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becauseicantthinkwritings · 5 months ago

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Objects in Motion

Part 3

Alpha! Billy Russo x Omega! Reader

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Part 1 // Part 2

A snip taken from Le Printemps, by Eugène Bidau

It takes you too long to pick a dress the next morning. There was an issue with all of them, one was too tight around your chest that you could barely breathe, the other had a hole in the sleeve that you hadn’t noticed before.

You'd ended up picking something you hadn't worn in a while- sage green with little flowers on it.

Halfway to the museum, you'd noticed a small stain on the skirt, that had made you frown.

It wouldn't lift with the wet wipe you'd pulled from your bag, and you'd have to settle for hoping he wouldn't see it.

Your stomach flips at the thought of him.

You'd worn a dress in hopes that this was a date- you didn't understand why you wanted it to be a date so badly.

Okay, that wasn't true, you knew you liked him, even though you shouldn't.

It probably wasn't a date, why would he be interested in dating you?

I haven't had a clear thought since, he'd said, you knew the sentiment, wondering, if he was just like every other Alpha, nice at first and then demanding later.

The other Alphas you'd been with- you try not to shudder- they'd been awful, love bombing until you let your guard down, and then getting angry when you tried to deny them something.

The last one had gotten upset that after only knowing him for two weeks, you didn't want to share your heat with him.

The scorn he'd shown you when you reinforced your denial instead of caving, it had made you curl up and never want to see another Alpha again.

This Alpha could be worse, he could be cruel, waiting to get you alone to trick you into something you didn't want because you'd stolen his coat. The thought sent an uncomfortable wave of nausea over you.

You see your seedy reflection in the window, everything moving too fast for you to focus on except your own gaze.

You would not be taken advantage of.

There’s that too much feeling again, everyone is so busy around you as you stand outside the art museum waiting. You see children running past, and dogs, a delighted scream in the distance that makes your chest feel like it’s on fire with the too much of it all.

Why did the world have to be so chaotic? Why couldn’t it be warm and quiet and peaceful with hints of cracked pepper and bergamot-

You blink, realising you’d been thinking about the Alpha again.

Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea. To get involved with someone that made you feel this way, like you wanted to give in to his demands. At which point would he ask for too much?

Your shoulders drop, you check the time, quarter to twelve.

You turn to leave.

Someone says your name.

You raise your head to find the Alpha approaching. He’s wearing a beige shirt, with large threads that look almost knitted, paired with black pants and another coat that definitely costs more than you can afford.

Too late, your stomach twists.

You nod your head in greeting.

“Hi,” You acknowledge shyly, “You’re early.”

“Hello, I thought I told you to call me when you got here?”

Your chest squeezes in fright. Was he already making demands?

You keep his gaze, trying to show him a braver you than you were.

“I only just got here.” You challenge, wondering why it was such a big deal.

He nods, raising a hand to push his hair back. You watch him scan the area before letting out a soft breath.

“Sorry, I just didn’t like the idea of you waiting all alone here.”

Was he worried about you?

“I can manage,” You inform him, “I come here all the time.”

He studies you for a moment, looks as though he wants to say something, but decides against it.

“My apologies,” He turns to stand beside you, “Shall we?”

Your stomach flips at his words and you try not to focus on it, or him, and definitely not his smell.

You begin walking.

You try not to touch him, keeping a respectful distance, not wanting to take any part of him he might not be willing to give.

As you walk through the museum’s outdoor park, a lot of people glance your way. Men and women alike, want to steal a look at the man standing beside you. It makes you feel incredibly conscious of yourself, and you feel like the stain on your skirt grows ten times its size in that time.

You wonder if any of their staring has to do with the assumption that you were a mated pair- the thought makes you shiver- the idea that you would be mated to a person that looks like him.

“Cold? Want my coat?” He offers.

You shake your head, not wanting to touch this Alpha’s coats ever again.

“I’m alright, I’m overheating anyway.” You reply, hoping he didn’t ask any follow up questions. Your period would be upon you soon.

“Poor thing.” He soothes.

It almost makes you stumble.

Your eyes widen and you feel a sharp pang in your stomach, his easy comfort swirling in your hindbrain, begging you to curl up with this man in a cozy nest- not a man, you correct yourself, an Alpha.

You’d only walked a few minutes beside him and already you were thinking about bringing him into your nest? Had you gone insane?

You refuse to think about it, focusing on the trees, and the people passing by with dogs on harnesses leading the way-

“Did you grow up in New York?” He asks, his voice breaking into the whirlwind in your head.

You swallow, shaking your head before looking over at him.

Damn- looking at him was a mistake.

You tell him where you grew up on a shaky breath, asking him to reciprocate.

He smiles, calmly responds that he grew up here, bounced around the city a bit. Something about his response, the tone of his voice, tells you that there’s a key part of the story missing.

You don’t pry, knowing better than to ask intrusive questions.

You swallow, smiling at him politely when he looks at you, still trapped in the moment when he offered you his coat.

You catch a group of women with their eyes on William, and when their gaze falls on you, you watch their collective expressions switch from interest to disdain.

You drop your head, finding that maybe the floor is safer to gaze at than your environment.

What were you doing here with him? Why had you done this? You should have just stayed home where you were safer.

“What do you do for work?” He asks next, breaking into the din in your head.

You turn to look at him with wide eyes, unsure as to why he was so interested in you.

“Uh- I’m- I work in customer service… somehow. I have no idea how I ended up there.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, the tone of his voice sounds genuinely curious.

You glance his way, giving him a smile.

“I’m not exactly a person that’s comfortable around people. I like… being alone.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Not really, but it’s better than nothing.” You let out a breath, “Can’t complain.” You finish with a mutter.

“Something else you want to do?”

You shake your head sadly. You couldn’t very well say that you’d rather not work at all- it would look like you were after his money.

You think for a moment, trying to make something up, and falling short.

“Honestly, I don’t know, I guess I haven’t found my calling yet.”

He nods in understanding, and it gives you the opportunity to ask about his line of work.

“What about you? What do you do?”

“I'm in security,” he answers, “I handle asset and individual protection, and I even get contracted by the government occasionally.”

You listen intently, nodding along to his words. You'd already looked him up and had some idea of what he did, but it was interesting to hear it from him.

“That sounds really cool. Is there a lot of danger?”

He grins, and abjectly, you feel as though you've asked something stupid.

“It can get dicey sometimes, yeah, especially with protecting people.”

“Right, yeah, sorry, dumb question.” You mutter, looking down.

“I like your questions.” He says lowly, angling his head in your direction so that you hear him.

Like a fledgling omega, your heart skips a damn beat.

His eyes are very dark, you try not to trip as you get caught up in them, pools of obsidian, pulling you into him.

He gazes right back, the soft look in his eyes fills your head with delight, makes you forget about breathing for a few moments.

It's something so primal inside of you, a whisper in your head that this… this alpha, might be special.

You breathe out a short sigh, inching closer, until you're close enough to breathe him in. You close your eyes, taking a deep, slow breath, bergamot and citrus chasing your anxieties away.

You lean in more, hindbrain in control, desperate for more of his scent, his hand is rough on the back of your neck.

Your nose almost brushes the scent gland on the side of his neck when someone walking past clears their throat loudly.

You jerk, pulling back, brain restarting as absolute horror fills you.

No way did you almost scent a stranger in a public place.

You make a sound of regret, stepping back, his hand slips from your neck, you glance up at him, the scent of desire heavy in the air.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry.” You vocalise, turning away for a second to catch your breath and calm yourself.

“I wasn't stopping you.” He admits, as you continue to breathe.

This was too much, he had too much of an influence on you. His words make your stomach flip.

It was a very good thing, you decided, that you'd chosen a public place. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what would have happened if you'd been alone. You weren't sure if you had the capacity to stop yourself around him.

He had the hidden ability to somehow switch your brain from rationality to instinct. And that, was the most dangerous thing of all.

“I'm sorry,” you say again, trying not to cry from how overwhelming it is to resist him, “If you- if you want to leave I'll understand.”

“Not at all, omega.” He replies almost instantly, “I want this, don't be sorry.” He reaches out to take your hand in his, giving you a reassuring squeeze.

“Come on.” He guides, taking a step forward to prompt you into walking again.

He doesn't let go of your hand.

The sandwich shop has an old feel to it, sitting at the center of the park with lots of seating both indoors and out for dining, the little building looks like it was built at least a decade or two ago. The roof is partially made of glass to allow natural light to spill in, blocked by trees all around except in the direct centre where a large amount of light spills in.

When Billy asks to be seated in the coolest spot, you turn to look at him in surprise, your stomach twisting, heart accelerating as you take in his casual dominance of his environment.

Like other Alphas, he knew how to command a room, though, with him, the assertion was more subtext. He was polite, and yet he always seemed to get what he wanted. It was a dangerous mix, and the implications of what that meant for you scared you a little.

“Is here okay?” He asks, turning to you when the woman at the front guides you to a table.

You blink in surprise. No one had ever-

You study the booth with a little frown, finding it a little too bright for your senses and then your eyes drift two tables down to a darker booth before looking back at him shyly.

“That one?” He asks, already moving.

“Yes please.” You say nicely, following him.

It's nice, you never sit in the booths because it's usually just you when you come here, but the seats are soft, and you can tell the velvety upholstery is clean and has recently been redone.

He slides into the seat opposite to you, his knees bumping yours for a second as he gets settled.

You giggle when they bump you again and he mutters an apology.

“Sorry, it's a little small,” you say, “And you're kind of… not.”

He laughs quietly.

“I'm okay, getting in was the hardest part, and it's not too bad.” You feel his legs extend out on either side of yours, taking up space to get comfortable.

You can feel your heart beating forcefully as you watch him scan the little paper menu that had been placed on the table before you'd been seated. Finding difficulty in figuring out why exactly he'd taken an interest in you.

“S-so,” you murmur, getting his attention, “You didn't have the coat cleaned?”

His eyes darken, a smile pulling on his lips as he recounts the memory in his head.

“I was curious. I'd deleted the video of you taking it- didn't want to cause unnecessary trouble for you- plus I know that omegas occasionally do things on instinct- so when I got it back, wrapped so tightly, I was… just wondering about you a little.”

You swallow nervously.

“And then?”

You feel the molten heat in his gaze as his eyes roam over you.

“And then I smelled the most delicious scent. It made me desperate, made me lose control of my own thoughts for a couple of minutes. The smell of your heat was wonderful, omega. I knew I had to find you.”

You open your mouth to respond, but your eyes catch movement of a waitress coming your way.

“Hello, my name is Teresa, I'll be your waitress this evening. Are you ready to order?” She rushes out, smiling politely though you notice that her eyes linger on William for a few moments more.

“We're not ready to order yet,” he says, eyes still locked on you, “Can you come back in five minutes?”

She nods easily, stepping away with a ‘sure thing.’

There's a beat of silence, where you stare down at your menu and read none of the words, head racing with what you know.

“What are you thinking about getting?”

You blink, glancing up at him and then back down to the menu.

“Um, I usually get the turkey on rye, so maybe that.”

“Got any suggestions for me?”

You hum, deep in thought.

“The grilled chicken pesto always smells so delicious, there's some fresh mozzarella in it too. I've never had it, but it's a popular one.”

“You should try it. Mix things up.”

You smile sadly, glancing at the price of the sandwich in question, the fresh mozzarella near triples the price.

“That's okay, I'll stick with my turkey.”

“Don't worry about anything else. If you really want the pesto, get it.”

His eyes are earnest, and you know there's another conversation happening in the subtext of this one. That he was willing to cover the cost, that it was obvious that it was the source of your hesitation.

You swallow, glancing down at the price once again, figuring that one sandwich wouldn't throw him into debt.

A little lump swells in your throat, you wonder if he would expect anything because of this like alphas before. You figure one sandwich did not give him that much leverage over you. You'd done more damage with his coat and he'd overlooked that.

“Okay, I'll have it. What will you get?”

“Steak sandwich.” He answers, with a smile, just as Teresa appears again.

“Ready?” She asks eagerly.

“Why did you pick this table?” He asks, studying you.

You glance over at him, having been distracted by some people walking in.

You're beautiful, he squeezes his fists, fighting himself. He wants to provide for you so badly that it tears at him. He can see how defensive you are, how cautious you act sometimes. He knows that you must have had bad encounters with Alphas to be this wary. He wants to learn you, know you better than he knows himself.

“I have a little sensitivity to light.” You respond, absentmindedly, “I can barely see in direct sunlight.”

He inclines his head, noting for later, to avoid anything that would overwhelm you.

“I'm sorry to hear that, sweetheart, it must be so hard to deal with.”

He feels delight fill his body as you give him a wide eyed look, your omega nature appreciating his sympathy to your plights.

He bites the inside corner of his lip, wanting this sweet, timid omega to be his, very badly.

The urge to have you scent him sharpens, to press your nose to his neck, to have you breathe him in, mix your scents together so that no one would question whether or not you were a mated pair. You'd almost done it earlier, and he hadn't realized how eager he was for it until the moment you'd pulled away.

He had to play his cards right. If he scared you away, he would not get another chance.

You talk a lot, about where you grew up, and the schools you went to, and when he tells you about his childhood, you try not to give him any looks of pity, nodding along, eager to listen to everything he has to tell you.

You want to comfort him though, your hands clenching into fists in your lap because you want to reach over and squeeze his hand and tell him you’re sorry but logically you know that you barely know him.

Except that you feel like you’ve known him a very long time. Your face hurts with the amount you’ve smiled, the unfamiliar expression printed onto your face, where you’re usually shy or frightened.

When he asks about you, you feel a little more comfortable revealing personal information. Describing the details of your job so that he understands your day to day work.

“Does it pay well?”

“You know it doesn't.” You grumble sadly, “I would take up a second job if I could, but companies have this rule about how many hours an omega is allowed to work weekly.” You stop talking, waiting to see what stance he was going to take on this. The entire job market was designed to push omegas into the arms of alphas or betas rich enough to take care of them.

His mouth turns down into a frown.

“They should just pay people liveable wages to begin with. Having a second job would be too much for anyone. At least tell me you get health insurance.”

You make an unsure face.

“For the most part, but there are… big gaps.”

His eyebrows crush together in sympathy.

“You get heat days?”

You nod, taking a few sips of your drink.

“Yeah, they give us three, and I usually have to take two extra sick days because I have longer heats.”

“Wait, they don’t give you days specific to your heat requirements?”

You let out a little awkward laugh.

“No, three heat days, giving more days to some people would be unfair according to them.”

He clicks his tongue, “That must be so hard.” He hums, and something primal sparks inside of you.

Yes, your mind screamed at him, yes alpha, I’m a poor little thing, please soothe me and take care of me and keep me warm and safe and full-

You clear your throat.

“I get by.” You reply.

He shakes his head, deep in thought.

“It’s still not fair.”

You let out a slow sigh when you take your first bite of the sandwich.

Eyes closed, you can't believe what you're tasting, that it could be so delicious.

You do your hardest not to take a second bite before finishing the first, determined to savour it.

Across from you, he makes a low hum when he bites into his, and you fight a smile, stomach fluttering, happy that he likes it.

“Maybe you can find another job?” He suggests between bites.

You blink, shoulders dropping.

“I've been trying, it's just not that easy,” You look down at your sandwich, a touch of sadness fills your chest, “Sorry, I don’t mean to complain.”

“It's okay, I want to hear about it.”

You let out a harsh breath, your stomach turning over.

“Why? Because you smelled my heat and decided I was going to be your omega?” You blink, regretting the words as soon as they come out, drawing back into yourself and waiting for him to get angry.

“I'm sorry,” you say when he doesn't immediately speak, “I shouldn’t have- I'm sorry.” You take a shallow breath, feeling the panic grip you tightly.

“Don't apologize, sweetheart, you didn't do anything wrong.”

You don't meet his eyes, still trying to get control of your fears.

You hear movement, and in your peripherals, you watch him slide out of the booth and to a stand. Oh god, was he leaving? You feel your eyes begin to swell with tears.

You'd done it, successfully chased him away.

Your breath stutters when his plated sandwich slides in beside yours, and finally, you glance up at him.

“May I?” He asks softly, and you automatically comply without thinking, sliding deeper into the booth to give him more space.

He fits himself in, while you grab a napkin to blot at your tears, a little embarrassed now that you realize he wasn't actually leaving.

“S-sorry.” You whisper, trying to apologize for this abundance of emotion. For sure, it would definitely annoy him.

Your breath stutters when you feel the warm press of his palm to your shoulder blade.

“Breathe, omega, everything's alright.”

You suck in a shaky breath, his scent wrapping around you.

He moves slowly in your peripheral, moving his hand to brush the backs of his fingers over your cheek.

You finally look at him when he touches you, the sensation leaving tingles behind.

“One more big breath for me.” He guides, and you obey, feeling your brain respond to his gentleness.

His eyes are warm, chocolate, a feeling of ease settles into the base of your spine.

“When I smelled you on my coat for the first time, I knew I had to find you. But, finally meeting you, and slowly getting to know you, is what makes me want to stay. You're not my omega, and I'm not your alpha… But I'd like to be.”

My alpha?

Your lips part in disbelief, looking into his eyes, feeling hope swell inside of you.

Maybe he would make a good alpha, maybe he would hold you when you were scared, and kiss your cheek every night before falling asleep, maybe he would hold you tightly and talk to you after sex, and not make you feel like a used item to be discarded-

You shudder out a breath.

“I-I'm not interested in finding an alpha right now.” You stutter out, afraid of his response.

His eyes remain kind, though there's something in them that makes you think that he's sad.

“I understand, sweetheart. I won't bring it up again.” He turns, bringing his sandwich up to his mouth to take another bite.

You follow his lead with wide eyes, surprised that this was all he had to say on the subject.

After a few bites, shoulder brushing his arm every now and again, you can't hold back.

“You're not… mad?”

You hear him exhale slowly.

“I don't think I could ever be mad at you, little one. I like you a lot, and I'm willing to… be as patient as you need me to be.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“And what if it never happens? I don't want to give you false hope.”

To your surprise, he laughs, low and sweet. It brings a smile to your face though you don't know the joke.

“I'm going to have hope whether I want to or not. That's the consequence of wanting.”

Want.

“You want… me?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“Well, yes, I guess it was, but…” You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head, “I'm sorry, this is so crazy.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why is it crazy?”

“Bec-” You couldn’t say it out loud.

He turns to you, studying you intently for a moment.

“I mean, well, look at me.” You say softly.

He raises his eyebrows.

“You're lovely.” He murmurs.

You can't help the shy smile that it brings to your face.

To no one's surprise, he pays.

You let him, because you were in no position to offer any kind of payment, and he was willing to lose a three thousand dollar coat on a whim.

When he offers you a ride home, you feel comfortable enough with him to accept, looping your arm around his bicep when he extends his elbow for you to take.

The muscle below is firm, and you simmer with delight at the privilege he gives you.

You look around as you walk together, taking in the scenery around, watching as someone throws a frisbee, and a dalmatian runs to catch it.

“I take it you don’t like me, then.” He says, interrupting your thoughts.

“I do.” You blurt so quickly that your brain doesn’t have time to catch up. There’s something aching in your chest at the thought that he was unlikeable to you.

You take a deep breath, smiling sadly.

“That’s the problem. I like you, and that will cloud my judgement. My past experience has made following my heart almost impossible… and alphas…” You swallow, “Alphas can be scary, and they flip so suddenly sometimes,” you let out a sigh, shaking your head, “It's dangerous to trust an alpha.”

“It hurts me to hear you say that.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I'm the one who's sorry. I'm so sorry, and angry that you've had so many bad experiences with alphas. I'm sorry that they made you feel unsafe. I know it doesn't hold much weight right now, but I'd never hurt you.”

You're almost inclined to believe him.

“I guess we'll see.” You say, giving him a meaningful look.

He grins down at you.

“I like the sound of that.”

His car is heavy with his scent. You close your eyes, heart racing, breathing in deep lungfuls, feeling your brain go hazy with it.

Your skin gets hypersensitive, the feel of his leather seats brushing your thighs, the way it feels on your fingertips, makes you drunk in a way you've never felt before.

You don't give him your real address, but one that's a block over so that he doesn't see the hovel you really live in.

It's hard to focus on anything outside of the vehicle, when his engine purrs to life and the sound vibrates your eardrums gently, he makes sure you're buckled in, before starting off.

He doesn't race, takes his time, moves reasonably. It makes you feel safe, settles you. You'd been a little worried he was an aggressive driver, but you had nothing to worry about.

You blink in surprise when he extends his phone to you, unlocked, his hands catching your eye, a work of art you could stare at for hours.

“Pick some music?” He offers.

You nod, fingers brushing his, and you select something soothing, lo-fi, to enjoy.

You get hypnotised by it, the bergamot and notes of citrus, cracked pepper that makes you hum, delighted. If this was what being in his presence was always like, how would you ever leave?

You wanted to press your nose to his neck, breathe him in right from the source, you wanted this scent soaked into your pores until it followed you everywhere. You wanted this smell in your nest, clinging to your things.

You're so needy by the time he pulls over, eyes glassy with want, you notice his hands are gripping his steering tightly.

“Omega,” he says, a slight tremble to his voice, “Do you want to scent me? It'll help you relax.”

It wouldn't. You knew it from the bottom of your heart, scenting him would only make you want him more. But your hindbrain's in control now, and all you do is nod shakily, fumbling to unbuckle your seat belt.

He covers your hands calmly, doing it for you when you struggle too many times. You look at him shyly when you're both free.

He gives you a warm smile, before tilting his head up, exposing his gland to you.

Your heart pounds in your ears, a thrumming that fills your head, almost too loud as you lean forward, pressing your face to his neck.

He groans, and you reach to fist his shirt tightly in your hands, taking in a deep breath.

This was your alpha, there was no denying it, no other scent had ever took hold of you the way his did, everything else was rotten in comparison, and you were losing grip of your sanity with each passing moment.

You breathe him in, memorizing it, the extra kick, straight from the source, your hindbrain takes full control in these moments, and you're completely helpless to it.

“Alpha.” You sigh into his neck, and you feel him shudder beneath you.

You tilt your head up, lips brushing his gland, he groans loudly, the sound echoing in your ears, drowning out the thrumming of your heart for just a moment.

“That's it, omega," He guides, "Take what you need.”

You whine, if you really took what you needed, he'd already be at home in your nest, ready to make you his.

You tilt your head higher, and he turns to look at you with heated eyes, your noses brush in the quiet of his car.

Someone walking past catches in your peripheral, and you gasp, reeling back, realising where you were.

“S- sorry.” You say, scrambling away, reaching to unlock the door, stepping out and bolting as fast as your legs can carry you, too afraid to look back at him.

It takes you three orgasms in your bed before you begin thinking again.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #my writings #the punisher #omega!reader #Alpha!Billy Russo #objects in motion

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owari--hajimari · 2 months ago

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god i fucking love the bravery mechanic in twewy!!!

it's such a genius way to handle gender locking equipment without anything actually being gender-locked. and i think it touches on something that is one; real, and two; a slice of the cultural atmosphere twewy was created in, like a lot of things in this game are. like, yeah you DO have to be braver to wear womens clothing generally, performing femininity has a higher barrier of entry, and especially so in 2007.

and i love love love the BRV requirements varying by brand/style as well, like yeah it DOES take a lot of bravery to wear gothic lolita. that for sure takes so much more courage than wearing a cheap solid colour t-shirt.

i'm of course never ever getting over joshua having the second highest base bravery after shiki, aka the highest of the guys, but more interesting than that to me is beat having the lowest. like. until post-game changes the relationship with brv as a stat, bravery = femininity, or at least comfort with with performing femininity. so shiki at 109 base BRV > joshua at 39 > neku at 14 > and beat at 4, is absolutely stellar characterization, for all of them. because it makes so so much sense, and it’s shown!

if BRV were purely “bravery” in the most literal sense with no relation to gender, then i wouldn't understand beat having a lower base stat than neku. i do not think there is a world where beat is less courageous than neku of day 1. but beat is ABSOLUTELY more MASCULINE than neku, what with his big boy machismo talk like “don't get your panties in a twist” and “you man up any yet? ‘cause i don’t believe in hittin’ women and children”. the idea of what a “man” is, something “strong”, something as far away as possible from “women” or “weakness”, is something incredibly important to beat! and that makes it known in his BRV stat! (and there is an irony in that. beat being tethered as he is to the ideal of masculinity and therefore strength, can’t equip the strongest threads without the most significant grinding of BRV…)

and of course the relationship BRV has with femininity largely falls apart with the appearance of post-game threads with absurd BRV requirements, but there’s still a little something to be said about the item with the highest BRV requirement in the game being one with a character-specific ability for joshua.

#there’s also something to be said about joshua’s relationship with femininity but i’ve yet to find the words #i deeply believe that the devs intended for him to be metrosexual #(at least)#and that’s the only intelligible thought i have on that right now #twewy #twewyposting #rambles #beat #ALSO ALSO. kariya telling beat to man up if he wants payback after ganking rhyme… and beat going on to tell neku to man up to fight HIM #man. :]

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emeryhiro · 2 months ago

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My Thoughts on The Book Of Carol Episode 1

-Spoiler Edition-

Firstly, I wanna say I absolutely LOVE this episode. What a mind-blowing way to start a season and what a beautiful start for Carol's journey to finding Daryl and, in the process, dealing with and healing from so much of her past trauma.

If this episode is any indication of how the rest of the season will go in terms of pace, then we're in for what could potentially be the best story ever told in twd history (at least for me).

If you'd rather avoid the spoilers, I have posted a spoiler-free version of my thoughts on the episode, which you can find [here]

!!Spoiler Warning for episode 1 of The Book of Carol!!

Carols mindset

From the very first scene with Carol, we see that she's in survival mode. She has shifted her focus onto her one and only goal: to find Daryl.

I absolutely adored the way she stood up to the men at the gas station, followed by her standing on the beach looking out toward the ocean that's separating her from Daryl. This was especially true of the way it mirrored Daryl's looking out toward the ocean that's separating him from Carol at the end of season 1.

Connection between Daryl and Carol

We know that throughout the seasons, Daryl and Carol and have helped each other heal and taught each other sooo much, and one of the things that I absolutely adored is how, in several instances throughout the episode, they showed how Carol was utilising so many little things that Daryl had taught her in the past in order to help her on her journey to finding him, like tracking Daryl, riding his bike, using his crossbow, finding the traps that Ash set and knowing how to get around them.

Yes, Carol is separated from Daryl, but he's still with her in all these little ways, making her stronger and braver.

Carols Growth

I love the way Carol stood her ground, apologised, and took responsibility for what happened to Ash's greenhouse after she broke in and accidentally led all those walkers in, destroying much of what was in there.

This showed a huge change and growth from the Carol we saw in season 10, where she would internalise all her guilt and allow it to consume her.

Introduction to Ash

It's only been one episode, but I already adore this character. It almost seems too good to be true that someone like this could have survived alone for so long. Don't get me wrong; he's clearly very intelligent and capable of protecting himself if needed, but he's also kind, forgiving, trusting, and innocent. We know from many seasons of this show that the world they've been living in has a tendency to break people like that in the most devastating ways.

The flashbacks and the music box

The two flashbacks we saw in this episode, the first one of Sofia at the barn and the second of Daryl giving Carol the Cherokee rose, I think are perfect memories to pull from to give us a glimpse of Carol's mindset.

They show us the people who mean the most to Carol, the events that led her to where she is and who she is right now, what brought her on this journey to find Daryl, and why she's willing to fight and do anything to save him.

One of the most heartbreaking scenes in the episode was when Carol found the music box on Avi's grave. The box played the melody of the song 'You are my sunshine', which Carol sang along to as her voice broke and tears fell down her face. All I could think of at that moment was how this song was almost like a plea from Carol, how she's already lost Sofia and how she is terrified of losing Daryl as well, the one that represents the sunshine that's left in her life. The person who held her when she she lost her children. The person who knows her better than she knows herself. The person who stood by her even when she lost herself. The person who she bound to by one soul.

Carol and Ash's relationship

This was, BY FAR, my favourite part of the episode. The layers. The parallels. The Tragedy. This duo's storyline is literal GOLD.

And fair warning because I have so much to say about them.

In the beginning when Carol gets herself "trapped" in one of Ash's traps, we can see her putting on her act, the innocent damsel in distress act which we love and have seen her do so many times before.

But when she started to speak to Ash, asking him for help, and he agreed to help her and believed her when she said she was alone, I could see the slight hesitation in her behaviour because she probably expected more resistance from Ash.

As they spend more time together, Carol starts to feel for Ash. She very quickly drops her act and begins to see how much they actually have in common, how much pain they've shared. Especially the loss of a child, a child that they each had to raise alone, blaming themselves for letting their child wander off and not being able to protect them the way a parent should.

However, despite dropping the damsel in distress act, Carol still lies to Ash. She tells him the story that she thinks he needs to hear to manipulate him into empathising with her and taking her to France.

But there's something incredibly important to note here. Carol may be intentionally manipulating Ash for her own ends, but it's clear that she's absolutely torn because of it. Yes, Carol has manipulated many people in the past (fair game), but she has never done it to someone she knew didn't deserve it. After seeing who Ash really is, it obviously becomes painful for her to keep up the lie, but in the end, she internalises that pain and guilt because of how much she loves Daryl.

Because even if taking advantage of this genuinely kind stranger makes her the villain, then that's what she's willing to become to save Daryl.

Carol & Ash's future and an important Parallel

Going forward, I expect Carol to grow to care for Ash even more and start to see a true friendship between them. There may be conflict between the two when Ash finds out that Carol lied to him, but I think that he's too pure-hearted to stay angry with her for long and will come to understand and forgive her. I also expect Carol to become very protective of Ash, firstly because of everything he's doing and giving up for her, and secondly because she'd feel responsible for his life, considering that her lie was the reason he ended up in this situation and that if anything were to happen to him, it be her fault.

I also see a clear parallel between Daryl/Connie and Carol/Ash's friendships.

Both Daryl and Carol have found someone in Connie and Ash who has somehow remained pure and kind despite the world they live in.

Both Connie and Ash are intelligent, brave, kind, forgiving, and heroic, and rare remenant of the goodness that's left in their world. Making both Daryl and Carol, who see themselves as realists, feel a sense of responsibility to protect them.

I could also see a potential parallel storyline here where there's tension between Caryl, as Carol gets frustrated with Daryl for butting their lives (including Ash's) in danger as he's chasing after revenge in France, just like how Daryl was with Carol and Connie.

The Nest and Daryl's storyline

I won't go into details about this again, as I talked about it in my initial S2EP1 thoughts post from Tribeca [HERE]. But to summarise, overall, it was clear to me that Daryl isn't happy at the Nest and doesn't think he could ever be. Yes, he's grown to care for Isabelle and Laurent, but they don't mean the same to him as the people he left behind.

Isabelle will never fill Carol's place in his heart, the person he's bound to by one soul, and Laurent will never replace Judith, the child he held in his arms, loved, and fought to protect from the day she was born.

Additional thoughts and details that I loved:

When Ash and Carol are sitting in the plane and ready to take off, Ash takes one last look at the greenhouse where his son is buried, then looks at Carol, reminding himself of who he's doing it for. This was such a poetic and heartbreaking moment to witness because, as the viewer, I was happy that he was finally moving forward and doing something that he believed would make his son proud, but I was also heartbroken knowing that it was all a lie.

The way Ash comforts Carol, who's feeling claustrophobic as they're taking off in the plane.

Genet's staredown with Daryl was such a powerful moment and honestly had my heart racing. I can't wait to get more of her story!

Losang and his crew at the Nest are look shifty af to me. There's something seriously sinister going on behind doors.

Conclusion and final thoughts

I'm going to repeat some of what I said in my first post from June because it's still accurate to how I feel after watching it again.

I now know beyond a doubt that Melissa has the talent and Carol has the depth to be a brilliant leading character. Her storyline can fill an entire episode, and there would not be a dull moment; on the contrary, during the episode, I constantly had chills because of the absolute power of Melissa's performance, and I'm dying to see more.

Episode one has planted seeds to potentially resolve many of Caryl/Daryl's storylines that were left unresolved in the main series in a way that's true to who Carol and Daryl are and how even we, as viewers, envisioned it should be. And if the current pace is continued, then I genuinely believe that we'll find Carol and Daryl finally on the same page again after so long, only this time, they will have dealt with a lot of the pain and trauma that has kept them apart. ♡♡♡

~~~~

Thank you for stick with me and reading through this post! I would love to hear what you guys though of the episode aswell.

There are just so many amazing things for us to look forward to, and I'm honestly over the moon with officially having Carol back on the show. I'm already counting down the days till next week ♡♡♡

#daryl dixon #carol peletier #the walking dead #caryl #the book of carol #twd #my gifs #caryl positivity #twd spoilers #spoilers

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serial-serializednovelreader · 4 months ago

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Nova’s Notes - North and South Weekly - Chapter 6

In which the Hale family says goodbye to Helstone….

The poem at the beginning, which is part of a larger poem known as In Memoriam, really sets the scene for a lovely place like Helstone and what’s it means to leave it. The larger poem’s theme is about understanding and working through grief — a fitting theme for this chapter.

“The rooms had a strange echoing sound in them,—and the light came harshly and strongly in through the uncurtained windows,—seeming already unfamiliar and strange.”

I love how Gaskell captures the surreal feeling of seeing a place you’ve lived in, now empty. It is strange to hear more echoes (due to the lack of furniture — acoustics, am I right?) and every room gaining more brightness from the windows with no curtains. When this happens, it feels almost as if you, in the simple act of moving furniture and other objects of living out, have removed all of the life out of it as well. It is a very strange feeling and it’s one I’m glad Gaskell touches on!

“Mrs. Hale’s dressing-room was left untouched to the last; and there she and Dixon were packing up clothes, and interrupting each other every now and then to exclaim at, and turn over with fond regard, some forgotten treasure, in the shape of some relic of the children while they were yet little. They did not make much progress with their work.”

I know they have work to do, but this is such a sweet image. And I’m glad Mrs. Hale is at least given a bit of time to look over — and think about — old memories with the children. It’s nice :) and relatable, I’m the same way with my old stuff lol.

“Down-stairs, Margaret stood calm and collected, ready to counsel or advise the men who had been called in to help the cook and Charlotte. These two last, crying between whiles, wondered how the young lady could keep up so this last day, and settled it between them that she was not likely to care much for Helstone, having been so long in London.”

Yikes, so once again, Margaret is judged by an expression she has on her face. As if everyone expresses emotion the same way!!! Also, Charlotte is the same maid who caught Margaret crying two weeks ago so…what about that? She obviously knew why (you can’t tell me she didn’t — news travels fast in a house as small as that, and I’m almost certain Dixon said something about that being the reason for crying), so it’s pretty unfeeling of them to judge her for not crying when she’s working to get her household moved practically on her own!!!

This also made me notice something: we’ve seen characters come to the wrong conclusion about someone else’s thoughts or feelings a few times now in this book, including our protagonist. Margaret is the only one so far who has rethought her judgement and came to the correct conclusion upon second reflection. I’m not sure if that’s going to be a running theme, but it’s something I want to keep an eye on! It’s definitely something that stands out to me about Margaret’s character and judgement, that’s for sure.

“They could not understand how her heart was aching all the time, with a heavy pressure that no sighs could lift off or relieve, and how constant exertion for her perceptive faculties was the only way to keep herself from crying out with pain. Moreover, if she gave way, who was to act? Her father was examining papers, books, registers, what not, in the vestry with the clerk; and when he came in, there were his own books to pack up, which no one but himself could do to his satisfaction. Besides, was Margaret one to give way before strange men, or even household friends like the cook and Charlotte? Not she!”

I love this peek into her logic for not crying. I immediately figured she was trying to keep it together in order to make the move go smoothly, but I always love her inner voice. She’s so determined and braver than I think she gives herself credit for :))) and interesting note that she won’t cry in front of her “household friends”. I’m probably reaching here, but could this be tied to when she was silenced by that maid all those years ago in Harley Street? Or simply because she won’t cry in front of anyone except her family? Hmm…

“a robin was singing,—perhaps, Margaret thought, the very robin that her father had so often talked of as his winter pet, and for which he had made, with his own hands, a kind of robin-house by his study-window.”

This is cute! And sad. It’s always the little things you think of when saying goodbye to a home :(((

“Margaret went along the walk under the pear-tree wall. She had never been along it since she paced it at Henry Lennox’s side. Her eyes were on that late-blowing rose as she was trying to answer; and she had caught the idea of the vivid beauty of the feathery leaves of the carrots in the very middle of his last sentence”

I know she’s been busy since Lennox’s departure, but her not coming back to this spot feels intentional to me…eep!

Also, love that she sees part of the garden and remembers a specific part of his conversation. Memories are so often like that and Gaskell is masterful at putting this relatable experience to paper. I once asked a professor why she enjoyed studying the classics so much, and she told me it was because she could sometimes feel like the authors were speaking to just her, across the time and space of so many years. This is one of those times I know just what she means!

“Even now, while she walked sadly through that damp and drear garden in the dusk, with everything falling and fading, and turning to decay around her, he might be gladly putting away his law-books after a day of satisfactory toil, and freshening himself up, as he had told her he often did, by a run in the Temple Gardens, taking in the while the grand inarticulate mighty roar of tens of thousands of busy men, nigh at hand, but not seen, and catching ever, at his quick turns, glimpses of the lights of the city coming up out of the depths of the river. He had often spoken to Margaret of these hasty walks, snatched in the intervals between study and dinner. At his best times and in his best moods had he spoken of them; and the thought of them had struck upon her fancy.”

I love how it’s a quirky little detail like this that Margaret touches on and thinks of fondly. I often wonder what my friends remember about the stories I tell them!

Suddenly, Margaret hears a “stealthy, creeping, cranching sound”. She “knows” it to be a poacher that she has no fear of but…

“to-night she was afraid, she knew not why. She heard Charlotte shutting the windows, and fastening up for the night, unconscious that any one had gone out into the garden. A small branch—it might be of rotten wood, or it might be broken by force—came heavily down in the nearest part of the forest; Margaret ran, swift as Camilla, down to the window, and rapped at it with a hurried tremulousness which startled Charlotte within.”

I can’t blame her: I’d be spooked too!!! I think this also speaks to the larger issue of Margaret no longer feeling comfortable here: with the house being unfamiliar all packed up, is it any wonder she finds the outside noises, once so normal, strange as well?

“Margaret sat down on the rug, partly to warm herself, for the dampness of the evening hung about her dress, and over-fatigue had made her chilly. She kept herself balanced by clasping her hands together round her knees; her head dropped a little towards her chest; the attitude was one of despondency, whatever her frame of mind might be. But when she heard her father’s step on the gravel outside, she started up, and hastily shaking her heavy black hair back, and wiping a few tears away that had come on her cheeks she knew not how, she went out to open the door for him. He showed far more depression than she did. She could hardly get him to talk, although she tried to speak on subjects that would interest him, at the cost of an effort every time which she thought would be her last.”

Poor Margaret! Here she is, so despondent and melancholy herself, yet the minute she hears her father, she immediately straightens up and tries to act cheerful for his sake. How long can she keep this up?

I’m going to put this through a neurodivergent lens again, but this time it’s more metaphorical. So, for many ND people, they often have to “mask” themselves in order to fit into neurotypical society. This can include things like eye contact, saying things they don’t feel, pretending to express an emotion they’re not actually feeling at the moment, and more. At best, it’s exhausting and uncomfortable. At worst, it can lead to questioning sense of self and burnout. Margaret is, more and more often, putting up a kind of “mask” and setting aside how she feels about leaving Helstone. She had to do it when her father initially told her, she did it for her mother (all day, no less!), then Dixon (when she interrupted her crying session), for the mover and her household friends (love that term fyi), and now for her father again. At some point, something will have to give way and she will need to express her real feelings. Luckily, she has been able to deal with some of her emotions in private, but she has been interrupted and forced to quell it every time, which is not good! I’m worried she’s going to burn herself out if she keeps this up.

Margaret asks what her father has been up to and finally gets an answer:

“‘I went to see Widow Maltby; she is sadly grieved at not having wished you good-bye. She says little Susan has kept watch down the lane for days past.—Nay, Margaret, what is the matter, dear?’ The thought of the little child watching for her, and continually disappointed—from no forgetfulness on her part, but from sheer inability to leave home—was the last drop in poor Margaret’s cup, and she was sobbing away as if her heart would break. Mr. Hale was distressingly perplexed. He rose, and walked nervously up and down the room. Margaret tried to check herself, but would not speak until she could do so with firmness.”

And so the dam breaks. I might have spoken a bit too soon, but it still needed to be said. Again, poor Margaret :(((((( I would be crushed at hearing this too!!! Mr. Hale, why are you surprised she’s upset??? Of course she’s upset!!! I guess he doesn’t understand how long she’s been holding it in. I just want to give her a warm blanket and hugs (if she likes hugs).

“She heard him talking, as if to himself.

“‘I cannot bear it. I cannot bear to see the sufferings of others. I think I could go through my own with patience. Oh, is there no going back?’”

So, the first time Margaret cried and then sadly wished for this to be a dream, you told her (basically) to get over it and that she needed to be brave, your mind was made up — and now you’re moved to change your mind??? What happened??? It’s a little late, buddy!!!!

“‘No, father,’” said Margaret, looking straight at him, and speaking low and steadily. ‘It is bad to believe you in error. It would be infinitely worse to have known you a hypocrite.’ She dropped her voice at the last few words, as if entertaining the idea of hypocrisy for a moment in connection with her father savoured of irreverence.

“‘Besides,’ she went on, ‘it is only that I am tired to-night; don’t think that I am suffering from what you have done, dear papa. We can’t either of us talk about it to-night, I believe,’ said she, finding that tears and sobs would come in spite of herself.’”

Margaret :((((((((( she’s right though, he’s spoken to the entire village of his plans at this point, to go back now would make him look pretty bad! Also, the need to tell him she’s not suffering from his choices…when we know the opposite to be true 😭😭😭 she’s too good for both of these parents sometimes, I hope they appreciate how good of a daughter they have. Don’t get me wrong — they have their good moments — but she is so kind and giving!!! And she seems to get so little in return for that at times, at least in this moment.

Also, yeah, I can tell she’s emotionally draining herself to the limit because she’s starting to cry despite her holding it in. Speaking from personal experience, that’s not good!

“A sting at Margaret’s heart made her strive to look out to catch the last glimpse of the old church tower at the turn where she knew it might be seen above a wave of the forest trees; but her father remembered this too, and she silently acknowledged his greater right to the one window from which it could be seen. She leant back and shut her eyes, and the tears welled forth, and hung glittering for an instant on the shadowing eyelashes before rolling slowly down her cheeks, and dropping, unheeded, on her dress.”

Again, another example of her being so selfless. Oh Margaret, things will get better :((((

“Poor Mrs. Hale had cried in her way nearly all day long; and Dixon showed her sorrow by extreme crossness, and a continual irritable attempt to keep her petticoats from even touching the unconscious Mr. Hale, whom she regarded as the origin of all this suffering.”

LOLLLL that’s so petty of Dixon. I could analyze this to oblivion but…you know what? I’ll let her have this one. It’s funny and doesn’t really harm anyone — Mr. Hale’s literally asleep.

When they get to London, Mrs. Hale is remembering all of the places the last time she visited, but she also points out to Margaret: HENRY LENNOX?!?!?

LOL, that’s so funny he’s just *right there* when she gets into London. Would some people call this cliche? Perhaps. I call it “seeing the exact person you don’t want to see/maybe do (it’s complicated) at the exact wrong time” phenomenon. It happens to everyone.

“Margaret started forwards, and as quickly fell back, half-smiling at herself for the sudden motion. They were a hundred yards away by this time; but he seemed like a relic of Helstone—he was associated with a bright morning, an eventful day, and she should have liked to have seen him, without his seeing her,—without the chance of their speaking.”

She’s so real for that. Keep the memory good, Margaret! Who knows what he would’ve said had he actually spoken to you.

“They alone seemed strange and friendless, and desolate. Yet within a mile, Margaret knew of house after house, where she for her own sake, and her mother for her aunt Shaw’s, would be welcomed, if they came in gladness, or even in peace of mind. If they came sorrowing, and wanting sympathy in a complicated trouble like the present, then they would be felt as a shadow in all these houses of intimate acquaintances, not friends. London life is too whirling and full to admit of even an hour of that deep silence of feeling which the friends of Job showed, when ‘they sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and none spake a word unto him; for they saw that his grief was very great.’”

Very true!!! “Laugh and the world laughs with you; weep and you weep alone”. You know who your real friends are because they will help you through times of grief, not treat you like a “shadow”. I think the fact that Margaret instinctively knows they would be treated that way at all of the places she thinks of tells me they’re not true friends and she knows that, even if she won’t fully admit it. And quoting Job to cap off the chapter is very telling of how grieved she feels!!

That’s all for this chapter (on time for once — yay!). Hopefully, they’ll have a bit of a better time in the next chapter.

#north and south #north and south weekly #margaret hale #henry lennox #novas notes

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persephonememes · 1 year ago

Text

* ( THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR / SENTENCE PROMPTS.

These may have been edited for clarity or length or to better apply for roleplaying.

❛ i was just really, really sad. ❜

❛ dead doesn’t mean gone. ❜

❛ i thought i was going to die too. ❜

❛ it only felt like dying because, actually, i was still alive. ❜

❛ to truly love another person is to accept that the work of loving them is worth the pain of losing them. ❜

❛ we can’t count on the past. ❜

❛ we think we have it trapped in our memories, but memories fade. ❜

❛ you’ll find it much quieter out here. ❜

❛ any of us could die at any moment. ❜

❛ she/he was my anchor. ❜

❛ i’m a lot braver than people think. ❜

❛ nothing holds, and all things change, given time. ❜

❛ change does not often announce itself. ❜

❛ all things fade. ❜

❛ time takes all things. ❜

❛ it is the way of the world. ❜

❛ the past recedes, memories fade, and so, true, does the spirit. ❜

❛ everything yields to time, even the soul. ❜

❛ there’s a difference between feeling good and feeling alive. ❜

❛ funerals are for the living. it’s up to the living to decide what they can and cannot bear. ❜

❛ i don’t know why brilliant young women are always punished. ❜

❛ you don’t have to lose yourself to find happiness, you know. ❜

❛ i was having the strangest dream. ❜

❛ what have you got when your back’s against the wall when there’s nothing left for you but faith? ❜

❛ sometimes, right can seem wrong, and wrong can seem right. ❜

❛ do you know what life is really all about? ❜

❛ save them all if you can, but put your own oxygen mask on first. ❜

❛ death is something to mourn, not fear. ❜

❛ i wasn't going to ask you if you're alright because i don't like being lied to. so, what's wrong? ❜

❛ everyone is exhaustive. even the best ones. ❜

❛ we are meant to die. it's natural. ❜

❛ every living thing grows out of every dying thing. ❜

❛ that's where all it's beauty lies, you know, in the mortality of the thing. ❜

❛ one day at a time is what we've got. ❜

❛ one day at a time is what we've got. it's what everybody's got, if you get down to it. ❜

❛ if you can't feel anything, then i'll feel everything for the both of us. ❜

❛ but no one is going anywhere, okay? ❜

❛ you shouldn't be thinking of losing each-other at all. ❜

❛ don't let that loom over your happiness right now. ❜

❛ it is rare what you've got. ❜

❛ what is the catch? ❜

❛ i’m not running, from anything and it hurts me when you say that. ❜

❛ perfectly splendid. ❜

❛ you have to promise me that you’ll stay in your room. ❜

❛ none of us are blameless. ❜

❛ on a scale of zero to american, how would you rate her? ❜

❛ it’s such a draining thing, dealing with children. ❜

❛ i have an inquiring mind. ❜

❛ we both know you don’t make mistakes. ❜

❛ let me guess, you are to be our very own mary poppins? ❜

❛ i hope she haunts that fucker forever. ❜

❛ why should anyone hate a lake? ❜

❛ let me show you just how beautiful you are. ❜

❛ it’s just you and me then. ❜

❛ look at you all flush. you��re pretty when you blush. ❜

❛ being with him might be scary at times but, it’s also exciting and fun. ❜

❛ and for the first time in my life, that little voice in my head saying i’m not good enough has disappeared. ❜

❛ i’ve never felt so alive. ❜

❛ i swear, you’re such a bore, and you don’t know when the leave well enough alone. ❜

❛ sometimes people just need to be alone. ❜

❛ i couldn’t sleep. i feel like i can never sleep again, frankly. ❜

❛ haven’t we done this already? ❜

❛ i have a surprise for you. ❜

❛ don’t leave your room at night. ❜

❛ the past is always present. ❜

❛ the stories we tell each other have a way of changing. ❜

❛ love is a haunting melody that i have never mastered and i fear i never will. ❜

❛ no good ever comes from dwelling on the worst. ❜

❛ you can’t choose who you love. ❜

❛ ghosts do not have to be scary. they can be comforting. ❜

❛ the heart is a fragile thing, and it can break in many different ways. ❜

❛ people often fear what they cannot understand. ❜

❛ we are all haunted in some way, by the things we have lost or the things we have done. ❜

❛ death is not the end, it’s just a door we all have to go through. ❜

❛ the past cannot be changed, but it can still hurt us. ❜

❛ the things we bury have a way of finding their way back to the surface. ❜

❛ some people are born to be alone, and others are born to be together. ❜

❛ ghosts are memories, and memories are what make us who we are. ❜

❛ the dead don’t really leave us. they live on in the memories we have of them. ❜

❛ the more we try to run from something, the more it chases us. ❜

❛ we all have a shadow self, the part of us that we don’t like to admit exists. ❜

❛ the world is full of secrets, and some are best left buried. ❜

❛ the heart wants what it wants, and sometimes that can be a terrifying thing. ❜

❛ every relationship is a dance, and both people need to be willing to take a step forward. ❜

❛ life can be cruel, but it can also be beautiful. ❜

❛ we are all just playing a part, but some roles are harder to shake off than others. ❜

❛ the past is written, but the future is still unwritten. ❜

❛ the greatest tragedy in life is not death, but the things we leave unsaid. ❜

❛ i do not like this game. ❜

❛ i'm actually pretty in love with you. ❜

❛ no one should ever need that much help. ❜

❛ you let me handle this part. ❜

❛ the wrong kind of love can fuck you up, follow you and make you do some really stupid shit. ❜

#rp meme #rp memes #rp prompts #ask meme #meme #memes #roleplay meme #ask memes

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morgana-ren · 2 months ago

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Hello! Came here from ao3, I really love your fics and writing style.

I just wanted to ask (and feel free to ignore if you dont want to answer) since you write a lot of dark content, have you ever gotten rude messages from people or pearl clutchers commenting on your fics?

I'd like to write darker fics but I'm lowkey worried about the reception to some ideas. Thats why I really admire authors like yourself who write with a great sense of attitude. Do you have any advice? Were you nervous when you first started posting dark fics?

Ooh! Interesting question! So sorry this turned into something SUPER long, but I actually have been exactly where you are right now!

So, funny story! When I first started writing fics fuckin' years ago, I desperately wanted to get into writing darkfic. Traditional, cutesy fics— while awesome for other folks— just did not do it for me at all. It was actually something I'd known and understood since childhood and always wanted to foray into. I never read vanilla stories, and I had genuine trouble writing them for a lack of passion or interest. It was something I was deeply interested in and had ambitions for.

It was actually Tomura Shigaraki that made me dust off the old keyboard and begin writing again, and that... Was a huge problem.

See, the MHA fandom was NOT as accepting as it is now back when I started writing— and I hesitate to call it accepting even now. Darkfic was heavily demonized and even fairly rare to come across. It was a fucking wasteland of nosy, pathetic busybodies who thought very highly of themselves and their opinions and dubbed themselves the saviors of the Internet and took it upon themselves to be horrific, vicious little cunts without a single modicum of self-awareness or shame. They got their jollies bending over backwards to antagonize authors who did anything they didn't like by ironically showcasing their own staggering ignorance of how the mind works and making it everyone else's problem in real life. They were very loud and pretentious about it, and unfortunately, some of them garnered quite a following of vulnerable, ignorant children who hung on their every word and command and were tricked into thinking these people had a single idea what the hell they were talking about.

Harassing real people over fictional characters. Using pop-psychology terms they didn't understand. Biased claims that had no basis in reality. Siccing followers on authors. Stalking and doxxing— you name it, they did it with malevolent, self-righteous glee. People getting death threats and doxxed was a very real problem that had some talented, lovely authors disappear from the Internet entirely and put people's actual lives in danger. Over words. On the Internet.

Darkfic authors were one of the groups that were harassed relentlessly. It was pretty rare to find someone brave enough to post it on AO3, leave alone Tumblr, and those that did were pretty much guaranteed harassment on one level or another, whether it was death threats or call-out posts day in and day out, or just cruel, mean-spirited anons. The pioneers of darkfic in that shithole of a fandom were braver than any US marine lmao.

Needless to say, I was petrified. The first fic I sat down and wrote for the fandom (Vermilion) was pretty harmless for the most part, although it dipped its toes in dark subject matter if you were particularly squeamish. If I had my way, it was going to be much, much darker. I wanted it to be darker desperately, but I was so terrified of the petulant, pathetic fandom mommies that literally made it their job to harass authors over fictional characters that I ended up policing myself over it.

The tipping point for me was making friends who with the few people who did have the balls to post it. Authors who were unbelievably talented and didn't give a fuck what some fandom-obsessed weirdo with a superiority complex had to say about it. They actually gave me the courage to be true to myself, and even then, holy fuck it was harrowing at first. I was shaking when I posted the first dark thing I ever wrote on here.

There was an outpour of support. People who loved the story and wanted more. Slowly, I totally overcame the fear with the mix of people in the community being kind and supportive, and simultaneously realizing how utterly pathetic and almost sad the puritanical pop-science fandom police were. Even now, I feel bad for them. No one healthy has that level of fascination and hatred with someone they don't know or something they don't understand that is ENTIRELY OPTIONAL to consume. It's genuinely sad and strange and is far more dangerous than reading about dubious topics in a fanfic.

Slowly, more people started to write darkfic and post it in defiance of these weirdos, and now it's fairly common! I can also say that thankfully, a lot of the weirdo, obsessive puritans have disappeared. I'm hoping they grew up and realized how absurd the whole thing was and are deeply ashamed of their past actions. You don't have to like or respect stories with dark topics, but talking out of your ass and making up reasons why the authors are bad people who deserve to be harassed and die is... Hilariously ironic.

Now, all that being said, I actually have never received hatemail. I was shocked. Hell, I still am, because some of my stories are genuinely heinous. I think I got someone's attempt at it once, but they were either drunk or a 3 year old, because it was literally incoherent. (And it was over the fact I hate Bakugo and not the content of my stories lmao Bakugo stans be wildin' sometimes.)

I think the closest thing I've gotten to a mean comment is someone commenting (incorrectly) that my German translation was off, and one that basically equated to "I love this story but anything more would be too extreme for me," which was very polite and not intended to be rude (although I wasn't quite sure what the point of the comment was lmao)

My best advice? Be yourself. Unabashedly and without fear. Write that dark content and post it with a smile. Your audience will find you, and you'll find so much love and support in the community eventually. Your fics are for you, and if others don't like it? They can act like an adult and not read something that upsets or offends them. Mean words suck, but there is nothing more liberating than spitting in the face of someone who tries to smother you and doing it anyway happily.

Most people who pearl-clutch and sling insults have a tenuous grasp on their own logic and are extremely entitled. I've found that more often than not, they're hateful, reactionary youngsters looking for an excuse to feel superior by pretending they have the moral high ground. They talk out of their ass about things they don't understand and all it does is make them look foolish. Like, they are literally factually, scientifically incorrect most of the time. They are the fanfic/literary equivalent of evangelical white moms having a panic over metal music being from the devil and DND turning their kids gay.

Fanfiction is just that: fiction.

Understanding yourself, your kinks and your own mind can also help immensely. You don't care much if some snotty anon calls you a degenerate if you understand why you write what you do and have no shame regarding it. Understanding the impact of fiction vs. reality, kink science, trauma coping, psychology, and other related topics (depending on what you write) can also help if you want to waste time trying to educate them.

Truthfully though? The funniest response to hate is either not responding at all (oh my God they hate that one) or responding with complete and total nonsense a la "your mom suck me good and hard thru my jorts."

These days? I don't worry about it at all. I write what I write and it brings me great catharsis and joy. I've made incredible friends and met talented people. I've improved my own skills and I have a "productive" hobby. Some folks don't like it? Cope and seethe and piss your pants and suck the liquid back out of the fabric and tell your mom my jorts are feeling a bit dry.

#morgana and friends #sorry this turned into a novel lmao #i just wrote and it ended up forever #honestly though its SO freeing to stop caring #like they're literally the equivalent of a nosy person on the train who thinks your outfit is inappropriate #i don't CARE about ur opinion on my work if it isnt positive lmao #life has been so good since i let go of the fear #you owe it to yourself to be true to yourself #write that fic baby!!!

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from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 8 months ago

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The Guardian—Epilogue

There was some conclusion to the story of Haldir and Mildrithe at the end of Chapter 5, but I didn’t want to leave it there because she’s only 6 years old and they have so many years left together! But I also didn’t want to be writing chapters of this until the end of time, so I did an epilogue that checks in on them at 7 different points across her life, just so we can see how they’re getting on and the ways that they still love and support each other through the undeniable challenge of raising a human in an elf’s world. (Catch up on other chapters by going to the very bottom of my pinned post.)

The seven little mini-stories take place when Mildrithe is 8, 12, 16, 20, 28, 40 and 78. If you don’t want to think about what happens to humans when they get old, then stop after the sixth story! They’re numbered in the text so you can do this easily.

********************

1. “Be careful there, you’ve got it the wrong way around.” Haldir reached out and gently took hold of the knife handle, turning it so that the sharp edge of the blade now faced down.

Mildrithe shrugged and grinned at him, a prominent gap in her smile where a tooth had recently fallen out. Then she sat back to watch him finish serving the dessert. “Do you really think this will be the best cake I’ve ever had?”

“I really do,” he said. “It came straight from the lord and lady’s own kitchens. Nothing but the best for your eighth birthday.” A little honeyed frosting clung to one of his fingers, and he dabbed it onto the end of her nose, making her giggle. “Ask Idhrien if you don’t believe me.”

Idhrien nodded in mock solemnity. “I’ve studied the matter thoroughly, and I can promise that you will find no better in all of Middle Earth.”

Mildrithe looked back excitedly at the pieces that Haldir was now transferring onto plates, but as she claimed her slice, her expression turned thoughtful. “You really don’t celebrate your own birthdays at all? Not even with cake?”

Haldir and Idhrien exchanged quick glances. They had discussed many times how best to address these questions that touched on differences between their kinds, but it still felt fraught to him. Mildrithe always accepted the answers she was given, but he knew the recurrence of her questions meant that she still had difficulty truly understanding what she was told and he struggled with how best to explain things in a way that was appropriate for her.

“When you’ve had as many birthdays as we have, they seem less important somehow,” he said. “We don’t really change from year to year, so there is less to celebrate. But you — you’ve grown so much. You’re even smarter and taller and stronger and braver than you were a year ago. Though you do have fewer teeth now.” He poked a finger into her ribs, and she giggled again.

“I think you have changed,” she said as the giggle subsided. “From last year.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows popped up. “How is that?”

“You’re more…” She trailed off, searching her mind for just the right word. “More like you.”

He smiled because he knew she was right. He was much more at ease now than he had been during their first fragile months together, when he knew so little of her and absolutely nothing of being a parent. But they were figuring it out together, and that was worth celebrating. “Well then perhaps I should have a party this year after all. Just a little one. Idhrien, you and my brothers.”

“That’s all?” Her brows drew together, a small crease of concern appearing between her eyes, and he reached over to give her a hug.

“That’s all I need.”

**********

2. “She’s going to be fine, Haldir. I promise.” Idhrien gave his arm a comforting squeeze. “Children of Men get sick all the time, and this is just a little cold. I checked with Eithoril, and she said a few days of rest are all that’s needed.”

He grimaced, and she could tell that no words of the healer were going to sway his mind.

“Alright then,” she said, putting a hand to his cheek. “I’ll go let Rúmil know that you’ll be staying home today. Give her a kiss for me when she wakes up.”

“I will, and thank you.” He walked her to the door and then went back to his place beside Mildrithe’s bed. She had been asleep all morning, a welcome respite from the constant coughing and sneezing that had dogged her all night, and he sat quietly, drawing small sketches of her resting face and ready to be on hand in case she came to need anything.

“Ada?”

He looked up from his sketchbook to find her blinking her way awake, and his heart melted, as it always did when she called him that. Dad. It had taken a few years, and he had never suggested or pushed it. But the first time the word came from her lips — part of an excited squeal when he returned from a particularly long patrol the summer she turned ten — was one of the happiest moments of his life, and he would never tire of hearing it.

“I thought you had to go?” She coughed and rolled over on her side so that she could see him better.

“I decided that it was more important to stay here with you,” he said, smoothing a hand over her hair. “Uncle Rúmil can handle everything for me until you’re feeling better.”

Her eyes drifted down to the sketchbook in his lap. “Are you drawing me again?”

“Of course. You and your mother are my favorite subjects.”

She held out her hand, and he passed the book over so that she could look at his work.

“Don’t you ever get tired of drawing the same things over and over?”

He watched as she flipped through the pages, all covered in delicate pencil sketches of Idhrien, Mildrithe or the two of them together. Laughing at a private joke. Playing in an early snowfall. Wading in the river, the hems of their dresses held above the water line. Snuggled up, side by side, reading a book. Each scene as different to him as the sun from the moon and as special as the shimmering field of stars that covered the sky above Lórien each night.

“I would draw you both forever if I could.”

**********

3. Mildrithe’s arrow went well wide of its mark yet again, and her shoulders slumped down in defeat.

“I’m never going to get this right. I don’t know why you even bother trying to teach me. I should just leave archery to the elves.”

Haldir wrapped an arm around her, partly to comfort and partly to straighten her spine again for another try. “I have fought alongside good archers from nearly every race in Middle Earth, including plenty of Men. It’s something that can be learned by everyone with time and practice.”

She looked up at him from the corner of her eye. “Did you ever fight alongside a Rohirrim?”

An uncomfortable little pang echoed in his chest, and he suppressed a wince. She had begun asking more questions about Rohan of late, ever since she turned sixteen. He didn’t begrudge her the knowledge and answered every question for her that he could. But while Idhrien believed the questions were a natural and expected part of growing up, a small voice in the back of his mind had begun to worry that perhaps Mildrithe was growing unhappy in Lórien. That she might eventually feel the undeniable pull of her homeland and decide to return. That he would lose his only daughter even faster than her mortal nature would dictate.

“I never had that privilege,” he said, and she mercifully accepted the answer without further discussion.

Drawing another arrow from her quiver, she fit it to the string and took careful aim.

“Check your feet,” he said. “And keep both eyes open. Even if you can aim well with one eye closed, you always want to be able to see what’s happening on all sides of you.”

She made the adjustments, blew out a long, slow breath and let the arrow fly. It hit the target, just a little left of center, with a satisfying thump, and she turned and jumped directly into his arms.

“I did it, Ada!”

He spun her around twice before setting her down and pulling back to look at her beaming smile.

“I knew that you could.”

**********

4. When Haldir got up to look out the window a fourth time, Idhrien closed her book and cleared her throat.

“I’m sure everything is fine, Haldir. A twenty year old girl out with her friends is going to test her limits a little.” She smiled. “We’ve all done it, even you. Orophin tells some very good stories about your younger years.”

“If Mildrithe is out now getting into the kind of trouble Orophin and I used to get into, that does not ease my mind.”

She got up from her chair and came to lean lightly against him at the window. “And yet you turned out fine.” She kissed his shoulder. “Much better than fine.”

They stood together for a few more quiet moments before they finally heard the sound of feet on the stairs and Mildrithe’s amber hair came into view below. She rushed up the steps two at a time and burst into the room, streaking past them with reddened eyes and wet cheeks.

“Mildrithe! What happened? Are you hurt?” Haldir caught her arm as she ran by.

“I’m fine,” she choked out, holding back a sob. “Though it should surprise no one if I was hurt, since I’m just a mortal. Too weak for this world.”

“Don’t say that.” Idhrien smoothed away a lock of hair that clung to Mildrithe’s dampened cheek and took her hand. “You’re one of the strongest people I know, mortal or not.”

“I didn’t say it. Gwerenor did.” The sob she fought to suppress began to force its way out. “He said it wasn’t worth making friends with me. He said I won’t be around long enough to bother with.”

“He said what?” Haldir had long suspected that Mildrithe was a little sweet on Gwerenor, and he had never thought the young elf was particularly deserving of her affection. But now he fought back the urge to go find Gwerenor and drag him across all of Caras Galadhon by the ear to give an apology for such a heartless remark. Idhrien saw the flush in his cheeks and put a calming hand on his arm.

“He’s right, though, isn’t he?” Mildrithe looked up at them through her tears. “I’ll die long before you, and even then I won’t go to Mandos as everyone else will. I’ll be alone. Forever.”

She gave up fully on trying to hold back her distress and wept openly. All of Haldir’s anger vanished in an instant, replaced only with pity, and he wrapped one arm around Mildrithe and the other around Idhrien, pulling them all together into a tight little trio.

“He’s not right,” he said. “No one knows for sure what the fate of Men is beyond this world, but elves and Men are both children of Eru. And he surely doesn’t want to separate his children from each other forever.”

“Do you really believe that?” Her voice was small and muffled, her face pressed against his chest.

“I really do.” He kissed the top of her head. “You won’t be alone. I have never been more certain of anything in my life.”

**********

5. Mildrithe snuck another look at Haldir from the corner of her eye as they walked. His face was calm, but he was often one to keep his innermost thoughts and feelings inside and she worried about what he might be hiding. Whether he felt resentment or betrayal amidst his sadness. Whether he thought she was ungrateful. The idea that she might be hurting him stung her, and she reached for his hand.

He looked down and smiled as she laced her fingers through his. “The first time you did that, your hand was barely big enough to get around mine at all.”

“And you looked so startled that I wondered if holding hands meant something very different to elves.”

He laughed. “We’re maybe not as free with our feelings as others. Me especially.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m just glad you didn’t give up on me.”

Tears welled up in her eyes and she pulled him to a stop by their joined hands. “I would never give up on you, and that’s not what’s happening now. You know that, right? This is something that I have to do for myself, but it changes nothing about my feelings for you. Or Naneth.”

“I know that.” He brushed away a tear that slid down her cheek. “I know it’s been…difficult for you here at times, being different from everyone else. And you’re old enough now to start a family of your own, and I can see how that will be easier for you outside of Lórien.”

“It has been difficult sometimes, but never because of you. You made this my home, and I’ll always love it. And I’ll be back to visit you. All the time. So much that you’ll wonder whether I even left.”

He kissed her cheek. “It will always make my heart happy to see you.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence, eventually coming to the forest’s edge, where they met the small traveling party that would ride with her to the town in Rohan’s Eastfold where she intended to start again. Haldir checked and then rechecked her saddle, her bow, her water canteen. Using his best Rohirric, he went over the planned route with the head of the party and asked a steady string of questions about the expected weather, the terrain and the security precautions they had planned. He cast a careful eye over the packed supplies carried by a small pony and added a few items of his own that he had brought in case they were needed.

Mildrithe watched him as he created task after task that required his attention before she could depart, and when he turned back to check her saddle again for a third time, she gently took hold of his arm.

“Ada, I think you’ve done that already.”

“Have I?” He laughed a little at himself even as his eyes reddened and took on a glassy sheen. “I suppose I have. So I guess that means you’re all ready to go then?”

“I guess.” She reached out and brushed away the tear that rolled down his cheek this time. “Unless… maybe you’d like to come with us a little further before you head back?”

He hesitated and then smiled. “Well, maybe just a little.”

**********

6. Two small pairs of feet stuck out from below the edge of the curtains, and every time Haldir walked past, furtive giggling could be heard.

“Now where have Holtwin and Seftceln gone?” he asked in a loud voice. “I can’t find them anywhere.” There was more giggling from behind the curtain. “Mildrithe, I’m sorry, but I seem to have lost your children. I’ve looked everywhere, and they’ve just vanished.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” said Mildrithe, shaking her head. “Because their grandmother was planning to take them swimming in the river, but I guess we’ll have to cancel that now.”

Holtwin and Seftceln burst from their hiding place and ran in excited loops around the room. “Grandpa couldn’t find us, but we were right there the whole time!”

“You’re very tricky,” said Haldir, smiling. “I have to stay on my toes when you two are around.” He scooped them up, one in each arm, and carried them over to the door. “Your grandmother is waiting outside. Go and enjoy the afternoon.”

They scampered happily down the stairs, and Haldir returned to sit next to Mildrithe, who had collapsed into a seat with her feet propped up on a small table in front of her. She laid her head on his shoulder as soon as he sat, and she breathed a happy, but tired, sigh.

“I don’t know where they get their energy,” she said. “From the moment they wake up until the minute they fall asleep at night, it’s non-stop for them. And then also for me.”

“Does Éathmod not help you?”

“He does. He’s a wonderful father. And you’d think two forty year old people could stay on top of a three and a five year old, but they run us ragged. Why did you never tell me parenthood was so exhausting?”

He laughed. “Because ultimately that part doesn’t matter. By the time they’re grown, you won’t even remember the tiredness. You’ll just remember how much you loved having them with you.”

She reached up to kiss his cheek. “I’m sure you’re right as always, Ada.” She snuggled her head back down on his shoulder and yawned. “I could fall asleep right here, right now.”

“Go ahead.”

“You won’t mind? I came all this way to visit with you, not to sleep.”

“It’ll only be for a little while.” He pulled a blanket from a basket at his side and spread it across her. “And besides, I love just having you with me.”

**********

7. The voice of his wife came into Haldir’s mind suddenly. Insistently. You need to get here quickly. There is less time than we thought. He dropped everything and ran.

He made only one stop on his way out of the city, borrowing a horse from Lady Galadriel’s household, and he raced through the forest and then across the plains of eastern Rohan on its back. With every pace, he prayed he would arrive before it was too late.

Mildrithe had been sick for several months, and he and Idhrien had taken turns traveling to Wielburg to be with her. At first, it had seemed a simple unlucky streak of normal illness, though a flu or infection was dangerous enough for a woman of nearly eighty. But as time wore on and the cures prescribed for those standard ailments had no effect, it became clear that something more serious afflicted her. Something that only steadily worsened, bringing fever, fatigue and suffering in its wake.

He arrived days later, well into the night, and jumped from the exhausted horse to rush inside. The rest of the household had all gone to sleep, spent from long days of worry and care, and Idhrien sat alone at Mildrithe’s bedside, gently holding her frail, palsied hand. The smooth, firm skin of his wife’s fingers against the thin, creased skin of his daughter’s brought a sob to his throat, which he stifled as best he could. All the years of knowing that this moment was coming had somehow done nothing to prepare him for it in the end.

He leaned down to kiss Mildrithe’s forehead, and she opened her eyes slowly when she felt his lips. It took her a moment to find his face and bring it into focus, but she smiled at him, a smile of quiet pride. “I waited for you, Ada,” she said, her voice a faint, hoarse whisper, and then her eyes drifted closed again.

He was about to implore her to keep fighting, to do whatever she could within herself to go on, when he heard her voice in his mind and it stopped him short. I am ready. It had never been easy for her to access the ability to exchange thoughts – most mortals never achieved it successfully, and only her years in Lórien had helped her along – and he knew that she had put all of her last strength into the effort.

He sank down to his knees and bowed his head. He could hear the aching rattle in her chest with each labored breath and feel the fevered heat emanating from her body. More than that, he could feel her exhaustion, her pain, her willingness to give in to the release that hovered at the edge of her consciousness. He couldn’t deny her that last relief, and so he drew a terrified breath and spoke the words he knew she had waited to hear.

“It’s alright, Mildrithe. You can go now. Remember us and how much we love you until we can find you again someday.”

Idhrien wept silently at his side and eventually stood to raise Éathmod and his children from their beds to say their own final goodbyes. People came in and out. There were more tears and embraces. Minutes ticked away, and then hours. And through it all, Haldir sat silently, safeguarding Mildrithe in sleep one last time until his watch was ended shortly before dawn.

He went out to view the sunrise alone, sitting beneath the canopy of a rowan tree in full bloom, small white flowers covering every branch and fallen petals making a carpet beneath the boughs. After a few minutes, Hýdigan, Holtwin’s youngest daughter, wandered out and came to his side. “Is Grandma gone now?”

He turned to face her, a little five year old with a head of reddish-gold curls, big hazel eyes, and a small rounded chin. She looked so much like Mildrithe as he had first seen her, decades ago that felt like only the passing of a moment to him. He made room for Hýdigan to sit in his lap.

“No, little one, she’s not gone. You won’t see her now as you’re used to seeing her, but she’s still here. No one is really gone as long as they remain in our hearts and minds.”

They watched the first rays of the sun emerge from behind the rolling hills of the horizon, bringing the start of a new day in their wake. He couldn’t count how many days he had already seen nor how many were still ahead of him, stretching off into the boundless future. But he knew that Mildrithe would live alongside him, in his own heart and mind, for every one of those days. And in this way, she would never be truly gone. He would carry her into eternity.

********************

Last notes: There’s a little more osanwé in the seventh mini-story. It’s very unusual for a human to be able to use it, but Tolkien did say it was possible and, if anyone is going to be able to, it would be a human raised among elves. But even then, it takes a lot of effort for Mildrithe to do it.

Mildrithe named her son Holtwin (which means “forest friend”) as a tribute to Haldir, and her daughter Seftceln (“soft breeze”) shares a name with Mildrithe’s late sister, who saved her life by hiding her during the attack on their village. Holtwin named his daughter Hýdigan (“thoughtful one” in Rohirric) after Idhrien, whose own name means “thoughtful” in Sindarin.

#lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #haldir #mildrithe #lórien #trying to be realistic about humans living with elves #because they’re not all aragorns with fate and the gods on their side

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not-krys · 6 months ago

Text

[Repost] Old - Abby & Theo

Part of this set of WIP Wednesdays!

A bittersweet one today. I had originally wanted to use this theme way back when I was first writing Abby and Theo's Fictober 2021 fic 'I've Waited For This', which would have featured Abby and Vincent as a lot older but chickened out and wrote something a little more lighthearted instead.

This time, feeling braver, I did explore the a lot older theme with Abby and Theo in this one, but with a sad tinge running throughout.

Raw, unedited writing down below. Heavily referenced major character death.

-----

Theo sat by Abby's side, her small hands covered in wrinkles and a little stiff, holding a long paintbrush. Theo, still as youthful as when she had met him, untouched by two hundred years, brown hair and blue eyes unchanged by time, watched patiently as her hand moved, graceful in memory but a little clumsy now with age.

"Just a little more," Abby said, her voice cracking.

"Take your time," Theo said gently, far more kind than he had sounded in her youth.

Silence overtook the two of them, sunlight peeking through the nearby window. Where she needed it, Theo held up her elbow, keeping her arm steady.

"…Talk about him, Theo." Abby asked, squinting her eyes. "Please…"

"Hondje… Are you sure?"

"A happy memory… for me, please?"

Theo closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh.

"Back when we used to live in le Comte's mansion, he often painted outdoors. He loved being in the sun. He… sometimes I thought he was the sun."

"When you came around…" Theo continued, "Well, he was happier. More than I had ever seen him. He shined brighter than before. Blindingly so some days. I was a little jealous… Very jealous, actually. How this scared little pup that came out of nowhere had managed to capture my broer so completely so quickly… Maybe it's not what you want to hear, but any truly happy memory I have of him, you're in it too."

Theo touched her elbow again.

"Remember when I came to the house the first time? Because your auntie had sent those pictures of his paintings?"

"Yes," Abby said, "I showed you all those pictures of Vincent and me… of the children… of his life ever since we left."

"You showed me that he had lived a good life and that's something I can't thank you enough for. I had failed in that regard, even in our second lives."

"Your wish allowed us to meet, Theo, so… don't sell yourself so short. My happiness… was thanks to you, after all."

"Hondje…"

"A-anyway… you were talking about how he loved painting outdoors?"

"Yeah, he'd taken you with him. By all accounts, it should have been sunny all day. But, there was a pop up shower."

"Ah, yes. He wanted to teach me about nature painting. But then it started raining suddenly."

"It was a little late in the day, so I was just getting back from selling some of his work. I got caught up in it too. Soaked to the bone."

"So were we. We had to pack up in a hurry, the paint hadn't even dried properly, both of canvases getting smeared together with the rain water. I was so upset because I was so proud of it and thought I had ruined it."

"Broer just smiled, I remember." Theo said, "and told me that they were twin paintings now. Sebas even came by to tell us about how in the future, there was this movement in art where you don't really paint forms like normal. Sometimes, people would splash paint onto canvases without rhyme or reason. Abstract painting, he called it. I wouldn't have believed him if I hadn't lived through it myself."

Abby smiled a little.

"Vincent held onto those paintings for a while. I was a little embarrassed on how long he held onto them, messed up as they were."

"From what I remember, Comte had them put up in the parlor after you two left."

"That's even more embarrassing!"

"Even had them framed."

Abby lowered her elbow, setting her brush down.

"Thank you, Theo. For cheering me up. For staying and putting up with me."

"You'd be lonely if I didn't, and Broer hated leaving you alone for long."

"…I miss him. So much."

Theo reached up to her cheek, wiping away the falling tear with his thumb.

"Just remember that you had a hand in making his life as good as it could have been. Now I'm making sure yours is just as good in his honor. So, no more tears. You have a portrait to finish, after all."

Abby took a breath and nodded, looking at Theo, determined.

"R-right."

They both turned back to the canvas, the image reflected in their eyes of a younger Vincent, smiling as both of them had remembered.

#krys's adventures in fanfiction #wip wednesday #ikemen vampire #ikevamp oc #abigail clarke (oc)#theodorus van gogh (ikevamp)#cw: major character death referenced #cw: aging

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alienaiver · 2 years ago

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Hi Nohr! I always look forward to your writing! 💜

And if it's okay to request, can I pick Satori Tendo + 110 please?

DERU !!!! HI <3333 im so sorry i fell asleep writing this [clown emoji] IJDESFJSE but of course it is!

the heavens rewarded you with: "Where have you been all my life?” “Hiding from you” and i hope i did it justice! it turned out to be 1k words and there's no warnings!! i hope you enjoy this my love <3333333

send me an ask with a random number between 1-210 and a character and i’ll write you a little story!

Tendou sighs as he leans his head further into his palm, observing you through the bushes he’s currently hiding in. He feels rather like a creep, doing this but he loves observing your flying lessons and how you patiently teach the younger fairies to use their wings, always smiling and supporting them however you’re able.

Tendou is from Shiratorizawa, the land of the Oracles. Every year, they send apprentices out to work with a fairy to fulfill their destiny. It sounds much more grandiose than Tendou likes to think it is, but the energy harvested from a fairy finding and accomplishing their life’s mission is what fuels Shiratorizawa and it can be small things, like becoming a teacher, taking care of the sacred plants or it can be big and important things like saving the world or warding off some kind of evil. They haven’t had need for that for a few centuries though, and Tendou is sent to help you find your purpose so that you’re able to fulfill your destiny – not even he knows what it entails, exactly.

Tendou was sent from his home almost a year ago and should’ve contacted you upon arrival but alas, he’s a coward. It’s a new side of him he only learned about recently, upon laying his eyes on you and then promptly turning around.

You seem absolutely stunning and otherworldly. He can’t possibly approach you.

Luckily, you don’t suspect that your apprentice has voluntarily stayed away because you’re not even aware that the time for his arrival is now.

Everyone finds their purpose in life at different ages so there’s never been a predated year in a fairy’s life to start their search. Some are approached when they are kids, some as teenagers and some even so far into adulthood that they may have started questioning their purpose.

But they always show up at the needed time, when the fairy is ready to fulfill such destiny required of them.

Tendou sighs again after he realizes he might be the first to neglect his duty like this. He won’t make Shiratorizawa proud like this. He shudders as he thinks back to his confidence upon leaving – where did that go? He knows he can strange and off-putting – being reminded of the fact his fair share of times growing up but he never imagined it’d impact his job as it does so now.

You say goodbye to the fairies now, bent down at the knees to be at a more level height with them, telling them to enjoy their weekend. Tendou has an inkling to what theme your destiny might involve, but if there’s one thing that he took away from school is that personality doesn’t necessarily equate destiny. His elbow, leaned hazardously on his thigh that is slipping ever so slightly – enough so that he doesn’t realize – is holding up the head that might as well have hearts circling around it. His wings flutter behind him in excitement upon hearing you laugh at a student’s joke and mindlessly, he grabs a piece of chocolate from the little package next to him.

His leg slips on the mossy branch that he’s sitting on and with a surprised yelp, he ends up falling forward, face-first into the ground underneath him. He groans as he tries to correct his spine but it’s too late. The children heard him and they’re all favoring checking out the noise than listening to you.

They call your name in various stages of excitement as one of the braver girls pick Tendou up from the ground. Some of them had been sure he was a beetle; with the way he was laying face first on the ground. Yikes.

“He’s not a beetle at all!” she says, her cheeks puffed out in a pout, turning Tendou this way and that in her grasp. Tendou lets out another groan before reinstating his regular height and size as to get away from the sticky hands he’s been caught in. Sounds of amazement and excitement are heard throughout your class as you finally catch up with them.

“He’s an apprentice!” someone yells and everyone starts to hastily look around at each other, wondering who’s lucky enough to get one while they’re so young. Tendou clicks his tongue as he scratches his head. “I bet it’s Kageyama!” someone yells and Tendou furrows his brows, “it’s not!” he says and he hears you giggle. It’s hard to hold back a pout at that.

“Then who are ya here for!?” another kid yells, a menacing look in his eyes. He sighs, defeated as he slumps a bit. He then lifts his hand to point at you, and almost whispers your name out loud.

You gasp and the kids cheer.

After the endeavor of dealing with all the excited kids, you’re finally alone together. Tendou feels like he’s sweating buckets, trying to contain his awkwardness and general air of uncomfortableness. You relax in the tree next to him, your head rested on your knees. You’re getting to know each other a bit before you turn your head to him, tilted sideways by your position and ask, “where have you been all my life?”

Tendou swallows thickly, looking at anything but you before he decides to hell with it, he should be able to tell you the truth. The moment he decides to be honest with you, his brain also loses the ability to sugarcoat words it seems, as he simply says, “hiding from you.”

This takes you back and your eyes widen for a moment. Then, to Tendou’s surprise, you just start laughing, hiding your face in your knees again. He starts to apologize and tries to explain but you dismiss him with a wave of your hand before you look up at him again, “well I’m glad you’ve stopped hiding, then.”

The smile you send him is so bright that he feels his ears grow red. This is the first time such a gentle smile of yours is directed at him, and he feels the beat of his heart skyrocket. He takes in a mouthful of air, “me too.”

#jfkdsf i hope this made sense!!! i honestly wanna write so much more for this...... it seemed fun #tendous so cute!!! i feel like he wouldnt care abt him being weird to anyone BUT YOU! hes like. oh shit oh fuck [stumbles over his own weir #ness] IM NORMAL #ykno? he'll open up gradually tho <3 #thank you for requesting him!!! this is my first time writing him so i hope i did him justice !!!#haikyuu x reader #tendou satori x reader #writing game #nohr.writing #nohr.hq #i have six more requests btw #i still have five more requests and im off the entire day!!! <33333

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perladivenezia · 8 months ago

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moral-cipher

Bianca’s comment caused a small flare of irony in his dark eyes. “Do you think so? I don’t. We are… incompatible, as they say.” A blunt statement, dressing in a veneer of cut-and-dried simplicity the painful knot in his heart that was Marius. He crossed his arms over his chest, where they stayed until Bianca gently pried his hands loose to wrap them in her own. “We’re going in circles, I see. I am all too aware of all those things. That a part of me may wish for… an attentive ear, for some open and deep exchange… does not mean I’m so foolish as to think it’s possible. I’ve long since given up on this course of action. But you, carissima sorella… You continuing to watch over him, knowing you can do very little, this is the very thing which concerns me. You’re clever enough to guard yourself, but what about your heart?” He watched her closely as he spoke. “Can you tell me honestly that it’s in no danger?” Bianca had always been a beautiful liar; just as he had always been a beautiful cynic, even when they were barely more than children. But he had never thought she was lying to him, just as he had never sought to reveal the extent of the ossification of his soul to her. It had been them against the greedy world. They were both walking a tightrope tonight.

Bianca wondered what Armand would seek in such a dream, what kind of truth was he after that he could obtain from a conversation with Marius. What did he want to tell him and to what end. Her friend was braver than her, this she had always known. She didn't want such a conversation. Let them be cordial, even friendly, let them talk about anything trivial, about the flowers in the gardens, about old books and operas, let them dance, yes, definitely. But let them not go further lest they might not know how to return.

Her hands dropped their hold on Armand’s as soon as he uttered the first question, escaping to fold into each other instead. A fleeting, unease smile flickered on her lips, an instinctive reaction that was discarded immediately. Armand seemed determined to corner her tonight and she won’t hide from him. This meant she made no effort to keep up the smile or appear unbothered by the question and that her gaze, though still open and warm, showed an accusatory edge.

“Will you believe me if I tell you that indeed, it is? I know you won’t. You are too clever to believe poor lies, caro, or to dare imagine our hearts are ever entirely safe. If you want to hear that I am aware of the danger, I am, how could I not be? But I... I’m confident in this hard-earned awareness that leaves no room for lies or illusions; I have given Marius everything that I can give him and he has given me everything he wished to give me.” and it hadn't been enough, but there was no need to say that out loud.

Her gaze softened, her voice levelled and earnest as before “You worry about me and I love you all the more for it, but I do what I must and won't die for a broken heart"

#moralcipher #without repercussions

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leftmysoulbythesideoftheroad · 2 years ago

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hi! i’m drunk, and i love one piece so much. here’s everything i love about the straw hats (that i can think of right now):

luffy is so incredibly loyal. once he decides you’re worth something, he’ll never change his mind, no matter what. even when nami stole everything he owned (except his hat) and told his crew she wanted nothing to do with them, he didn’t care. she was his friend, his crew, his nakama. he loves her, and he fought for her without even knowing why. that’s what gets me the most; he had no idea why she wanted arlong dead. he didn’t know why law wanted doflamingo dead or why robin was on the run. it didn’t matter. he loved them, and he fought for them. he put his hat, his treasure, on nami’s head and fought for her without knowing why.

zoro is strong but not just physically or even mentally. he doesn’t show it as openly as luffy, but he loves his crew. he made luffy promise that they wouldn’t get in the way of each other’s dreams, but he would gladly die for any member of the crew, even sanji. remember when he took luffy’s pain on thriller bark and refused to let sanji get in the way? zoro is luffy’s first mate, his right hand man. he understands his captain better than anyone else on the crew, and there is nothing more important to zoro than his principles. he doesn’t like to show it, but the crew means everything to him.

usopp is brave. my dad told me when i was a kid that bravery isn’t having no fear, it’s doing what you need to do despite your fear. usopp is braver than the monster trio in this way; he’s so afraid all the time, yet he keeps going. he fights and he lies and he protects his crewmates, and the whole time he’s shaking in fear, but he does it. his dream is to be a brave warrior of the sea, but he doesn’t realize that he already is one. he has been since he lied to those kids on syrup and decided to fight kuro to protect his village and kaya. he’s so, so brave, and he doesn’t even know it.

sanji is so kind. i’m so inspired by his belief in one simple thing: no one should ever have to starve. it doesn’t matter if he hates them, if he wishes they were dead, anything. all that matters is that they’re hungry. now that we know his backstory, we can see why he treats women and men so differently. everything is exaggerated in one piece, but as someone with an abusive father and a loving mother, i feel like i understand him so well. i too have treated women as better than me in my life because of my own trauma. i get it. i love him. out of all the strawhats, sanji is my favorite.

nami. where do i even begin with nami? i remember clearly the first time i watched one piece and how i cried a little at different flashbacks. but when it came to nami’s, i sobbed. i felt like a child who needed his mother, i felt my own heart break, i felt an overwhelming need to hold her and keep her safe. the way she acted at punk hazard, her inability to turn away from desperate children and her soft spot for female marines, made me fall in love with her all over again. nami acts selfish and uncaring, but she is so full of love that she can’t hide it. she reminds me of my own sister, the eldest who had the worst childhood out of my siblings. that strength born of trauma, that protectiveness for those younger than her, that adoration of loving parental figures. i just love her.

chopper is so determined to be good enough that he’ll turn himself into a monster just to make himself useful. sweet, innocent, loving chopper. his mentor/father was so brave and wonderful, so caring, and chopper learned everything from him. even doctorine was caring at her core, and chopper soaked it all up like the world’s most adorable sponge. he’s so cute. he’s beyond brave. his reaction to what was happening to those kids at punk hazard was so real and raw. he’s what a doctor should be—a bleeding heart, kind and caring to a fault. plus his “SOMEONE CALL A DOCTOR” running joke is so funny to me.

robin. again, where do i start? she’s so kind and friendly at heart. in a way, she can be very childish in how she thinks. cute. but she’s also dark, and i think she would have been that way even if ohara had survived. nothing will ever hurt me the way “I WANT TO LIVE” hurt me. whether watching it or reading it, i cry like a baby. all she ever wanted was a family, a home, and she found one when the strawhats declared war on the government to save her. she didn’t believe she was worthy of that love, but it didn’t matter because they loved her all the same. she betrayed and killed people to survive, and i respect her so much for coming through all of that with kindness still in her heart.

franky is a bit of a wild card to me. i hated him in the beginning, and it took me a while to get over what he did to usopp. but there’s something profound in what he went through for tom. he was ready to die, should have died to save his father, and he has no prejudice in his heart. i fully believe, out of all of the strawhats, franky would the most accepting of a queer bro. i also just love that he’s meant to be american and he’s pretty accurate lmao

brooke is another one that i don’t know how to describe. he’s been through so much grief, so much pain, and he uses his own misfortune to make his loved ones laugh. think about it. his “skull jokes” wouldn’t be possible if he wasn’t a skeleton, and he wouldn’t be a skeleton without the horrific events that led up to it. he turns his pain into humor to lighten the spirits of the those around him. there’s a strength in him that goes ignored too often. the man isn’t entirely sane, and i wouldn’t expect him to be. but he’s so full of love and joy, a true example of someone coming through trauma with love and kindness, making the best of a horrible situation.

i don’t know jinbei well enough to describe him, but i do know that he’s loyal and strong and extremely principled. he’s similar to nami and sanji in that way; there are lines he will not cross, but he knows how to make hard decisions for the good of the people he loves. out of all them, he seems the least “pirate” to me, in that i think he would be happier not being one at all if only the circumstances were different for fishmen. that’s all i can really say about him as someone who hasn’t finished wano (meaning maybe we get more characterization in chapters i haven’t read yet).

anyway, i love one piece and i love the strawhats, so here’s this.

#one piece #mugiwara kaizoku #the strawhats #strawhat pirates #i also relate to sanji because i specifically believe that no one should ever die by suicide #i don’t care if i hate the person with a burning passion #i will do everything i can to stop someone from dying that way #his principle is born of trauma and so is mine

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