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groenendaelfic · 1 month

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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

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theborzoiarebackintown · 3 months

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Margo being especially lovely just to rub it in my face I couldn’t make it to the big Chicago show cluster this weekend 😤

#dogblr #petblr #dog #sighthound #borzoi #margo #I’m so mad lol #if only my friend and also every other person #didn’t mind getting violently ill for 24-48 hrs #I could be there #it’s cool it’s not like show entries are expensive or anything #or hotels or travel that I’m still paying for lol #OR THE PRICELESS MEMORIES OF SEEING FRIENDS I only see once or twice a year #I’m throwing myself a pity party at least through the weekend tyvm

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jichanxo · 3 months

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all riled up

#kuwagami #takayuki yagami #yagami takayuki #kuwana jin #jin kuwana #lost judgment #judgment #jichanart #jichan'shandslipped #<- not that bad but. for the text itself #quite possibly the most labour intensive buildup for a joke i've ever made #because 1. comics+screentoning which i do almost never #and 2. drawing fights which i do literally never #worth it tho because it's funny #but i had to promise myself not to fuss too hard over this or i'd never do it #suffice to say trying new things is difficult but i did my best #sorry. trying not to throw a pity party over here but my point is... working hard for my silly kuwagami joke #no time to be upset over inconsistent line sizes. only kuwagami

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lesboguy-moved · 2 months

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i'll be real y'all.. i won't get too in detail since my vent blog is for that but i am so, so incredibly lonely and i don't think that's ever going to change. i don't think i'll ever feel loved again. not in that way at least. which, you know. i can learn to live with. but it does make me sad

#🦇.txt #and that's aaaaall i'm gonna say tonight! because i already said too much #and i don't want to throw a fucking pity party for myself #god. fucking miserable right now

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booksandabeer · 3 months

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Ugh seems like I caught the mother of all flu bugs.* I think I haven't been this sick in years? Feels like there are tectonic plates shifting behind my forehead.

Please send soup. Or maybe a cattle gun.

*not covid though, so yay...?

#yeah i'm totally throwing myself a pity party here; vegging out on the couch and listening to joni mitchell.#even the cat has abandoned me bc she doesn't understand that i'm coughing and not shouting at her...😩

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bigbadjackal · 7 months

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Why did I have to go looking back through the sculpting progress posts about my standing Wepwawet jackal? I’m now thinking I should really get that sledge base with Uraei moulded and cast one of these days, if even just for myself. 😒 There’s nothing wrong with the lovely black walnut bases I have, but seeing the sledge and the Uraei makes me feel like it’s such a shame that they never made it to the final stage. But it’s probably not even possible, I’m sure there’s additional work those pieces would still need that I’m no longer able to physically do. Man, fuck cancer and the particular way in which it’s left me disabled. There’s a standing anthropomorphic Wepwawet which has been left incomplete as well. 😔

#just me #throwing myself a private little pity party #don’t mind me

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yaoyuandaydream · 3 months

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i wish i knew how to speak of my sadness without turning it into a poem

#something something negative emotions more palatable as something to be consumed #i don't wanna throw myself a pity party so i try to project onto fictional characters instead #convoluted way of getting attention huh #thoughts

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freddyfreeman · 9 months

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Was so sleep deprived, was almost on the verge of psychosis. Found out my bf doesn’t love me, in part due to personality changes during the above episode… it’s been a week

#throwing myself a pity party ok #personal

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germiyahu · 3 months

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Aside from the general awkwardness of having to interact with like 100 people I've never met, there's a palpable nervousness to going to a shul you've never been to before. Not for me, I was also excited to be there, trying not to have expectations to what the service would be like (very traditional it turns out).

But the dedicated police officer greeting everyone at the door, though he tried not to, looked at me with just a little bit of interest, until I greeted him as warmly as my Resting Bitch Face self could. The Bar Mitzvah's mother wandered over as I walked around absorbing every detail and looking like I didn't belong there, and introduced herself. I couldn't stop myself from outright stating I was a conversion student, but the relief that threatened to bubble up from under the surface of her face was something else I caught.

I'm good at reading faces, even the tiniest microexpressions. Or that could be more delusions on my part. All the same.

A stranger walking up to your church for the first time would be met with nothing but interest and excitement. Everyone would be happy to invite you to things and welcome you to the congregation. It's not a surprise to me, and I was not offended, that the predominant emotion for a Jewish congregation was fear. Maybe not a lot of fear, and maybe not at the forefront of anyone's minds. Just the tiniest undercurrent of anxiety.

Seeing a new person show up with no warning (the Rabbi forgot she invited me and forgot my name 😭) is cause for suspicion for Jews. They have a police officer posted at their door. He's assigned to do this by his precinct. Can they trust just anyone walking in from the street? What if I were crazy, or an antisemite, or an evangelist?

But, nobody seemed bothered by my presence at Kiddush, in fact I don't think anyone other than an old lady offering me wine even noticed I was there 😭 but that's okay, I have 18 months to make a good impression and make friends. Actually, if all goes according to plan, I have the rest of my life to do that. If it can't be my charming and disarming personality it will have to be my persistent politeness and nonviolent demeanor. I'm overthinking things.

#I wasn't like throwing a pity party for myself it was just an eye opening experience #which is weird because I already intellectually knew that this is a thing Jews have to worry about #But seeing it in real time #as subtle as it was #I've been thinking about it a lot

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shibaraki · 11 months

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been feeling a lot of guilt + weird stuff about writing lately and I think it’s making it really hard for me to get back into the groove

#I know feeling obligated to apologise for this kinda thing isn’t healthy but. BLEH #idk. dw I won’t throw a pity party for myself lajdksdj

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p3xxie · 6 months

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Someone's said I'm like Wednesday from the Adam's family

Don't get me wrong, I like Wednesday

But its reminding me of the many times ppl have said they thought I didn't like them, was mean, or just a btch when they first met me :/

#i have a crap personality #and im ugly #throwing myself a pity party

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xinlight · 7 months

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I live

*punches hand out of grave to dust off my tumblr*

I dug out my tumblr pw from the pits of hell (my desk drawer) and it granted me access to this dusty place once again.

I've accumulated quite a lot of aesthetic and mostly useless photos and renders over the years so I'll be putting them here like people used to glue magazine clippings into a notebook.

#jewelry #silver #crafts #handmade #art #how does tags anymore?#i'm old and don't know how this website works anymore #throws myself a pity party #i have a love hate relationship with social media #mostly hate

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wifegideonnav · 1 year

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im :) having :) a :) bad :) time :)

#suicide tw #the urge to kms do be rearing its head rn #basically… my one (1) friend at school is dealing with family shit and will basically be unavailable for the rest of the semester #then she graduates #(and I still have a semester after that which is a whole other can of worms but)#and it just sucks all the way around #bc she’s in pain and I can’t fix it #but also… now the rest of the semester looks rly bleak for me #which is such a selfish thought and I hate myself for throwing the little pity party that I’m throwing #but like. the semester before she and I became friends I literally hung out with no one. the entire time #and I thought I wasn’t going to have to deal with that until the fall #but now. all of her time outside of class is going to be for her family. which it should!#and I’ll be fucking alone again #and I don’t know if I can do it goddamn #like god. it’s just so unfair. it’s so unfair!!!#and who knows how the semester will actually go blah blah blah I don’t CARE #i just. I’m so fucking tired #i don’t want to live like this #every time I make a close friend I lose them. every. single. time.#i don’t know what to do #I’m just. stewing in all this #personal

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enniewritesathing · 11 months

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I just looked at the poll result (that button was for me really) and uhm.

(i guess spoilers for the result under the cut and also cut to spare yall w/e I’m gonna say)

out of 20 (it was 20 bc i voted, but it’s 19... rounding it up is easier because i can’t do math woth shit lol)

no one voted for any of my early stuff. which, valid I guess because I was absolutely horrendous on formatting it -- not even ‘script’ style. lots of blanks in between shots. the only reason I didn’t go back an edit it is because I guess I wanted to keep it as a progress thing. Started from here, now I’m here, etc. That said, I can probably see someone skipping over them completely bc of that. (or maybe I’m just projecting a little bit idk). On the other hand, idk John fighting a literal demon?? how can you not vote for that lol

5 voted for The Werewolf 4 for The Incident (which I am surprised because that story as a whole has the least amount of notes... granted the CWs and subject matter(s)-- and it’s the only story I have that doesn’t have any sort of dialogue. Kind of a fill in the blank sort of deal. 1 each for the proposal and country side, 2 for multiple/other, 4 haven’t read any/or didnt like anything in particular, and 2 (minus me) wanted to see results.

I’m trying to think of a takeway here. I was shocked that I got 19 votes and usually when I poll things, the turn out is very low for the amount of followers that I have (that’s if they did it bc obviously anyone can vote). Let me put it this way, only 2.5% voted. (I think.) idk how many are actually active, lurking, or abandoned.

as a story teller (on/off), it’s... hm. I don’t know what to feel about it. I got ideas and half the time, I go through with it because I think it’s interesting. (that and putting the boys in A Situation is fun). but I also think they’re just niche (or I should say it’s not aesthetic enough with reshade and whathaveyou and I gave my thoughts in the post via tags; it’s not that far back).

It’s pretty rare i get a message about any of it and I guess the lack of feedback/comments is getting to me (or even rarer, an ask that’s a follow up question to what i posted). like yes, I want to talk about things!! future things! speculation even. anon’s on! links have the posts in chronological order! everything’s finished! i put nav links in each story post so in the off chance someone rb’s it, you can start from the beginning!

maybe it’s because of how i do things that work for me. parts are long. there’s a fair amount of reading. it’s in script (storyboard?) format. i’ve tried being short with things but it never plays out. i even went textless once -- what you see is what you get. it’s like ‘oh, i’m not reading all of that’. i have a sneaking suspicion that’s why. it’s too long. no words on pics. or maybe it’s not interesting. (visually or otherwise)

it feels like this when I’m RBing my own work

it feels bad, yall!! it’s like im begging and that sucks. sometimes I ask, why do I bother. why do I bother with tags, why do i bother with anything. rarely a story post will leave here. like, is it not worthy of like ‘hey check out this cool thing’ (or a rec list of sort? does anyone still do that?)

. . .

on the other hand, i don’t think there’s a takeaway here and i’m really way too much into this and hurt my own feelings. (ofc 🙄) it is what it is and I should just let this go and go to sleep it’s 330 in the morning

#vent #maybe? idk #i'm not fishing for anything #or im throwing a pity party i have no idea what im doing here #im upset towards myself because its like why the fuck am i like this #i really shouldnt be #maybe i care *too* much #dropping this in the dead of night like i normally do #i'm scaring the hoes (positive) away #witht his dumb brain of mine #dl

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