to just ignore her. Eventually, when you reach the top of the stairs, you see someone waiting outside the office door, screaming.

“Let me in right now! or so help me I will-”

He turns around to face you upon hearing your footsteps, and when he does you know you’ve found exactly who you’ve been looking for.

#writeblrcafe #my writing #weirdcore #weirdcore/dreamcore #dreamcore #writblr #Writers on tumblr #Welcome to Nowhere #work in progress #writerscorner #writing community #Welcome to Nowhere: Where's Jerrell

4 notes · View notes

icecoldwilliams · 1 year ago

Note

what would you have done differently?

𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 | (𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈) ✲・*:･ﾟ

Well now.. Consider her curious. Just what exactly did the traitor hope to hear? Doubts concerning the path of destruction she helped pave? Regret for the needless casualties? — If only she could witness the sheer disappointment in his gaze when she just turned her head towards the night sky.

Propped up against her motorcycle, she breathed in the polluted air, and released it as a mere sigh. Shattering hard to come by minutes of favored silence between their little pantomime. – In this moment all that mattered was the scene before them: The devils ongoing rampage, lighting the cityscape across the river ablaze and breathing smoke into the sky. Just one of many populaces nearly grounded to dust, making up a dismal paragon of armageddon.

All unleashed by one unholy man unfitting of being of the same species.

One who should've died by her hands decades ago.

And yet, coquette lips only parted for a mere three words. Resolute contrasted within a slight softer and sultry hinted tone. ❝Nothing at all.❞

It's as she's always said : 'What's done is done.' – Dwelling on the past serves no purpose, even if it could be altered, in theory you still come face to face with life's unsettling way of keeping things in supposed balance, only in the form of flighty, chitin wings.

No point in running to what could've been when the graceful symbol of supposed fate was already on it's way to being pressed between the pages of history books. If they played their cards right, soon the insect would be embedded within the work right alongside their names. – The Yggdrasil leaders on one side of history, hers no doubt slandered without the full story on the other.

All things considered, not a bad way to go.

|| @teslagravity ✲・*:･ﾟ

#⁺˚*𝒩𝑜𝓌 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝒻𝑜 𝐼 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹.*˚⁺ - Answers #|| Nina - never gives a fuck about how everyone thinks she's a villain - Williams :c #|| also how to trigger Lars in 3 words c:#teslagravity

3 notes · View notes

lady-wren-of-tella · 1 year ago

Text

chapter 2 of bk 2: ivy raloren

here it is guys!!

tw// grief, beginnings of a panic attacks, general angst

hope you like it :]

The people celebrating in the streets scream with joy, sun blazing bright in the sky, and Ivy regrets dragging herself out of bed that morning.

She ties her red hair back, wiping sweat off of her brow, and lets the back of her head meet the side of the building she leans against. She gives her weight to the wall, feels the bricks begin to press lines into the skin of her back through the fabric of her green shirt.

Brielle reaches out to nudge her arm, then gestures to the festivities happening in the streets. “C’mon, Ivy. You should join in. Don’t let this new holiday go to waste.”

Dancers dressed in colorful costumes move with practiced grace on a stone stage in the town square, depicting the story of Queen Adelyz, first queen of Imani and a leader of the Great Reform. The sparkling jewels and dramatic makeup exaggerate their natural features to something both ethereal and imposing.

“I don’t feel like celebrating Queen Adelyz,” Ivy answers, monotonous.

I don’t feel like doing anything, she means.

Terrakinetics standing just off to the side of the stage move in unison, palms flipping to face the sky as they drag their hands upward, rising the entirety of the stage with them. They push the stage farther and farther up until the dancers are twirling and leaving above the heads of their audience.

The crowd cheers and Ivy considers walking home, even in the heat.

“You know,” Brielle starts, trying every route to make conversation despite Ivy’s stubbornness, “Princess Foxglove was supposed to help Lady Sidus kick off the celebrations of today, but she’s off in Lazia, negotiating peace.”

Ivy scoffs. “There’s no way it’s that easy. This war has been going on for almost a decade. One day of peace talks isn’t going to fix anything.”

“I didn’t say it would,” Brielle shoots back.

The terrakinetics push their arms outward, all in different directions, and the stage splits apart. Each dancer remains flawless in their fluid motions, seemingly unaffected by the way the floor under them moves.

People cheer again, clapping loudly as the dancer acting as Queen Adelyz herself executes a series of complex turns in perfect succession, looking effortless.

“Why did you drag me out here?” Ivy asks bluntly.

Brielle sighs. “You can’t hide in the estate forever. It’s not healthy and it won’t help you heal.”

“It’s too hot outside and we both know this stupid holiday was just made to give the people something to be excited about,” Ivy gripes, practically ignoring Brielle. “I want to go home.”

Brielle hums. “Can’t do that, kiddo. We can’t go back until everyone’s ready to, you know this.” Even she cheers when the dancers do another impressive thing, clapping a few times.

Ivy shakes her head, gaze falling downwards as she starts to occupy herself by kicking around a dusty rock on the ground. “The least you could have done was make me come to an exciting part of the festival.” Without looking up, she gestures at the spectacle happening across the street. “No one wants to see that stupidity.”

“I don’t know,” Brielle says, and Ivy hears the beginnings of a joke in her tone, “seems like quite few people gathered there to me.”

Ivy doesn’t dignify the woman’s words with a response, just pushes herself off the wall and weaves through the people walking past as she walks away. The sound of footsteps follows her half-hearted escape, but she keeps walking.

Somehow, Brielle lets her walk two blocks before she says something.

“Ivy,” the woman finally speaks, her hand falling on Ivy’s shoulder and gently pulling her to a stop. “Humor me for a moment?”

A moment of hesitation.

“Fine.”

Ivy regrets dragging herself out of bed that morning.

Brielle manages to hide her little expression of triumph, but the corner of her mouth still twitches as she nods, gesturing for Ivy to follow as she starts walking with obvious purpose towards another part of town.

Make this worth my time, please. I have things to do back home.

A few people bump into them, too enamored with the various festivities to bother watching where they’re going.

The packed dirt and loose rocks crunches under the soles of Ivy’s boots as she looks around, trying to figure out where Brielle is leading her. The sound of singing and cheering mixes with loud conversation, and Ivy only realizes they’ve stopped walking when a little girl runs right in front of her, giggling with obvious delight as her father chases after her with a matching expression of joy on his face.

“I know the line is long,” Brielle starts, gesturing to the dozens of people in front of them, “but I think you might have fun.”

Ivy cranes her head to try and figure out what they’re in line for. “What is this?”

A couple walks past them. The man reaches up with mock poshness to adjust the paper crown resting on his tight curls. The woman twirls, skirts of her dress flying out, but what catches Ivy’s attention is the woman’s elaborate updo. Her dark hair is plaited and pinned up thoughtfully on her head, little flowers tucked into the strands.

Ivy whips her head around to face Brielle. “Is this a–”

Brielle smiles. “Yes. You’re going to get your hair plaited like Queen Adelyz did.”

Rubbing her temples in frustration, Ivy groans. “Brielle, for the love of Delphine, there are a thousand more productive things that I could be doing right now.” She gestures at the line of people in front of them. “We’re gonna be waiting here for a while anyway!”

More people walk past, marveling at their new hairstyles.

The line moves forward a few feet and Ivy reluctantly admits to herself that they’re significantly closer to the front now.

“Don’t worry about that,” Brielle assures. “There are five braiders and they work quickly.” The woman smiles at Ivy’s annoyance. “Are you thinking flowers or ribbons in your hair today, young lady?” she asks, sounding pompous.

Ivy shrugs. “Ribbons won’t fall out because they’re woven in, but flowers look prettier, I guess.”

Brielle opens her mouth to say something, but a shout cuts them off.

“Brielle! Ivy!” Nico calls out, walking over to them. He swipes the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping away the sweat shining on his dark skin. “We’ve been looking for you guys,” he says, and only then does Ivy notice Clover standing a bit behind him, hidden by his tall and broad figure.

“Anything wrong?” Brielle asks, and Ivy feels the woman tense beside her.

“Calm down, Bri,” Clover assures, coming to stand beside Nico. “Nothing’s wrong. Nico just wanted to find you because he found a booth selling something he thought you’d like.”

“Oh?”

Nico shakes his head, smiling. “No, I can’t tell you. You need to see it for yourself.”

Brielle looks between him and Ivy. “Can’t kiddo. I’m too busy forcing Ivy to get her hair braided.” She smirks and jokes, “I can’t just let her waste the day away.”

Clover cuts in before anyone else can say anything. “If you want to go, I’ll stand with her in line, make sure she doesn’t run.” The offer falls from her lips nonchalantly, but it makes everyone regard her curiously.

People walk away from the braiding stations and the line moves forward again. Ivy

Ivy recoils. “Not sure I want to spend time waiting under the hot sun in a line with you, to be honest,” she says, flinching when Brielle lightly smacks her shoulder in a playful scold. “No offense, but you have a bad track record with starting stupid fights.”

Nico huffs a laugh, looking down at the girl beside her with teasing mischief, almost goading her on.

“You’re not wrong,” Clover shrugs, the straps of her yellow tank sliding the slightest bit closer towards her neck, “but you need to calm down too. I just owe Nico a favor and I really do think Brielle would like what he’s going to show her.”

“Fine,” Ivy says, hands up in a mock surrender. “Just don’t be a problem.”

Clover’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “If anyone’s gonna be a problem here, it’s you. You’re the child who needs supervision. I’m the responsible adult volunteering to be helpful.”

Brielle bursts into fake laughter, cutting it off abruptly to look the girl sharply in the eye. “I’m being completely serious. Don’t cause problems.” She takes a step and leans forward to whisper in Clover’s ear. Whatever she says before moving back again makes the girl nod.

Smiling awkwardly in his goodbye to Ivy, Nico reaches out a hand to nudge the exposed, bronze skin of Clover’s shoulder. “See you later,” he says softly, to which Clover nods sharply, refusing to meet his eyes. His mouth quirks upwards.

Ivy watches the whole exchange, head tilting with curiosity.

Nico and Brielle walk away before she can say anything though, the line moves forward once again, and it’s finally Ivy’s turn.

Clover nudges her towards one of the empty braiding stations, towards an old woman, a table covered in flowers and ribbons, and the wooden stool before her.

“Hello there, young lady!” The woman says, a light accent lilting the edges of her cheery words as Ivy sits down on the stool. “Happy Adelyz Day! Now, what are you looking for me to do for you?” She notices Clover with a start and snaps her fingers.

Glass from the shelf under the table flies up and fuses together to make another stool to Ivy’s left.

“Go on,” the woman urges, “sit. It’s perfectly safe, I promise.”

Tentatively, Clover does. “You’re a hyalokinetic,” she remarks, as the woman gently turns Ivy’s head straight and takes out the ponytail she tied it in earlier. “That’s a rare power.”

“And your accent,” Ivy points out. “It sounds like someone from the southern parts of the kingdom.” She remembers the woman’s question from earlier. “Oh, and the basic pinned plait with ribbons is fine.”

The old woman hums her acknowledgement, beginning to part Ivy’s hair into six sections. “You’re right about the accent. I’m from the north part of Willka.”

Clover whistles in surprise. “All the way up from Willka? Why’d you make the trip up north to the Royal province just for Adelyz day?” She leans forward, peering at the different items on the table.

The man to Ivy’s right stands and pulls gently at one of the braids in his hair, before taking a few gold coins and putting them in the braider’s cup. With a wave of thanks, he leaves and a little girl takes his spot, chattering excitedly with her mother and father who wait just a few steps away.

Ivy tenses in surprise for a heartbeat when her scalp gets tugged as the woman begins to braid the left three sections of her hair.

“Oh no, honey, I would never make such a long trip for just one day of festivities,” the woman laughs. “I lived in Willka as a child, but moved here for school,” she explains, picking a ribbon up from the table and beginning to weave it into the braid.

“For school? Did you go to Mtihani or something?” Ivy jokes.

“I did!” the old woman answers proudly. “I was one of the two hundred commoners selected to attend the academy that year.” Her confident grip on Ivy’s red hair never wavers as she deftly passes the sections from one hand to another. “Learning to speak Continental Tellan instead of the Willkan dialect was difficult, but at least I wasn’t from the Southern Isles.”

Clover hums appreciatively when she notices the progress made on Ivy’s hair. “You’re really good at that. Fast, too.”

“I made a lot of friends at Mtihani by teaching the girls to plait hair. You’d be surprised how many of the rich nobles have assistants to do that stuff for them,” the woman says, quickly tying off the left braid and turning Ivy’s head slightly and grabbing another ribbon to work on the other side.

Lilith and I used to braid each other’s hair, Ivy remembers with an agonizing pang. It takes her breath away. Her hand comes up instinctively to rub at her sternum.

After a few moments of silence, the woman pipes up again, somehow managing to keep the braid perfect as she waves a hand in Clover’s direction. “Do you want your hair braided too, hun?”

Clover blinks, head jerking backwards as if startled. “I- no, thank you,” she smiles, but Ivy can’t help but think it looks pained. “I’m just here supervising her.”

“I’d ask if you were sisters,” the old woman jests as she ties off the second braid and starts grabbing pins, “but you do look incredibly different.” She gestures vaguely between Ivy and Clover, at the clear difference in their skin tones, starting to pin the braids up.

Where Ivy is freckled and two shades too pale to be tan, Clover is all deep bronze. Where Ivy’s long, dark-red hair is barely wavy, Clover’s short hair is thick and the humidity threatens to turn her defined waves frizzy.

Clover shakes her head. “No, we’re definitely not sisters. She’s the daughter of my… boss,” she says slowly. “I’m just making sure she doesn’t get lost in the festival today. Giving the boss a break, you know?”

Despite herself, Ivy smiles, at least until a pin accidentally gets pushed in a bit too close to her scalp and she winces with a sharp intake of breath.

I always knew people saw Lilith, Derryn, and I as Brielle’s adopted children, but it’s always different hearing it come directly from someone’s mouth. I don’t hate it, Ivy admits to herself, but the confession is bittersweet, still raw with grief.

“That’s so sweet of you,” the old woman gushes, pinning Ivy’s braids around her head in a crown.

Ivy feels one more pin slide through her hair and nestle firmly against her scalp before the woman taps her shoulder twice, gesturing for her to turn around. She does, and smiles bashfully when the woman claps.

“Oh, you look beautiful, darling,” she smiles, further exaggerating the lines around her eyes and mouth, and reaches out to pat Ivy’s cheek with her soft, wrinkled hand. “Just like Queen Adelyz.”

Ivy blushes, struggling to put together a response. “Thank you so much!”

Clover drops two gold coins on the table. “Thank you, ma’am,” she says as she stands and starts walking. “Happy Adelyz Day!” she calls over her shoulder, gesturing for Ivy to follow.

The old woman waves goodbye to both girls. “Show all your friends, honey,” she urges Ivy. “You really do look pretty.”

I will, Ivy starts to say, but remembers herself. I will, she wants to say, but the friends she’d rush to show aren’t breathing anymore. I will, she’d say, if she could.

A hand takes her arm in a bruising grip and Ivy’s heart leaps in her throat. She’s drawn close to her attacker’s body, fingers and nails digging into her skin.

“Get yourself together, Ivy,” Clover hisses in her ear, dragging her away from the braiding station and back into the closed-off streets of the town square. She finally lets go, practically shoving Ivy away from her. “Go home. Right now.”

Still dazed, Ivy pants, her heartbeat struggling to return to normal. “What?”

Clover’s expression darkens. “You’re in no state to be walking around like this if the slightest thing someone says sends you into a panic attack. Go. Home,” she orders firmly, nodding her head in the direction of the estate.

Ivy scoffs, standing up straight. “How dare you, Clover. My closest friends were just murdered by-”

“Oh, grow up,” Clover interrupts her, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Get over it and bury your grief already. Don’t waste time crying over people that aren’t coming back.”

“I-,” anger makes Ivy speechless. “It was seven days ago. Do you really expect me to stop grieving over people I really cared about in seven godforsaken days?!” she shouts, not caring about the people walking past that shoot her weird looks.

Clover’s eyes narrow and she steps into Ivy’s space. “Look at yourself. You’re falling apart. Go home and rest. I’ll tell Brielle you weren’t feeling well.”

Ivy steps back. “You’re crazy.”

The other girl shrugs, infuriatingly nonchalant. “I’m not losing it the second someone makes me think of dead people.”

“You don’t understa-”

Clover’s eyes blaze and Ivy’s mouth falls closed as she cuts herself off. “I’m not saying it again, kid. Go back to the estate, or I’ll drag you there myself. Have your meltdown in your room where no one has to witness you falling apart.”

You really are a terrible person, Ivy thinks bitterly, walking away in the direction of home. She feels Clover’s angry gaze trained on her back until she turns a corner and a building blocks her from view.

Tears threaten to fall, bottom lip beginning to quiver, but Ivy takes a deep breath as she walks, eyes falling closed as she blinks slowly.

The first few minutes spent getting out of the town square are hectic. Slipping her way through the little gaps in a crowd of people is difficult, but years of practice make Ivy’s motions fluid and almost effortless.

But eventually, after she’s left the celebrations behind her, the walk home grows boring, especially without two people by her side to talk her ear. The sound of her own footsteps grows repetitive and Ivy finds herself wishing, for a brief moment, that she’d stayed with Brielle. No satchel strap to fiddle with and hair too pinned up to have a strand to mess with, Ivy feels restlessness and boredom beginning to cause chaos.

Normally, we’d be five minutes into a conversation by now, Ivy thinks sadly as she reaches the very outskirts of town and starts walking on the overgrown path to the estate.

Everything around her reminds her of two people it hurts most to think about and Ivy wonders how much more she can take before her heart breaks.

It only took a terrakinetic and a rock to break my collarbones back in the dungeons, and now, all it takes is two slaughtered friends and a whole lot of memories I can’t stop thinking of to shatter my heart.

Ivy hums to keep the tears at bay, gaze trained purposefully on the weeds and gravel as she nears home.

Soon enough, the random melody morphs into something recognizable, and Ivy wants to scream and claw her heart out when she realizes she’s started humming the classing mourning song.

The mourning song’s tune feels cathartic, though, so Ivy lets herself hum it, lets herself keep the melody going as she kicks a stone down the path, wiping at her eyes every few seconds to keep a tear from falling. The notes awaken something warm and fragile in her soul and Ivy keeps humming.

Goddess Amare, Protector of the Heart, help me with this grief, she prays.

Birds chirp at each other overhead and just as the song draws to a close, the Blood Rebels estate comes into view.

Taking another deep breath to steady herself, Ivy opens the gate and walks up the long driveway up to the grand, double-door entrance. She knocks twice before taking her key out of her pocket and unlocking the doors, pushing one of them open and shutting it quietly behind her.

Ignoring all the Rebels that bid her a polite hello as she walks past, Ivy goes straight to the back of the estate, turning down a hallway to find the little supply closet near one of the back doors. She takes a shovel off its hook before she can stop herself and goes outside to the grounds in the back.

Alright, Clover, fine. I’ll listen. Time to bury my grief.

Someone else follows, but Ivy doesn’t care enough to turn around and see who it is as she walks all the way past the large gardens towards the ugly part of the grounds. She stabs the shovel down into the ground and rolls up her sleeves, spinning around on her heel to confront whoever thought it’d be a good idea to follow her.

“Ivy?” Miss Claire prompts kindly. “Are you alright?”

And Clover was right, she really is falling apart, because Ivy nearly loses it right then and there.

Refusing to answer, Ivy turns around and picks up the shovel. She drives the metal point into the soft earth before she can talk herself out of it, pressing down on the handle to wedge a chunk of soil and grass up. Ugly emotions fueling her, Ivy flings the dirt away and repeats the process.

Over and over again, she stabs the shovel into the ground and flings dirt into the growing pile a few feet away.

Her arms grow tired but the hole in the ground grows bigger and deeper and that’s enough motivation to keep digging. The soil gives way to her anger and the shovel channels her grief into something almost violent.

Distantly, Ivy’s aware of Miss Claire’s presence fading, but she doesn’t care enough to stop digging the shallow grave.

Sweat gathers at her hairline and soaks through her green shirt at the underarms, but Ivy keeps working. She pours every ounce of emotion into her thrusts of the shovel into the ground, and ignores the fiery burn in her muscles.

Only when the hole in the ground has been dug wide enough that Ivy can imagine the harrowing sight of her friend’s bodies resting there, does she step back, throwing the shovel to the side and wiping away the dripping sweat and tears with her forearms and hands.

The soft sound of a gentle cough makes her look up and turn away from her work.

Once again, Miss Claire stands before her. This time, though, she’s holding a shovel, and there’s a decisive, downward tilt at the edges of her lips. “Do you want help?” she asks in a voice touched by age, gesturing slightly to the shovel.

Ivy considers for a moment, and then nods, not trusting herself to keep it together if she dared open her mouth.

Miss Claire nods and walks to the other side of the hole. She waits until Ivy’s started digging again, but joins in without another word.

Together, they make the already wide enough grave deeper.

Grave-digging, Ivy finds as she throws herself into the manual labor once again, is both oddly cathartic and unsurprisingly painful.

Strands of russet hair fall into her face, but Ivy brushes them aside and continues working. Dirt somehow smears itself on her clothes and her skin, but Ivy continues working. The sun threatens to burn holes into her back and shoulders, but Ivy continues working.

I’m burying my grief, she tells herself, repeats it like a mantra.

She and Miss Claire dig deeper into the earth, and the pile of displaced soil and grass beside them grows and grows.

When they’ve dug deep enough to cover a body, Ivy steps back again.

It’s disturbingly easy to imagine them there, her friends.

Someone’s brushed Lilith’s soft, blonde hair, and it looks neat for once, tucked behind her pale ears. Her arms lay still at her side, and though the position should look stiff, she still looks graceful. Beside her, Derryn has been placed the same way.

They both look too peaceful for corpses.

The Hallowswifts always match or compliment each other, it’s like an unspoken rule.

They are twins in life and twins in death.

It’s Miss Claire’s gentle arms wrapping her into a hug that rescues Ivy from the image her grief-stricken mind created. It’s Miss Claire’s hand rubbing up and down her back that coaxes a choked sound of pain from Ivy’s lips. It’s Miss Claire’s sympathetic guiding of Ivy’s face to nestle into the crook of her neck that finally allows the girl to cry again.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bury my grief.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Miss Claire whispers into her hair, not caring about the sour stench of sweat surely clinging to Ivy’s body. “Neither you nor they deserve this.”

Ivy whimpers. “I don’t think I can live without them,” she sobs, voice shaking in time with her trembling body.

Miss Claire squeezes her tightly. “My dear, you lived before you knew them and, though it may seem impossible, you’ll live without them now. You’re not alone, Ivy. We’re here to support you.”

But you aren’t them.

Ivy pulls back from the embrace, and mercifully, Miss Claire lets her. She wipes at her eyes, trying to collect herself. “I just wish we could have given them a proper burial.”

Humming thoughtfully, Miss Claire smiles thoughtfully. She walks away, towards the garden, and Ivy watches as the woman kneels down and picks a whole armful of flowers without a moment’s hesitation.

The beautiful plants are placed into her arms and Miss Claire gestures towards the freshly-dug grave. “I heard they called you “Flower Girl” sometimes.”

Oh.

Ivy nods, and she’s helpless when the tears start falling again.

“Prove them right then, Flower Girl,” Miss Claire says kindly, stepping aside.

Knees wobbly and vision blurring because of her watery eyes, Ivy lays the armful of delicate, colorful flowers in the grave before stepping back.Guess what, guys, she thinks. I don’t hate the nickname anymore.

#lady wren:: writing #ladywrenoftella #my writing #wren is writing

6 notes · View notes