wip wednesday <3 :)
hello :) happy wednesday, hope everyone is having a nice week so far! thank you to @heybuddy-drabbles @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @zwiazdziarka @itsmaybitheway @bigassbowlingballhead @wordsofhoneydew @ships-to-sail @eusuntgratie @captainjunglegym @theprinceandagcd @getmehighonmagic @songliili @nocoastposts @magicandarchery @sherryvalli @littlemisskittentoes @kiwiana-writes @suseagull04 for the tags :)
here's a snip from "the full spectrum of human emotion" aka the proposal au aka my child aka my beloved:
They go back and forth, questions flying to fill the flight time. Alex learns about Henry’s morning routine (rigid, a bed-maker through and through) and his favorite cologne (something expensive he’s currently wearing, clean linens and fresh grass meant to drive Alex completely fucking insane), and Henry learns about Alex’s guilty pleasures (eating cajeta straight from the container while watching trashy reality tv) and the last thing that made him cry (an Instagram reel of baby goats). Many opinions are exchanged, numerous jokes made—mostly at Henry’s expense, he makes it way, way too easy.
It feels a little too natural and lighthearted and Alex is free falling as he learns more and more about Henry Fox-Mountchristen, little details that add color to his life, softening the harsh edges and melting the cold exterior. Alex feels pretty fucking good about it all, until he realizes they haven’t touched on a major topic, one that is relatively uncharted territory for the both of them.
xoxo roop
+ tags under the cut <3 and open tag as usual :)
@ninzied @dumbpeachjuice @leaves-of-laurelin @inexplicablymine @priincebutt @whimsymanaged @futureseaempress @happiness-of-the-pursuit @tintagel-or-cockleshells @cricketnationrise @tailsbeth-writes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @myheartalivewrites @onward--upward @celeritas2997 @affectionatelyrs @tinyarmedtrex @14carrotghoul @rmd-writes @anchoredarchangel @gay-flyboys @cultofsappho @welcometololaland @gayrootvegetable @rockyroadkylers @orchidscript @cha-melodius @candyspandemonium @onthewaytosomewhere @junebugclaremontdiaz @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @anincompletelist
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"Ruby wouldn't be angry at Jaune because she would understand it was Penny's choice" as if grief over losing a close friend again after going through so much to save her again wouldn't manifest in absolute rage that blocks out suicide fetish logic. The writers refused Ruby her anger not only to protect their precious Jaune, but because they think certain emotions are evil
I'm constantly thinking about Blake in V5 attributing spite to Adam as if it's a bad thing. Spite is the emotional version of "hold my beer," and is responsible for some incredible things
Lord of the Flies by William Golding is a spiteful response to The Coral Island by R. M. Ballantyne, a story with the same premise of several middle class English boys being stranded on an island. Where Ballantyne has the boys having "wonderful adventures" such as... saving women and children from being killed and eaten by the native Polynesians, Golding depicts the boys falling into savagery as time and isolation grows their paranoia to the point where they start killing each other. Golding was pissed at the saccharine portrayal of English boys as the height of humanity because he was a teacher who taught that exact demographic and damn well knew better
After a teacher said he wasn't smart enough to get into college, Huey P. Newton taught himself how to read and got into law school. When the college committees were more into intellectual talk than action, he said, "Fuck this, I'm gonna make my own group," and he did! It became an international organization that had the FBI shitting themselves! That's the power of spite, baby!!
The writers are using emotions as a shorthand for a character’s morality, which is why Ruby can't be mad at Jaune without losing her status as a hero and why Adam's anger at injustice makes him irredeemable from day one. Ruby's ptsd disappears with a triumphant smile and musical number while Ironwood's vilifies and dehumanizes him even after his death
The writers have tied "negative" emotions to evil and "positive" to good when they're neither. Emotions are a body's response to stimuli, similar to goosebumps and crying. Think of it as a "check engine" light on your car's dashboard. What someone does because of their emotions can be good or bad, but emotions in and of themselves are morally neutral
Really wish people would learn that
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💗 slow kiss / gentle kiss / inevitable / soft
Hiya Middy! Long time no see!! I hope life has been kind to you 💜💜💜
lol we're thinking on the same wavelength today @coldshrugs 😂 :>
anyway. This was supposed to be a snippet. It...did not end up being a snippet omg, it really got away from me kdlfhgjkfdhgk. It's 3:40 in the morning and this is the first piece I've (more or less) finished in like 3 or 4 months. It's just under 1,300 words. Set a few weeks after the big Endwalker finale, so vague mentions of what happened there.
[prompt meme]
nascent hope & new beginnings
The uneven rhythm of O’ravi’s cane tapping on the cobblestone announces her presence before she emerges from the early morning fog that blankets Sharlayan, and Aymeric sets aside the report he was reading, its contents immediately forgotten.
She’s starting to look like herself again, a clarity in her eyes now that’s been absent since her return from Ultima Thule. The silver and teal shawl she’s wrapped around her shoulders clashes somewhat oddly with the dark red tunic dress she wears, which in turn contrasts with the royal blue ribbon that holds her hair in a loose ponytail. It’s a far cry from the well-coordinated outfits she wears for business and battle, but it suits her.
O’ravi smiles, a little lopsidedly, a little shyly, and waves. “Hey.”
“Good morning, Ravi.” He can’t help it—he runs to meet her, and offers his arm. “You’re up early.”
“The pain was too great to stay in bed. So I thought I might as well seek you out, enjoy the fresh air.” She moves to link her arm through his but pauses, a strange look on her face. Instead, she reaches up to grasp his collar and tugs.
Wordlessly, and with no small amount of confusion, he acquiesces to her wish and leans down.
And softly, sweetly, feather-lightly, she presses a kiss to his lips.
She withdraws before he realizes what happened, content. His heart lurches like a wounded animal within his chest, his breath suddenly shaky, and she winds her arm through his as if she didn’t just send him reeling.
He can’t bear to look at her, he can’t bear to look away. The kiss in Ala Mhigo, before she set out for Garlemald—when she’d kissed him like her survival depended on it only to flee for the airship. That was moons ago, and they’d not spoken of it yet. It was never the right time.
Now, this. Against all the odds she defeated Meteion and Zenos and made it home alive, and she could’ve gone to anyone—could’ve sought out anyone she wished—but she chose to be here. With him.
Halone have mercy.
They walk together down the garden path back to the pavilion. Her gait is unsteady and torpid, but between him and the cane she’s at no risk of falling. It frustrates and distresses her to be so robbed of strength, but he’s just glad to see her up and about and alive. Safe, and free.
There’s a chill on the breeze, carrying the promise of snow and the memory of home. The long walks they took through the Pillars on the eve of battles she didn’t believe she’d return from. He lays a hand over hers, letting her clammy hands soak up his warmth. Soon, they’d go home together, and never again would she need to leave fearing what fate awaited her in far-off lands. Not if he had anything to say about it.
They make their way to the bench where Aymeric left the report, and O’ravi attempts to fold her legs beneath her only to cringe and hiss when the motion aggravates some half-dozen different wounds.
“Careful,” Aymeric says, settling down beside her.
“It never gets easier.” She leans the handle of her cane into the corner of the pavilion wall, careful not to knock it over lest its clattering disrupt the morning quiet. Her tail swishes placidly as she shifts to close the distance between them, ensuring that her arm rests against his and her leg likewise touches his.
He raises his hand slightly in silent offering; without hesitation, she twines her fingers through his.
“Aymeric,” she says, so softly it’s almost a whisper, “what do you think happens now that the Final Days are over? No more Ascians, no more Garlean expansionism, no more Hydaelyn and Zodiark…”
“Years of rebuilding, to start with. No nation was spared the destruction the blasphemies and towers wrought—in every corner of the world, entire communities were wiped out, the population slaughtered or turned, to say nothing of the state of Garlemald. We must needs—”
O’ravi laughs. “No, no, no, I meant: duty and the wider world be damned, what do you want for your future?”
Ah.
He blinks stupidly, trying to cobble together an answer. “I’ve not put much thought into it, to tell you the truth.”
In truth, that is a flat-out lie. Of course he’s thought about it. But what he wants, what he longs for above all else—he cannot ask that of her. What if the request hurts her? And, perhaps it’s selfish, but what if her answer hurts him? Their friendship is too important to take the risk. No, he will hold his tongue.
“You don’t have to have it all figured out right now,” she says, and while her smile is tender there’s a knowing look in her eye that he can’t withstand. “Just think about it for a while.”
He never has been good at lying to her. His one consolation is that she’s just as bad at lying to him.
“What of you? The world is yours now, your life is your own again. What will you do with it?”
“Well.” She straightens her spine, ears twitching excitedly, and her smile takes on a mischievous edge. “After all I’ve done, I have more than earned the right to live as I see fit. I’ve earned the right to put duty and responsibility and reputation aside—and I know someone else who has earned the same.”
“We do owe much to your fellow Scions and Warriors of Light.”
“No, Aymeric, I mean you.” She takes his other hand in her own and squeezes. “The future is ours now. Ours to shape, ours to live. After all we’ve bled and suffered and sacrificed, we need to do something for ourselves. Just this much at least.” She leans towards him, and he has no choice but to meet her gaze. “You give and you give and you give of yourself until you have nothing left. The world takes and it never gives back, and before you know it you’ve lost yourself. I know this is happening to you because it happened to me, too. You have to draw a line in the sand somewhere and say, this is mine, this belongs to me, and the world can’t touch it. Aymeric, may I tell you what I want for the future?”
The light is glinting off the gold veins that mar her eyes. Her sincerity is painful to behold.
“Of course.”
“I want you to find yourself again. I want to find me again…and I want us to do it together. I want us to walk into the future together, hand in hand, side by side. Whatever paths we walk going forward, I want us to walk them together until the end of our days.”
“I…”
By the Fury, how is he supposed to answer that? How is he meant to—?
His heart is racing, and she’s watching him with such an innocence, a kindness that’s driving him mad.
Her wish answers the question he couldn’t voice. Yet it still leaves some things up in the air, namely: will they continue to keep a distance between them? Pretend Ala Mhigo never happened and remain friends and naught more?
A deeply foolish thought—he knows what the answer to that is, even if he won’t admit it—but nonetheless…
O’ravi raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “What say you, my brilliant blue knight?” His thoughts are spinning too rapidly to be trusted now, so despite the fact he’ll likely regret it later, he follows the impulse of his heart and kisses the scar that cuts across the bridge of her nose. Let that be answer enough.
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