#reminiscent grieving

[july-19th-club]

i brought him over with me, you know. we sailed together under avery when we was kids. he was my first bunkmate. and for years, he went on how he'd got this huge stash, hidden away. and i should live to survive him, because one day, i will be a rich man. but as you know...we lost him on the pembroke. so i open his locker and what do i find? twelve pesos. a busted pocket watch. and a letter with instructions to deliver it to his sister in new york. lying sack of shit! was mister craig. so: i bought the boys a round with the pesos, traded the pocket watch for a bit of tail, and spent two weeks that winter in new york trying to deliver that fucking letter to his sister. looked high and low. never found her. so on the way home, i waited until we were in open water and i could see no land in any direction. and i dropped it over the side. returned to the sea...there are no legacies in this life, are there? no monuments. no...history. just the water. it pays us, and then it claims us. swallows us whole. if you EVEN care

[askblueandviolet]

You still think it's not your fault?

MASTER POST

Asks Start 💙🐶

Previous 💙🐶

Next 💜🩷

[p-ink-ink]

I saw your friends for the first time in years.

It was another funeral. It was hard to be there. It seems funerals are the only place old friends show up for each other now.

I spoke to Joey, he said that after your death, your old friend group fell apart.

They rarely see each other now. Three years without you and things are still so different. He wished it brought them all closer, I wished that too. It's the least we could do for you now.

Being around them yesterday only showed to me the depth of your absence. I remember being a little girl, always wanting to hang out with you and them. The "big kids" The "cool teenagers" You guys were everything I thought was cool. I was just the silly little sister back then.

But now I am around them. But you're not here. They're getting engaged now. They're settled in their full time jobs now. They're moving out of state now. They're hanging out together now, just like you'd be doing all the time as kids. And my heart breaks again to realize how much you missed in your twenty eight year life..

[pinkhairandpokemon]

Man, I miss my team. From Hisui, I mean.

Have I talked about Hugo yet? He was an alpha Bibarel, so he was like, HUGE. As big as a small bed give or take. He’d hog my futon all the time but he was adorable so it was fine.

I wish I still had all those photos I got taken of him and my other ‘mons, but the only one I managed to hold onto was that one of Ignis. There was one of my entire team I had hung up in my quarters- I wonder if it’s still out there somewhere. If it is I hope it’s still in tact… I’d like to see their faces again. Even if it’s just in photograph form.

[haedia]

And then, after the Fade prison, they're all like "Ohhhh. Okay, now that makes more sense"

I'd love to see what they all do post-canon (when things have calmed down a bit) to help Rook grieve now that they actually know. It'd probably be similar things, but actually having Rook be able to be present the way they expected originally would be nice. It'd be so sweet and tender.

Just losing my mind at the implications that the companions have all been trying to help Rook grieve Varric, and Rook doesn’t know

Emmrich, wise and long-familiar with grief, being told by Neve and Harding what happened; understanding why sometimes he overhears Rook’s muffled voice in the Infirmary, talking to no one. He takes Rook to the Memorial Gardens and mentions he talks to his parents, thinking Rook might be comfortable with the same. Rook lights candles and rings bells but Emmrich watches, sorrowed, to see Rook still seems in deep denial.

Neve takes Rook to the Wall of Light; a Shadow Dragon Rook knows just what this means but any Rook can understand the solemnity, the power of remembrance. Neve reenergizes Brom’s light and looks to Rook, hoping Rook will mention wanting to make one for Varric. Rook is kind and comforting to Neve, but Neve is lost in wondering why Rook doesn’t take the chance to open up. She can’t figure it. Maybe Rook just can’t face it, not yet. Maybe Rook does something privately. She isn’t sure but it nags at her.

Davrin’s not big on talking about feelings. He’d rather just move on. But he sees the way Rook seems a little hollow sometimes, a little distant; he sees how Rook takes so quickly to Assan. “Hey Rook,” he says, and invites them to come with him and Assan to safe places in Arlathan, where the woods are clean and green and growing, where real sunlight dapples through the trees. Rook always seems to love these outings, seems lighter afterwards. But Davrin feels a little confused in that Rook never seems to realize the outings are mostly for them.

Taash is another person not big on feelings. But they know how much feelings can twist you up and mess with your head. When Lace tells them about Varric they feel badly for Rook, and think to how they feel when they’re struggling. Epic fights, dragon fights, drinks with the Lords. Taash is perfectly capable of doing all that on their own. But maybe bringing Rook along will help get them out of their head a little bit. Does it help? Taash isn’t sure.

Bellara’s double-versed in grief after what happens to Cyrian. Rook helped her through trying to reach him, and Bellara wonders, in her own pain, if she can help Rook a little bit too. Especially if Rook is elven, teaching Rook about the braziers and the challenges is another tool she can share about her or their people, another way that might help Rook with their grief. Neve’s told her that the Wall of Light didn’t seem to help Rook much, but maybe a different funeral tradition could help them instead. Rook helps her light the braziers and Bellara feels her heart lightening, though she wonders at Rook, who seems more moved by Bellara’s reactions than anything else.

Lucanis is nearly as allergic to dealing with feelings as Davrin is, but he immediately clocks how Neve and Harding are acting, and asks what happened before he joined them. They tell him about Varric and that they’re worried about Rook, that Rook seems to just be shoving those feelings down without dealing with them. Lucanis is no stranger to that, but while it’s fine for him, he doesn’t want to see someone who risked their life to save him share that struggle. He brings Rook to Caterina’s funeral planning to show Rook it’s okay to admit the loss and honor it. When that doesn’t seem to make a dent, he falls back to his standard - lavish meals, small gifts, coffee. He knows it would help him. He just wishes it helped Rook too.

Lace hurts the worst after losing Varric and Lace is where Solas’ magic comes the closest to faltering. Rook can see Lace is down, she’s quiet, she’s afraid after what happens with the gods escaping; but Solas’ magic holds and Rook can still never see quite why. Lace would love to sit over drinks one night and share stories about Varric, but she sees that Rook doesn’t seem ready, and she doesn’t want to push. Instead she writes letters to Ma, to the Inquisitor, to Cassandra, to Aveline, maybe even to Hawke. She writes out her stories with Varric’s old quill and she carries a bolt of Bianca with her. A dozen times she goes to talk to Rook about him, and when she tries Rook turns away or changes the subject. It hurts, but Lace knows she can’t make Rook talk about him, and she hopes in time it will get better.

This just absolutely crushes me the more I think about it 😭

Edit: Varric’s death is Rook’s personal companion quest every other single companion tries to help them with, and can’t 😭😭😭

[ouellette]

i hate snapchat memories STAWP showing me photos of myself from 3+ years ago i can and i will have a mental break

[sassyandclassy94]

When you’re blamed for something you didn’t even send

[summertime--butterflies]

I haven’t touched this blog in years and I don’t think I am emotionally prepared to skim through my 1d tags of memories

[rosemaryfemme]

i see it with the adult perspective of yeah okay that my feelings on this are based on a parasocial relationship but also it’s just like. this thing brought me joy and frankly still does and at one point the public persona of this individual did. even seeing tweets of his tonight while i’m deep diving made me cackle

[angelicwhimsy]

forever reminiscing and grieving the girl i could’ve been 🪽

[aria0fgold]

Been thinking bout caiowe and ngl no matter how I try to spin and shake them I don't think they fit at all with the vibes of Sirius' Heart so alas! My reign of angst terror has been put to a halt and ended with jokid.

[simp4fictionalmenandjesus]

Imagine platonic yandere batfamily with a 'shallow' reader.

To set the scene, you join the family at 15. You’re old enough to have the capability to take care of yourself, but you’re young enough to want someone to take care of you. (I’m thinking she has a wealthy-ish background, not socialite level, but she’s be the richest kid at Gotham high school (public school).) You’re the result of one of Brucie Wayne’s many love affairs that somehow slipped under the radar.

your mother was a more of a logical person, raising you to follow your brain more instead of your heart. But she still taught you to be empathetic. Unfortunately, she dies in a car accident.

Your picked up by the Wayne’s and there’s immediately hostility between you and your new family. On the background check the bats had done, most evidence was pointing to you being a shallow teenage girl.

It didn’t help that the first thing you did upon arriving to the manor was force everyone into a selfie on Snapchat. Damian had to be held back from stabbing you.

The next thing you did was ask about your allowance, and then proceed to squeal once you were handed a black card by Bruce.

Once you excitedly left to your new room, Dick reminded everyone that people grieve in their own ways.

Family dinner was painfully awkward that night. There was no way that the Wayne’s would talk to you about any bat related activities, and when Bruce tried to ask you about your hobbies, you went on a 30 minute rant about designer products.

It was like having one of Bruce’s suitors constantly around.

Everything about you was shrill, high-pitched, loud and out of touch.

It’s your lack of grief thay really gets them. At your mother’s funeral, you didn’t even shed a tear. Your speech was cantered around how your mother had accomplished a lot, but it came off more as an employee describing a boss than a daughter reminiscing over her mother. When Bruce had softly asked you if you wanted your mother buried or cremated you shrugged your shoulders. “Do whatever, I don’t care.”

Now, your family is convinced that you’re a sociopathic stereotypical mean girl.

You can’t really blame them for thinking that as how would they know about the silent tears you shed every night. Keeping a front up was taking its toll on you, and even your usual coping habit of shopping wasn’t helping you feel better as with every item you add to cart you stop yourself from finding your mother to ask for her opinion on it.

After you fall asleep in tears, you’ll wake up and force yourself to forget.

———————

(Also reader’s speech at her mother’s funeral isn’t that heartfelt because she doesn’t want to share her personal memories with a room of people who she barely knows. Those are her memories. And the idc reply to whether the body is cremated or buried is genuine, to her the body isn’t her mother anymore so whatever happens to it doesn’t matter. She’s more concerned about keeping her mother’s belongings in good shape.)

———————-

A couple of years pass and you’re graduating high school. Your grades are average and you apply for a fashion degree in Metropolis University. You’re not ashamed to admit that the power of nepotism definitely helped you in.

You look in the crowd for any sign of your family, and wave happily at Alfred. Do you care that no one else showed up? Not really. You didn’t need to be love. You loved yourself to make up for any of the love you lacked.

Sure, in your first year at Wayne Manor you were upset at the fact that you were never invited to things unless they were public events. But you couldn’t really complain about it, because when you did throw a tantrum and got your way, Bruce invited you to movie night which was painfully awkward as you sat on a lone arm chair while everyone else snuggled together. And the whole night you for side eyed by everyone.

The next family movie night you were invited to, everyone cancelled.

You suppose that the Wayne's and you were too different to get along.

After attending a week long spree of parties, going on a grad trip with your friend group to Ibiza, you came home to a practically empty mansion. Alfred was the only one there.

You appreciated the butler, he was the closest thing you had to a father. He hugged you tightly, before he dropped you off at the airport to fly to metropolis.

-------------------------------------

A year passes, you show up to the Wayne Manor at Alfred's request. Everyone is there.

And everyone is really nice.

Huh.

---------

Yea im turning this idea into a proper fic but I'll probably make shallow reader way cyuntier.

[slayingfiction]

List of 400+ Dialogue Tags

Below is a full (but not exhaustive) and updated list of dialogue tags. Dialogue tags are a widely debated topic for writers, some saying you should only use said, others arguing the opposite. You will get no opinion for me—only a list to use as you wish :D

Some words may differ in categories based on context.

Expressing Agreement or Confirmation

Acknowledged, Admitted, Affirmed, Agreed, Apologized, Confirmed, Conceded, Gibed, Professed, Reassured, Verified, Vouched

Initiating or Continuing Conversation

Added, Began, Chimed In, Commented, Continued, Conversed, Discussed, Elaborated, Greeted, Interjected, Offered, Proposed, Remarked, Went On

Making a Declaration or Announcement

Announced, Attested, Declared, Decreed, Emphasized, Enunciated, Proclaimed, Revealed, Stated, Voiced

Formal or Deliberate Communication

Chanted, Concurred, Observed, Postulated, Preached, Put Forth, Reasoned, Surmised, Testified

Indirect Communication 

Digressed, Hinted, Implied, Insinuated 

Providing Information, Explanation or Speculation

Alleged, Articulated, Asserted, Clarified, Doubted, Equivocated, Explained, Guessed, Imparted, Informed, Lectured, Noted, Predicted, Quoted, Recited, Reported, Theorized

Expressing Doubt or Uncertainty

Doubted, Faltered, Guessed, Hesitated, Pondered, Questioned, Speculated, Wondered, Ventured

Seeking or Giving Advice

Advised, Coaxed, Proposed, Recommended, Remonstrated, Suggested, Supposed, Urged

Animalistic

Barked, Croaked, Growled, Hissed, Hooted, Howled, Hummed, Roared, Snarled 

Expressing Discontent or Frustration

Complained, Fretted, Grumbled, Protested, Ranted

Demonstrating Authority or Command

Avowed, Commanded, Crowed, Decided, Demanded, Dictated, Directed, Insisted, Instructed, Maintained, Ordered, Pressed, Proclaimed, Reprimanded

Displaying Confidence or Assertiveness

Asserted, Assured, Boasted, Bragged, Claimed, Piped Up, Pledged, Spoke Up, Told, Vowed

Exhibiting Anger or Aggression

Accused, Bristled, Challenged, Cursed, Erupted, Exasperated, Fumed, Groaned, Huffed, Raged, Seethed, Snapped, Spat, Stormed, Swore, Threatened, Whinged

Displaying Sadness or Despair

Anguished, Bawled, Bemoaned, Blubbered, Cried, Despaired, Grieved, Lamented, Mourned, Sobbed, Wept, Whimpered, Worried

Persuasiveness 

Appealed, Begged, Cajoled, Convinced, Persuaded, Petitioned, Pleaded, Prayed

Conveying Fear or Worry

Cautioned, Entreated, Gasped, Quaked, Shuddered, Stressed, Trembled, Warned

Softly or Quietly

Breathed, Called, Crooned, Murmured, Mumbled, Muttered, Sighed, Whispered

Loudly or Forcefully

Bellowed, Boomed, Cried Out, Hollered, Screamed, Screeched, Shouted, Shrieked, Thundered, Wailed, Whooped, Yelled

Demonstrating Disgust or Disdain

Cringed, Gagged, Griped, Groused, Rasped, Scowled, Sneered, Snorted

Expressing Mockery, Disrespect or Sarcasm

Dared, Imitated, Insulted, Jeered, Mimicked, Mocked, Ribbed, Ridiculed, Scoffed, Snickered, Taunted 

Doing Annoyingly

Gloated, Goaded, Nagged, Pestered, Provoked, Sassed, Tattled

Emotional or Expressive Communication

Grunted, Mewled, Panted, Quavered, Sniffled, Snivelled, Squawked, Whined, Yowled

Showing Empathy or Comfort

Comforted, Consoled, Empathized, Soothed, Sympathized

Indicating Thoughtfulness or Reflection

Contemplated, Echoed, Mused, Pondered, Recalled, Reflected, Remembered, Reminded, Reminisced, Retorted, Reiterated

Expressing Humour or Amusement

Cackled, Chirped, Chuckled, Giggled, Guffawed, Jested, Joked, Laughed, Quipped

Revealing Information

Confessed, Confided, Divulged, Disclosed, Expressed, Hinted, Revealed, Shared, Spilled, Uttered

In a Flirtatious Way

Bantered, Cooed, Flirted, Joshed, Moaned, Purred, Teased

Demonstrating Surprise or Astonishment

Gasped, Marvelled, Yelped

Indicating Hesitation or Reluctance

Faltered, Hesitated, Stammered, Stuttered

Engaging in a Dispute or Argument

Argued, Bargained, Bickered, Contended, Debated, Disputed, Negotiates, Objected, Rebutted, Shot Back

Showing Enthusiasm or Excitement

Beamed, Blurted, Cheered, Exclaimed, Gushed, Raved, Rejoiced, Sang, Squealed, Trumpeted

Expressing Approval or Praise

Applauded, Complimented, Encouraged, Exhorted, Extolled, Lauded, Praised

Speaking in a Continuous or Repetitive Manner

Babbled, Chattered, Jabbered, Rambled, Rattled On, Repeated

Questions and Answers

Answered, Asked, Cross-examined, Inquired, Implored, Probed. Prodded, Prompted, Queried, Questioned, Quizzed, Requested

Expressing Criticism or Disagreement

Challenged, Chastised, Chided, Condemned, Corrected, Countered, Criticized, Deflected, Demurred, Denounced, Scolded

Negative or Deceptive Communication

Denied, Droned, Exaggerated, Interrupted, Lied

Finishing the Conversation 

Concluded, Finished, Thanked

Neutral or Miscellaneous

Admired, Consented, Foretold, Invited, Mentioned, Mouthed, Pointed Out, Replied, Said, Sputtered, Volunteered

Happy Writing!

[burytheruby]

S W E E T N E S S

𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺

IN which your dear husband returns home after a long, long week away from you.

OR: Simon never goes a Valentine's Day without you.

WOOHOO VALENTINES SPECIAL!!!

MINORS Do NOT Interact.

Warnings: fem! wife! reader, ooc, canon divergent, implied smut, nothing else just sweet fluff. WC: 1146

English is my second language.

a cold hearted bastard, is what he gets called by the man below him, the one with the muzzle of the gun firmly against his temple; he gets called heartless and stoic by the recruits around base when he yells at them to train harder and not be absolute bloody muppets; he calls himself callous and brutal when he's out in the field fighting for his life, crawling his way back home to you.

with you he's none of those things, he's not a bastard—well, not in a way to hurt you. he's a bastard when he grins down at you, standing over six feet with your favorite cup over his head. he's heartless when he doesn't let you put your cold feet against his own with a grunt of annoyance and fondness. he's brutal when he's deep inside of you, holding your ankles up as he sets an unforgiving pace to let out the stress of a mission gone wrong.

but he's also soft, gentle as best as a burly man like him can be. soft kisses to your temple every morning and every night that he's home, spinning you around the living room with a smile on late evenings with your favorite music on, hugging you from behind and resting his face on the crook of your neck with soft nips at your supple skin. he's soft when washing your body his calloused hands working through your hair with practiced ease, mumbling sorry's for being too rough with you and leaving a little too many marks over your body.

those are Simon's favorite memories to reminisce on during times like these, miles away from you with a shoulder injury and a snappy Johnny muttering nonsense in Scots language. "English, MacTavish." Ghost grunted, yet his eyes were distant. he missed you, simple as that. Johnny took notice of that, and unfortunately, he isn't known for keeping his mouth shut. "aye, L.T., thinkin'o yer missus?" that only earned him a cold side glare from Ghost, but it was Simon who spoke, the man who came back home to you instead of the big bad lieutenant.

"she..." a pause, and for a moment Johnny swore a flicker of vulnerability escaped Simon. it was short-lived, soon the stoic expression returned to his dark eyes. "focus on the mission, Johnny." it was all he said as he shook his head, sitting up from the cramped space of the safe house's bathroom. "so we can go home."

𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺

your soft hums were the only sound in the silent living room, laying on the couch with a blanket draped over you and a cup of your favorite beverage on the coffee table. with a book on hand and the soft, warm glow of the tiny lamp (that you asked Simon to buy it off a sketchy vendor) illuminating the words on the pages and the features of your exhausted face. yet you couldn't sleep, not when the clock ticked almost silently on your wall, the hour currently set in the darkest of the night. you couldn't sleep now that it was Friday and also Valentine's, and you hadn't heard from Simon since the day he left a week ago.

but your book slips from your fingers, falling face down onto the floor and you know that once you're back into consciousness you'll grieve the crumpled pages. for now, those thoughts are drowned, buried along with other thoughts and concerns.

the rhythmic thumping against your ear and the sudden warmth engulfs you like an embrace, the familiar scent of Simon's clothes filling your nostrils and bringing you that needed comfort you crave when he's away. but you were sleeping in the living room, weren't you? when your vision returns, with your eyes fluttering open and the cramp of your arm bent in a weird way that only happens while sleeping cuddled up with Simon, you knew

there he was, his balaclava discarded on the coffee table, the frown of his brows permanently etched on his features, and his tattooed arm thrown around your waist, unconsciously pulling you impossibly closer with a low hum. you tried to shift under his weight, barely freeing your crushed arm from his bear-like grip. "Simon," he hummed again, though you doubted he actually heard you.

your hand cupped his jaw, feeling the growing stubble he had grown during that week pricking at your fingertips when you pressed against their growth. "sweetness," his voice caught your attention, glancing down to find his eyes already on you, half lidded and still groggy from sleep, yet always on you. "darling, me dear," he continued, making you smile and roll your eyes playfully when he rolled to be on top of you. "happy Valentines, love." he said, your eyes widened when you realized it was indeed still Friday.

"I've got ya favorite flowers, an' a souvenir, hm..." he was falling asleep again, you could tell by the subtle way his muscles relaxed. "let's go out for dinner, yeah? an' we can finish that bloody show, an' go to the new market." you knew he meant every idea, and he would fulfill them—hell, he'd swim the English Channel if you asked him to.

"Simon," you caught his attention, and for a moment he lost his breath. you were gorgeous with your hair tousled, the slight redness of your cheeks from being too warm under him and the blankets, and even the tiny frown you seemed to wake up with because you disliked early mornings. everything about you is perfect. "don't got to do all that, dear, as long as you come back home to me, we've got time."

the old Simon, and even the Lieutenant Ghost, would make fun of current Simon for going so soft over a wee thing such as yourself. he wouldn't admit it out loud but damn it he loved everything about you. he loved the way your fingers outlined his sore back as you reprimanded him over the bloody shoulder injury you noticed immediately. he loved the tiny kiss to his cheek, the "missed ya's" and "love ya's" from both of you.

his lips found yours, effectively silencing you. your lips, so soft against his own slightly chapped lips, brought him the comfort he didn't realize he craved like a starved man. his hands found their way under your—his shirt, squeezing your hips and roaming up and down the warm sides of your body. the sound of your laughter when he touched that sensitive spot near your ribs made his heart flutter, and as he always did with you, he smiled. a genuine smile filled with tenderness for you, a look of affection even when he squeezed you under his weight and you squealed in surrender.

a heart that belonged to you, coming back home was everything he needed to fix that heart of his.

𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺

happy valentines everyone 🩷

[whatareyoudoingwithamaserati]

I used to be interesting. I used to be able to box. I used to play basketball. I used to play trumpet. I used to play guitar. I used to be able to line dance and layup and hit the occasional three-pointer. I set a goddamn 30 meter dash record. I used to run just for the fuck of it. I used to rollerblade. I used to swim. I used to be able to work in a woodshop without assistance. I was learning how to fucking weld. I was going to learn how to play bass. I used to be able to play video games without dulling the difficulty or having to take breaks. Now I just sit at home and sleep. Now I’m mostly bedbound. Now all I can really do is write and crochet. None of this is fucking fair.

I don’t think I will ever be able to get over the fear and resentment of the fact that I will forever be the boring one in every friendship I make. Like, not only do I have to cope with the fact that I Can’t Do Things anymore, I also have to cope with the fact that everyone else Can. The most exciting thing that’s happened in my life is that I took a shower (and then had to lay down for two hours afterwards) - I don’t get to have fun stories or go out to fun places without severe consequence. I don’t leave leave the goddamn house. I spend half of my day sleeping and the rest of it in bed with about an hour to do hobbystuff every day. I have a boring life, and I’m boring, and not only do I hate it, it scares me to my core that the people around me will realize this and then leave me because of it