#no pity party for me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

groenendaelfic · 1 month

Text

Faroe Gone Final Chapter Sneak Peak

So there's still lots of editing I need to do before I can post the whole thing, but with tomorrow looming I thought I'd share something "happy" and "cheerful" to distract y'all.

Have fun reading the beginning of the final chapter and hope you enjoy! 😇

Simon doesn't know if it's the sudden fog, his tears, or the fact that all he wants to do is be a fool and turn back around again—the first one, definitely the first one—but he drives back to Tórshavn at almost a snail's pace.

It doesn't matter. He has well over a day until the ferry makes its return journey to Denmark and nothing else to do except go over his time with Wilhelm again and again, replaying the good times and the pleasurable times and wondering if he could have said or done anything to change the outcome of his journey—other than realizing that all of his feelings were mere nostalgic illusion and fantasy, which of course turned out to not be the case.

Quite the opposite. Real Wilhelm was so much more than what Simon made him out to be in his head. There's so much he's missed. So much he doesn't know yet and which he desperately wants to find out.

It hurts, and yet there's nothing else Simon can do, no other choice which wouldn't hurt more sooner or later.

No. Simon tried. He did the best he could and that is enough. It has to be enough.

Simon had to leave while he still could.

The road ahead of him is empty, no one else in sight. No people, no cars, no sheep. Nothing except the wet, cold fog swallowing up everything and a rushing noise in his ears which might be the wind or the ocean or Simon himself.

Simon blinks away another tear and keeps driving, turning up the heat and hoping it will help.

It doesn't.

On the next island he passes a camper van. It's parked, and Simon thinks he can make out a brave tourist trying to take a picture, but he isn't sure. It's not as if there's much to see except an endless wall of grayish white.

Maybe that's the fascination.

Wilhelm told him that there are thirty-seven words for fog in the Faroese language, and while Simon laughed and told him to stop kidding, he's sure he's already experienced half of them, and it's only been two days.

Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but contemplating the uselessness of taking pictures of fog is a lot more bearable than lingering on the fact that he'll never get to be with Wilhelm again, never feel that satisfied ache in his muscles, not like this, and really how long can a grown man cry before he's all out of tears?

Pretty long he guesses.

Simon once stopped Ayub's baby daughter from attempting a daring escape on all fours, and Simon swears she was crying forever. Not that he blames her.

Crying is cathartic if it's anything, but if she could produce that many tears because of nothing more than a foiled plan to explore the stairway, then how many will Simon be able to shed before he's all wrung out? He’s a lot taller than her after all and guaranteed to not forget the reason for his tears even after being presented with some candy.

Simon doesn't want to know.

Simon wants to keep driving through this fog forever, because all that's waiting for him at its end is the mundanity of his never-changing life and a scandal revealing the Crown Prince to have been the victim of underage revenge porn thanks to his second cousin and presumed successor, and that is guaranteed to make it worse, to drag Simon’s name back into public awareness.

He should probably call home and warn his mom, warn Sara, but facing them will be torture of an entirely different kind, and also the investigative journalist they chose is a good one, one bound to build a case and not blindly believe her sources before going public, so there is still time.

Not too much though, as there is an impending deadline if the Royal Court and the Prime Minister are to be believed, or at least Simon would really prefer news of August’s deeds to overshadow him being taken into the line of succession.

Not that he’s so naive as to think a mere article can do more than delay the proceedings at best—although one can always hope—and ideally the journalist and whoever else gets a say in choosing the right time will see it the same way, but all of that is still more than half a week away, so why burden his family before he absolutely has to?

No, he's not going to call home yet, but maybe he should reserve a room before he gets back to the capital.

He decides to do it the old fashioned way and pulls over at the next opportunity. A viewpoint, or so he presumes the sign a few meters away from him would tell him if only it was clear enough to see.

He wipes at his cheeks and opens his phone. There are plenty of options for him to stay at. Small, privately owned places, holiday homes with kitchens and living rooms, quaint little hotels doing their best to sell their Nordic, rustic charm to tourists wealthy enough to make it there, and of course a camping ground, because unlike Sweden, the Faroe Islands don't allow one to set up camp anywhere else.

Simon doesn't choose any of them. He wants a warm but bland room, boring and inoffensive and as likely to be in Tórshavn as on the other side of the world.

Something as far from Wilhelm's colorful and most definitely handmade and expensive wooden furniture as he can get, and so he books himself a room at the first—and only—international hotel chain he can find, something he'd never do otherwise, and pretends that he's looking forward to it. The hotel has a fitness center after all and well over a hundred rooms. Simon is almost going to feel like back home in Uppsala.

Not.

He sighs and makes sure he received a confirmation for his booking, before he throws his phone onto the passenger seat and sighs again.

Somehow, magically, or rather because he's on a windy archipelago in the middle of nowhere, the fog is starting to clear. He can see a few meters of grass now, and then a cliff, and below it the cold, dark ocean pretending at being calm.

Simon wants the fog back, but when has he ever gotten what he wanted, and by the time he's back on the road he swears he can see a tiny patch of blue sky up ahead.

The hotel is on the outskirts of town and exactly as impersonal as Simon hoped it would be. He isn't hungry, and so he goes straight to his room and falls face first into bed.

The sheets are white and the pillows are white and they smell bland and clean and inoffensive, nothing at all like Wilhelm, and why would they?

Simon hates them. Simon also hates the hotel, but it's not as if he's in the mood for sightseeing, and as he isn't willing to take a shower yet—what? He's alone, no one's going to smell him, and isn't that the entire problem?—all that's left to do is turn on the TV, because he's for sure not touching his phone again any time soon.

Not when that would mean having it confirmed with every passing minute that he was a fool to leave Wilhelm his number. Wilhelm isn't going to call, but Simon would rather live in denial for as long as he can.

The TV does not greet him with an info screen as Simon expected, but an English speaking news channel, the volume turned up way too loudly, and Simon turns it off again as fast as he can.

Wallowing in self pity it is then.

Unfortunately Simon's usual answer to bouts of self-pity—angrily jerking off to thoughts of Wilhelm—is not an option right now, because Wilhelm is the entire reason for his misery, and so he grudgingly reaches for his phone after all and starts up a game which would work much better on a computer screen.

He's just about to finish off the newest boss, when a text message pops up.

If I do it, it reads. Then can we

The sentence stops halfway through, and Simon almost has a heart attack.

The delay in his reaction is enough for him to be killed instead, but it's not as if Simon notices.

Wilhelm. It has to be Wilhelm.

He taps the message, and while that makes it larger, it doesn't change the words.

He almost calls Wilhelm back right away, because Wilhelm is swaying, is reconsidering, and Simon wants that, he wants it so bad, to have Wilhelm back in his arms and his life, but also Simon already told Wilhelm that he can't be the only reason Wilhelm returns, that this is a life changing decision if there was ever any, and that Wilhelm needs to make it for himself and not for a hope of them maybe working out, and so he doesn't.

Instead he waits an excruciating minute and then another, just in case Wilhelm wants to add something or pressed send too soon, but no further message follows.

Simon curses and swears and kicks up his feet, because now he has hope again and that is great, but also torture. He doesn't want Wilhelm to get the wrong impression, doesn't want him to think that Simon wouldn't be willing to pick right up where they left off if he could—in the bedroom that is, not when it comes to fighting—and maybe they could also go on a date which has been nineteen years in coming.

Simon wants that. Simon really wants that. How can he not, now that he's had a taste, has spent time with Wilhelm, just Wilhelm, has had breakfast with him and done chores with him and played with his dog. Simon wants Wilhelm back, now more so than ever.

Simon knows he's an idiot, thinking of romance and dating when he just left the love of his life behind, and even if he hadn't, a returning Wilhelm would have much different things on his mind. He'd have to. He'd have no other choice. Things like his dying mother and the throne and the public reacting to his return after ten years in exile.

Wilhelm wouldn't have time for Simon, no matter how much Wilhelm would want him. Not for weeks and not for months. Simon would have to sneak into an assortment of palaces with the eyes of the entire nation on nothing but them if he wanted any time with Wilhelm at all, and Simon wouldn't want that. Simon doesn't want secrecy and sneaking and lies. Not that'd even be an option, what with the press and curious bystanders everywhere.

There is another option of course. The only one Wilhelm would ever consider coming back for. The one which at first glance sounds perfect because it means being with Wilhelm and standing by his side. It would also mean giving up everything else in Simon's life though, but what has he really got to lose? Why stop being foolish now?

Wilhelm told Simon that he's it for him. Wilhelm loves him. Simon's already traveled across an ocean. What's one tiny text message compared to that? Why can't he be selfish just this once and fuck the risk and the idiocy and the fear of what will be in one year? In five? In ten?

It all might end in disaster, but it might also not, and why should he be miserable if there's even the slightest chance at some fleeting happiness. After all it's not as if the email Wilhelm sent isn't bound to upend Simon's life anyway, and it's not as if Wilhelm is actually going to come.

Simon wants to be happy.

Simon wants to be happy and now there's a chance for it and so why not take it? He's done stupider things before, like coming here in the first place, so he might as well go all the way.

He doesn't text Wilhelm a yes, doesn't make any promises. He texts one word and one word alone, followed by a number, the name of the hotel and his room number, and maybe that's the biggest promise of all.

He doesn't regret it. He couldn't stay, not without making his inevitable departure even worse, but now he's done his part and the ball is in Wilhelm's court, all the balls are, and Simon is here and waiting.

For a ferry. For Wilhelm. For the life they could have had.

Fuck.

#it was editing this #or throwing myself a pity party #because for the first time ever #I could attend all the Eurovision events live #with nothing stopping me except my own morals and conscious #so clearly I'm boycotting it all #and that's the easy choice #no pity party for me #hello editing #I'm not saying Simon is staying at the Hilton Garden Inn #but I'm also not not saying that #yes Faroe Gone will have a happy ending #faroe gone #young royals #young royals fic #fic snippet #wilmon #fic update

51 notes · View notes

lazylittledragon · 3 months

Text

do any other artists feel like. yeah you're a 'good artist' because you draw things that look nice, but like. TECHNICALLY? you're really not great

i really hate that i can recognise that yes, my art is good, but is it VARIED? is it dynamic?? is my anatomy good? is it full of texture and colour theory? do i know how to do This? can i do That? no, not really. and that's quite painful actually

#ramble #yes this is the artist's perspective bs and yes this is anxiety because it's 1am #and yes i'm forever learning and growing but also #aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.#drawing my little guys is fun but i am not good enough for the industry right now and that fucking sucks #i really feel like if i walked into a studio with my portfolio right now they would laugh at me #one of those days where i wish i'd done a more useful degree y'know #i'm going back through the phase where i don't know what i'm going to be anymore and it's scary #some days i really want to give it up and never draw again and do something worthwhile because i Know my life would be easier #and i hate that something i love so much makes me feel so hopeless #signs that i should go to bed ^^^^#i will resume my pity party tomorrow

1K notes · View notes

xamaxenta · 2 months

Text

lovewings

#marcoace #my art #marco the phoenix #portgas d ace #ace one piece #marco one piece #one piece #one piece fanart #the concept was Ace stealing him across the grandline hence the shitty map bg lmao #which my gf was laughing at like 😔 ok i thought it was a neat idea but now im just ah..#the light source is really shit btw im sorry #theres stuff i know i shouldve done differently #but i just autopiloted into a safe zone #the safe zone im fighting to get out of bc i hate the end result #anyway enjoy enough pity party from me #this was supposed to be for valentines day but i was late #how to stop feeling disappointed when u finish something id love to know

275 notes · View notes

uncanny-tranny · 11 months

Text

The sheer pity party some alloromantics expect of aromantics is really funny to me. The expectation is that we ought to feel broken or afraid that we will never be worthy of anything if not for a romantic relationship, but as the years go on, I've been so much less inclined to feel those ways.

People expect aromanticism to feel like a prison, and I think that's looking at it wrong. My aromanticism never imprisoned me - amatonormativity did. Being aromantic taught me that I can never and will never be "made whole" through romantic attraction. Amatonormativity teaches that to be whole is to be pursued, to be in love, to be possessed, essentially. Being aromantic has freed me of those expectations because I had to break those chains in order to truly understand what will make my life worth living.

I've been finding more and more that being allo will never appeal to me - I don't give a flying fuck about allo being "normal," and frankly if being normal means being allo, I simply just won't be normal.

#aro #aromantic #lgbt #lgbtq #throw a pity party for me because i died in this video game i'm playing (i am booboo the fool who refuses to eat health items)#bro why must i be so fucking stubborn like. 'ooh look at me i'm at three hearts but i won't eat the hoards of health items i have.'#like. come ON.#but yeah. if somebody expects me to be groveling about how i'm not alloromantic and allosexual i will chase them and bite them #i will make sure they have to get a rabies shot (hyperbole but you get the spirit of how strongly i feel about this)#like i'm not even *that* aro but i still hate the idea that i need to be mournful about it. i'm celebrating this actually #it's one less thing for me to stress about yo

966 notes · View notes

beanghostprincess · 3 months

Note

Shuggy from Mihawks perspective must be so funny because he knows both of these idiots. I choose to believe he’s actually more perplexed when Buggy tells him (drunk, way too drunk. overly emotional.) that he has feelings for Shanks than it would be the other way around.

Usually people are flabbergasted when they realize Shanks is in love with Buggy of all people, but Mihawk just looks at the clown sobbing and his head lying in a puddle of his own tears on the floor and tries to reconcile the image Buggy has of Shanks “brilliant, shining, like the sun, the one I would have followed till the end, the one I looked at and realized I could never compare or be worthy off” with the mental image Mihawk has of Shanks.

“Powerful emperor not to be underestimated. And yet the last time I crossed paths with him he was nursing a hangover after a night of drunken hedonism and awoke to me tapping my sword against his boot with a confused grunt, like an inebriated hog, before yawning and scratching his privates shamelessly with his remaining hand before he even greeted me."

Why's the drama between Shuggy and Cross Guild quite literally the lesbian teenage experience in high school? Because I swear to god I think I've seen this film before (in my own life. Hey). Mihawk is so,, Tired,, The thing is Buggy sees Shanks like that because he won't stop comparing himself to the things people around him say about Shanks. And he knows Shanks is a fucking loser but the jealousy and the love he has for him still remains. Mihawk is more brutal with his opinion on Shanks. Like yeah, talented pirate, but really? Him? Buggy? C'mon. Even you deserve better than somebody who dresses in pants that look like my grandma's curtains.

#this was an excuse to say i hate shanks' clothes bc boy what are those #mihawk having to deal with both of them is just like any drunk girl in a party dealing with a typical break up #not that it has happened to me shut up #at least i am not mihawk in this scenario i pity those people i am the one getting drunk lmfao #anyway give mihawk a fucking break from these two please #one piece #dracule mihawk #buggy the clown #red haired shanks #shuggy

98 notes · View notes

djs-sideblog-for-pog-trains · 2 months

Text

so. um. @mean-scarlet-deceiver's post about thomas and henry's relationship has been living in my brain rent free for the past month and i have been turning over a scene for just as long.

so. i tried to write it. i hope you don't mind, jobey. and also you're right. they are Hard to get right. if i had to put an era on this i'd call it BG (Before Gordon).

about 1.5k, full fic under the cut

--- --- ---

Thomas keeps shooting glances at the sheds as he bustles around the yard.

It… the hired help from the other railway, the engines who are slightly too full of themselves for Thomas’ liking (and he’s made sure to let them know as such) have been talking loudly all morning, as they were getting ready to take their trains, about… the new engine.

Henry. Even if he couldn’t have remembered Henry’s name, the other two have been saying it loudly enough to carry around the yard that Thomas certainly has the picture now. And… Thomas’ lip curls as he hears their newest comment as he goes past.

“Hey!” he calls, boiling over, and the two hired engines look at him. “It’s 9am already. Are you going to actually go take your trains, or are you just going to sit and preen all day?”

“What would you know, little Thomas?” one of them calls back, all smarmy and smug. Thomas’ lip curls even more into a full on frown. Eugh. Tender engines.

“About running a railway on time?” Thomas snaps back. “Clearly more than you! Are you waiting for Sir Topham Hatt to personally invite you, or?”

They huff and sneer and pout at him, but they do still steam off one by one. However, they each shoot Henry a knowing and cruel side-eye as they go that makes Thomas bristle, despite himself.

Henry is still in his berth in the sheds. Well, he’s half-in, half-out. He only seemed to have made it so far before he… stopped. And he’s been going all sorts of shades of red as the others’ gossip had gotten louder and louder as he waited for his driver to return with an engineer of some sort.

Henry isn’t looking at Thomas now, but his eyes had snapped to the tank engine when Thomas had spoken up. He’s instead closed his eyes, puffed out his cheeks, and seems to be trying – and trying hard – to… to what? To move?

Thomas tries not to stare, as he moves trucks into the siding they’re expected to be found in. Why is he trying so hard?

Eventually, Henry does actually move – but he… Thomas frowns again. Henry moves backwards, back into the shed. The wheesh Henry lets out as he comes to a halt is limp and weak.

Henry has been here, what, all of a month, maybe two at this point. Thomas hasn’t heard… many kind things, actually, so far, which is weird because look at him. Henry’s huge – Henry’s the biggest engine Thomas has ever seen, and he’s surely powerful to boot.

But Henry… Well, Edward said that Henry is sick, and sick often.

“Why?” Thomas had asked, as they had approached the shed. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Thomas,” Edward had reprimanded, and that’s when Thomas had realised Henry was in earshot, and clearly trying to pretend he wasn’t.

And that had been that.

Thomas had seen Sir Topham Hatt come out of his office at the station to watch Henry’s comings and goings, and more often than not with a stormy expression on his face. And Thomas didn’t get that either. Problems get the stormy expression. Troublemakers get the stormy expressions (Thomas would know). And Henry seems… too…

Thomas biffs his truck ahead of him as he turns his thoughts over.

Too… quiet? Too wallpaper? Too chameleon? Too…?

He snorts to himself. Whatever Henry is, he’s too much of it. And certainly too much of it to be a troublemaker, not like those mainline engines. It’s not like Thomas has gotten to know Henry yet, and it’s not like Henry has given him the opportunity to, either: but Thomas doesn’t get the impression Henry wants to be trouble. But he has to be… there has to be something wrong here, otherwise the Fat Controller wouldn’t be so upset.

Thomas hears a sniff from behind him as he backs down his stretch of track, and realises it’s come from the sheds.

And Thomas sighs quietly. …Then again, if nothing was wrong, Henry wouldn’t be so upset either.

“Those two,” Thomas says, before he can think, and Henry has gone absolutely silent, eyes flicking over to Thomas as Thomas pauses on a nearby siding for just a moment. “Bloody wankers, the pair of them.”

The silence holds for another second or two, before Thomas is rewarded with a shaky laugh.

“…I noticed,” says Henry.

“All those mainline tossers, really,” Thomas continues, and he keeps talking even as his work takes him all around the yard, speaking up so Henry can still hear him. “I almost wish the Fat Controller wouldn’t hire them. Sure, we need more wheels on rails, but they don’t seem to know a blazing thing about this railway.”

Henry – in the shadow of the shed – purses his lips, before he lets out another sigh, another limp wheesh of steam.

“I would hardly say I do, either,” he says miserably.

Thomas frowns, and comes to a halt a little too sharply with a big woosh of steam.

“Of course you do,” he replies, indignant. Henry’s a big engine, he should- why would he say that? Sure, Henry hasn’t been here long, but he’s a big engine, he should know plenty. “More than them, anyway.”

Henry sighs. He doesn’t argue, but Thomas’ fire flickers in annoyance as he can read of Henry’s face that Henry doesn’t agree either.

“I mean, you wouldn’t have been bought if-”

“Don’t.”

Thomas’ mouth hangs open for a second, before he closes it, blinks, and glances at Henry.

Henry looks even more upset. Great job, Thomas.

“I’m just saying-”

“Well, don’t,” Henry cuts him off again, sounding grumpier. And he’s gone from miserable to grumpy – that’s a win in Thomas’ book. “I’m particularly not in the mood to hear how I’d be more useful as a tin can.”

“The only tin cans around here are those self-important mainland pricks,” Thomas shoots back, and Henry side-eyes him – suspicious. “I’m not convinced they know what a timetable is, let alone how to read one. What kind of engine hangs around in the sheds when there’s work to… be…?”

Thomas trails off, and Henry… actually laughs. It’s tired and it’s bitter, but it’s a real laugh and it’s better than miserable.

“…Well, I want to assume you’re going to go work. When you can.”

“Optimism,” Henry says dryly. “I admire that in an engine.”

Thomas scrunches up his face. “I don’t understand you,” he says bluntly, in a way he’s sure Edward would scold him for if he was with them. “You’re miserable in the sheds, you’re miserable out on the line, you’re miserable doing nothing and you’re miserable pulling trains.”

Henry stares at Thomas for a moment, before his eyes flick away.

“If I could get out of this yard and actually pull trains, I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Thomas says, far more dreamily than he’ meant to, and he cringes a little, chuffing out of where he can see Henry’s face, because he doesn’t need to hear an earful about it from another big engine.

“…You’re small,” Henry says, slowly, not accusatorily nor really condescendingly. He sounds more …confused than anything. “…And you’re useful, here.”

“And?” Thomas snaps back, defensive. “I could be useful anywhere.”

Henry’s silent for another moment, like he’s really chewing that statement over.

Then, eventually, he surprises Thomas by saying, “…I suppose you would be better than those two.”

And Thomas lets out a sharp bark of laughter, shooting Henry a grin as he goes by, and punctuating it with a hoot and a whistle – delighted. The enthusiasm makes Henry blink, before slowly, a smile of his own spreads across his face; one that sharpens to match Thomas’.

“You’re most certainly right! And besides. You let them get to you, you let them win,” Thomas agrees. “And they’re far too useless for that.”

Henry laughs again. Thomas lets out another peep-peep and a woosh of steam of his own, pleased to have earnt it. Footsteps crunch over the gravel of the yard, and Thomas spots Henry’s driver returning with a couple of engineers in tow before Henry does, and replies to their hellos as he bustles past.

“Hello, lad,” Henry’s driver says to Henry, patting his side. “We’ll have you right as rain in no-time, alright?"

Henry sighs again, but does actually smile back at his driver.

His driver blinks in fond surprise as the engineers get to work finding the newest problem. “You’re in good spirits, all of a sudden.” Then, he glances at Thomas as the tank engine goes past. “Making friends?”

“More so finding the only engine in this yard with a thought in his smokebox, it seems,” Henry says dryly, loud enough for Thomas to hear, and that makes Thomas snort in amusement.

He does call back, “Hey, now, be nice to Edward!”

And the engineers and Henry’s driver alike seem relieved when the two engines laugh together.

Thomas watches them work to get Henry’s steam up, and Henry’s finally pulling out of the sheds a good half-hour later. Thomas whistles goodbye as Henry chuffs away.

He smiles with the satisfaction of a job well done when Henry, completely of his own volition, whistles a goodbye in return as he disappears off down the line.

Then, Thomas returns to his trucks, and gives them a good biff once more, ignoring how this time, they really shriek. He – and Henry, he imagines – can’t wait for those mainlanders’ contracts to run out.

#ttte #thomas the tank engine #ttte henry #ttte thomas #ttte fic #dj's writing #i never realised how much i rely on nodding as gestural filler in my writing until im writing engines who cant nod #i hope a) you don't mind and b) this is good #i wanted to draw this originally but it eluded me badly #i dont know if Henry would actually be that forthcoming about his self-depricating comments but ALSO he's very miserable #and probably is trying to make Thomas leave him alone via making him uncomfortable. this however does not work #mostly bc thomas doesn't believe in pity parties. unless they're for himself.#excuse the tag ramble. im thinking about them hard

65 notes · View notes

sketchy-tour · 3 months

Text

Aa realizing I'm probably just gonna have to be okay with posting sketches more often.

As much as I love pouring my heart into a piece and showing it off, I am simply not in the headspace nor have the energy to juggle big pieces and everything else.

#text post #just rambling #more like speaking into the void #haha aaa #i hate giving up on my vision but ya kno. stressing myself out for art defeats the purpose for me #a hard thing to be okay with #but im dealing with! a lot rn #so haha art cannot be an added stress or i will die /exag #im doing my best and thats okau #ill be alright btw. dont worry too too much!!!#trying so hard not to need a break #i dont wanna break :(((((#just wanna be okay #augh #anyway pity party over #insert toothless dancing gif now

60 notes · View notes

sillysadduck · 12 days

Text

I've been inactive because college but if I were to open commissions would yall help me out reblogging? I cant even afford to eat at college anymore I'm desperate 😭 a friend is teaching me how to use paypal and how the legal deal works in my country but Im gonna need some help🤫

#personal #dont want to throw a pity party here but life is hard my cat is sick and I cant afford his meds or my meds for that matter 🙏🏻#anyways let me know #also if youre interested in buying ill kiss you passionately thanks

26 notes · View notes

ccatgiri · 28 days

Text

Not to mix together two hyperfixations of mine that have literally nothing to do with one another but to me Sparrow is a very good character to analyze through the "without love, the truth cannot be seen" framework that Umineko presents. Your understanding of his actions and words is framed entirely by whether you feel love for his character or not, which might sound obvious but what I mean is that to understand his relationship with his children, especially Normal, it is necessary to keep the circumstances of Sparrow's own childhood in mind - only then can you see the full picture. This, however, implies a level of care and nuance that is probably only granted by those who already have an attachment to the character, and that's why some listeners have fallen into the belief that Sparrow didn't love Normal (at least, not as unconditionally as he could've) despite canon evidence pointing to the contrary. Without >taking the time to analyze Sparrow in-depth< (Love), >his real feelings for his children< (The Truth) cannot be seen.

And, ultimately, I think this is why Sparrow and Normal's relationship is unfixable from an in-universe perspective. Still (validly) stuck with the image of his father telling him he's not proud of him, Normal sees Sparrow's support of him as limited and conditional, which biases his perspective against him - in other words, Normal does not truly feel loved by him. In turn, and whether it's subconscious or not, this makes Normal perpetuate the vicious cycle by being unable to view his father through a lens of Love due to his resentment. He interprets Sparrow's words and actions in unfavorable manners because he, himself, is depriving them of nuance and context. Because of this, he will never be able to reach The Truth.

Umineko also proposes the idea that if someone believes in a lie too fervently, it stops being a lie and becomes The Truth. Sparrow and Normal cannot find connection because they now fundamentally exist in two different realities, each one with a different Truth. And The Truth for Normal now is, unfortunately, that it took risking his life multiple times and losing people important to him for his father to be proud.

#is this anything #meta #character analysis #dndads #normal oak #sparrow oak-garcia #sparrow oak #this is genuinely less of a dndads analysis and more me just admiring the framework umineko provided me to understand human relationships #as a neurodivergent who is very very bad at it #i feel like i kinda worded this as a pity party for sparrow but know i believe normal is 100% valid in feeling how he feels #posts that are made for me only bc the intersection between dndads fans and umi fans is literally Just Me probably #post so wordy you have to bring out the Proper Grammar as to not confuse the mooties

20 notes · View notes