#tw for death etc etc

[divineandmajesticinone]

VAN HELSING (2004) dir. Stephen Sommers

[justaboutsnapped]

.

[thesummerestsolstice]

So I think one thing that really drives Feanor is his grief– he looses Miriel, and he very clearly never recovers from that. There's the pain of loosing a parent and the added layer of Miriel's death being, on some level, a choice to leave Feanor. You can't tell me he didn't internalize the idea that he wasn't good enough for his mother to stay ay least a little. And I can't help but imagine that most of Valinor really wasn't helpful. There was probably a lot of vague sympathy with no real understanding of the situation, people who in theory thought Feanor had the right to grieve but reacted pretty badly to any actual displays of grief, and some people who insisted that Miriel chose to stay dead, Finwe and Indis were happily married, and therefore, Feanor shouldn't feel sad about it anymore. Even for those with more understanding of grief, it's still a really complicated situation. But you know who would understand Feanor?

Elrond. And the reason is Elros and Arwen– Elrond knows what it's like when someone you love dearly chooses to leave you, essentially forever, not because they don't care about you or because you weren't good enough, but because they have to make the best choice for themselves. And how you can respect that choice, and be glad that they did what they needed to, but still grieve them and the relationship you had with them. He understands those complicated feelings and how to process them in a healthy and non-destructive way.

And I'm losing my mind over this because Feanor is the one who starts the kinslayings and the cycle of violence between elves, and Elrond is the end result of all that violence; born to two refugees and raised largely by Feanor's sons. But despite all that, he's good and kind and able to focus on healing instead of pain. He ends the violence and makes a sanctuary where everyone is welcome. And he's able to do what Feanor never could, and not be consumed by his pain. And that means so much.

[mammoth-clangen]

Next

Previous

First

..... uh oh... uh... rip my fav nervous fluffball

stay tuned for part 2 (it has my fav art so far) >:3

I finished 3 pages this off-swing, I'm so proud of me. So you get a weekly page instead of fortnightly for a change uvu-b

What else did i have to say here....

Oh!! I designed a little season icon, so those will be included from now on (may go back and add a Winter one to Moons 0-2)

If u can tell what species Poppy has hunted in the first panel u get a cookie c:

Also Quiver is growing a face now, im so proud of her, good job bby!

[penwrythe]

What's stopping the possibility of a ceasefire is pretty simple. Hamas is holding 239 Israeli civilians hostage including children and the elderly. What's happening in Palestine is a travesty and horrendous. But Israel can't initiate a ceasefire from the position they're in, so we need to be agitating for Hamas to release the hostages and call for a ceasefire instead.

NO GENOCIDE IS JUSTIFIABLE

HOW DOES THE KILLING OF INNOCENT PEOPLE ON THIS EXTREME LEVEL FORCE HAMAS TO RETURN HOSTAGES??

ISRAEL'S BOMBARDMENT AND INDISCRIMINATE SHOOTING IN GAZA THREATEN EVERYONE THERE INCLUDING DOCTORS JOURNALISTS CHILDREN ENTIRE FAMILIES AND THE HOSTAGES

EVERYONE IS TARGETED

YOU HAVE HOSPITALS BOMBED HOW ANY OF THIS IS JUSTIFIED

@sarroora @fairuzfan @palipunk @wearenotjustnumbers2

You know more about this than I do.

[yearning-gay]

mom who uh. spreads my legs and keeps them open so my sister can. her umhngmh Peatnids can. sorry i need a minute actually

[hiro-doodlez]

In my future, im not there

IF YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS A REFERENCE TO I LOVE YOU BUT.. BUDDY ARE YOU OKAY

[nanaiwa]

In the end, I can't do this whole "dying" thing alone.

[twolovelyberries]

there’s a deal that i made….

[weirdo-from-bonesborough]

i gave in and now i'm re-reading wfa and i just notice that in "tournament" babs says that it's their 5th annual time doing this. however in "GCPD" the timeline shows that jason started as robin 7 years ago and tim started 4 years ago. which implies that babs, dick, and jason started a yearly mario kart tradition while jason was still alive and continued it after he had died

[vvvitch]

ominous

[herdreamywasteland]

answer please, this is an experiment

I would hands down kill someone for my little sister. Like, the police wouldn't ever stop finding body parts.

and that bastard would be alive for at least half that time-

[ds-warriors-designs]

May edit this at some point but have both normal and DF version :)

[all-or-nothing-baby]

i saw the tv glow and took a breath that was the and biggest most satisfying lung-full of air in forever and a day oh that O² oh me oh my and oh hell how i simultaneously choked asphyxiated suffocated so utterly and so completely to the sound of my own slow death but somehow still managed to drag my stiff bones home to the place that is safe though that word has a different meaning for me yet now here i am i am here stuck like a pig on a spit roasting myself in the very room i allegedly live in and can't stop won't stop staring at my notself my very wrong reflection in the cruelly mirrored on/off too-big screen friend and am crying and crying and smiling and smiling because maybe just maybe there is still time for me and for him there is there is there is is there is there is there though where is it i can't see it can't see that time and what if it's because it's run out actually run away from me what then what then what oh how about this i could just stop time again and make art of the way i've been destroyed and put back together a billion times a day all day everyday ad infinitum for my too-many years on this mad spinning rock yes what about this and what about that how about if i draw something write something with all of the snot and the tears and the sweat and the blood and the piss and the shit all of it because it is everydamnwhere all over the place hanging around or hanging on wait no no wait i know i'll just sit here instead and write this void post to my phone from my head to my phone like i'm dead dead already then i'll scramble myself like the egg that i am to wipe my face clean and put on an old shirt and comfort show and some graces whilst having at it and apologising more and again to everyone all of them every thing living dead in both worlds real and not both the ones in my head and in each and every universe the multi quantum static channel and say sorry so sorry i'm so so sorry for that and for this and for hernotmehim for your fiction and mine and for the terribly simple and complex horror that is my hellish existence a blight on all yours but it's okay even though it's really not really no more please i can't well okay just one more time yeah it's okay it's alright i'll just keep smiling keep breathing and keep dying again yeah just like this just like that because hey it's okay as it is always 10.30pm on a saturday night somewhere, right?

[selkiewife]

For me it’s the way he begins this statement not even able to meet her gaze. And then he raises his eyes and holds her gaze for a moment on the most difficult and horrifying part of the line before immediately dropping his eyes again. It still claws at me.

[rorysanderson]

[ FADING. SELF PARA 001 ]

SUMMARY: Rory has his nightly conversation with Eliza. LOCATION: Rory's porch, late evening. TW: death, grief

It’s cool enough in October that the crickets start to chirp again, rather incessantly.

Annie complains about the sound, insisting she’ll never be able to fall asleep like this for fifteen minutes straight before she eventually falls asleep like this. Rory envies a child’s ability to sleep through just about anything, including an admittedly obnoxious cricket choir.

They’re louder out here. Not surprising, considering they’re surrounded by foliage and trees more than they’re surrounded by anything industrial. Rory can accept their presence begrudgingly, if only because he knows it’s him, really, who’s the intruder here. It feels unfair Rory would hold a grudge against them for the simple crime of existing where they’re meant to exist; something Eliza had affectionately insisted to him, for a very long time, Rory knew nothing about.

He sets both cups of earl gray down on the small table out on his porch, then takes his usual seat to the left. Rory watches as the steam rises from the cup that isn’t his, carried away by the cool night breeze, off to where he can’t follow. What fills the silence for the next five minutes is the crickets’ high-pitched instrumental, the rustling of leaves against the wind, and the occasional intrusive chirp of a bird that’s not meant to be awake anymore.

Rory spins his cup between his fingers gingerly, careful not to burn the tips of them by pressing against the ceramic for too long. Eventually, he brings it to his lips and takes a sip, the heat of the tea comfortable enough to both satiate his thirst and warm his body against the dropping temperature. He sets the cup down again, tracing the rim of it, before he starts.

“Annie’s learned the word fuck,” Rory tells his girlfriend, gaze fixed on the untouched cup of tea across from him. “Keep thinking she’s not listening all the time, but that little bugger’s got her ear to the ground always,” he snorts, amusement settling inside him. “I’m surprised she didn’t learn it sooner, honestly. She’s been warned she can only say it in the bathroom, and never in front of anyone else,” his lips tighten into a warm smile. “Yesterday she broke one of her Barbie’s heads off accidentally and I watched her march straight into the bathroom and shout it,” Rory laughs, rubbing his face both tiredly and disbelievingly. “Wish you coulda seen it, Ellie.” 

His hand traces the smooth edges of the porch table. He’d built this almost immediately after he and Annie had moved to Blue Harbor, knowing he’d need a place, eventually, to sit outside and talk to Ellie. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, if the tea didn’t play such an important part of their talks. Rory doesn’t think he believes there’s anything to look up at the sky for — feels a little silly, if he tries it. He supposes there’s nothing less silly about talking to a cuppa, mind you, but at least there’s something about her there. The cup’s got a hideous neon-pink pattern printed around it, the loops largely reminiscent of ass cracks. It’s what had drawn Ellie to it in the first place, cackling at it at the thrift shop, and she’d happily drank her tea out of it for years after the fact.

Humming, he continues, “Valley’s finally told me about what happened with her and Murph,” he tells Eliza. His fingernail scratches at the wood of the table anxiously. “I’m sure she’d’ve preferred it’d been you she could talk to. Never been good at all that,” he swallows, his throat starting to feel a little tight. “Not like you, anyway.” The steam is still rising from the cup, but it’s coming in thinner waves now. “I know you’d be worried about her. I’m worried about her, too. Getting her to ask for help — it’s like pulling teeth,” he huffs, the words filled with affection despite himself. Valley and Eliza had been good friends for a reason; she reminds him a lot of her, in many ways. “I won’t keep my eyes off her,” he promises Eliza unnecessarily. “I mean it.” 

He continues to tell her about the past week — an oddity at the flower shop, an ambitious commission by a young musician, Annie’s affinity for Ms. Zakwe, her new favorite teacher. Peanut Butter’s great escape, the grand army of insects he’d been afraid he was going to have to fight, the quiet afternoons off where nothing particularly interesting happens. He talks until the steam has stopped rising entirely from the tea inside the cup, the night seemingly having cooled it down in its entirety. He talks until he’s out of things to talk about, and the elephant in the room has made its way to their porch, sitting on its hind legs. 

Rory purses his lips. He can taste his heartbeat, suddenly, with how far and fast it’s beating. He thinks he has the words, really, but they’re stuck to the roof of his mouth now, and his tongue feels heavy. 

So instead he says, “I’m sorry.”

The tears sting at his eyes almost immediately, the knot in his throat constricting so fantastically it almost feels like he’s going to choke with it. His hand grips the handle of his cup so tightly he fears, for a second, he might well and truly break it. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, wiping at his nose with his free arm. “I didn’t think I’d like him this much, Ellie.”

A part of Rory knows there’s nothing to apologize to her for — she’d never have given him any sort of grief for this, under the circumstances. Even in life, he doesn’t think there was a jealous bone in Eliza Carmichael’s body. She’d been perfect in every sense imaginable, and Rory had been at the right place at the right time, lucky enough to orbit her as long as he had. And still, he can’t help feeling like the admission is some sort of betrayal: he’d promised her, once, he’d spend the rest of his life loving her, and now — now—

“I think I’m forgetting your voice,” he admits, voice thick, blinking tears away. “It’s hard to remember it, on my own. I used to—” he clears his throat. The knot sits firm. “I used to be able to pick you out of a crowd by the sound of it. Pick apart your moods with it. And now, uhm,” his eyesight’s blurred over, suddenly. “And now I can’t even remember your laugh. I can’t even remember how you said my name, Ellie.” 

He chokes on a sob, pressing the heels of his palms tersely against his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again. He wants to tell her how different they both are from each other — where Eliza had slotted herself into the parts of Rory that had been left wanting his entire life, Jack’s somehow snuck into the crevices of what remains, content to live in the spaces Rory never filled. How where Eliza had always burned so brightly she’d blind anyone who looked at her too long, Jack slumps into himself and exists outside the lines, like a sculpture at an art museum you’re not meant to touch. How where Rory’s losing the details of Eliza he’d been sure he’d committed to memory for years, he’s slowly starting to learn the exact number of Jack’s laugh lines, the depth of his frown, the texture of his scars, all by heart. 

The love he has for Eliza burns as brightly as the first day he’d laid eyes on her. He cannot deny her that — he cannot lie to himself about it. It is, perhaps, the reason why it hurts to think of her as a disappearing memory, as a stack of carefully-wrapped canvases sitting in storage, collecting dust instead of admiration. And where Rory thought there was no room in him left, no way to make it inside himself with such overwhelming grief having taken up residence, it turns out somewhere between a shy smile from across the way while unloading moving boxes and the feeling of calloused lips soft against his own, there exists a chasm, still. 

Does this count as a broken promise, then? I’ll love you forever, but I’ll forget the details of your face. I’ll love you forever, but I’ll not be able to remember the exact curve of your smile. I’ll love you forever, but you’ll start to live outside of me bit by bit, until time takes the rest of you.

You’ve never done anything by halves, have you, Rory Anderson? Eliza had asked of him once. Her voice still eludes him — she comes through like a radio station just outside its frequency. But he does remember how she’d caressed the side of his face, looking at him with such fondness it’d spread through Rory like a wildfire. I hope you know what it feels like one day, to have the attention of someone like you.

Maybe. 

He thinks of Eliza’s insistence that the world was made up of colors Rory’s yet to discover, her firm belief that he’d see what she saw, one day — that he’d find that burst that so eludes him, and he’d know, he’d know, then, he’d found exactly where he was meant to be. 

Maybe, Rory thinks as he lets the breeze run through his hair, take whatever’s left of his quiet sobs — maybe making space for more does not constitute a broken promise, in the end. 

Maybe some things have to be felt through their absence, by the gaps in the memory they leave behind.

Maybe, actually — this is how all things are meant to be loved:

Deeply, even as they fade.