#this poem is speaking to the current state of my heart

[wilhelminaesque-sideblog]

i can't get my mind off of kaeya's hangout. kaeya's unending thoughtfulness and kindness. kaeya thinking of everyone from back home while he was away, missing them and going out of his way to get all of them personalized gifts. kaeya missing his family and them missing him even more. kaeya directly quoting shakespeare and thus pleasing my classic lit enthusiast self. adelinde answering the long debated question of which ragnvindr sibling was a little menace and which was the one following said menace in every step (turns out i was right amongst many who thought the same). kaeya most certainly knowing of venti's identity and venti struggling to keep his act up around him. kaeya getting albedo and klee matching gifts, a set, further emphasizing their great found family bond and his own belonging to it. crepus indulging in kaeya's shenanigans and making him his own semi-alcoholic drink as a treat. kaeya playing all the characters (the bandit, the prince...) without needing to stay in character, for it is he himself that speaks from them. adelinde knowing exactly how kaeya likes his food. kaeya - unable to get diluc's name out of his mouth - alberich. my personal headcanon of kaeya being fond of birds (enjoying birdwatching and singing to them) proving to be true. diona wanting to curse every drunkard with anemo archon's wrath not knowing that her beloved archon is a drunkard himself. kaeya's endearing and genuine love for people and being around them. the foreshadowing for kaeya's own story in the play he acted in and him admitting it resonates with him deeply, thus explaining why he knows it by heart. kaeya canonically embodying his nickname 'prince charming' and serving as an eye candy for many. kaeya's wish to rid himself of the shackles of fate, to rise above it and challenge his destiny. kaeya proudly stating his connection to diluc and crepus, without batting an eye. adelinde reminding him that he has always been one of their own, and that he always shall be. kaeya dancing the night away in a land far from home and having genuine fun. hoyoverse giving us a jeanlisa, kaebedo and kaejean moment all in the same scene. kaeya's and klee's shared childlike wonder and mutual understanding. kaeya revealing the secret behind the coin he constantly plays with. diluc memorizing every lie and excuse of kaeya's that he uses to spend time and indulge in pleasure in his rightful home. kaeya subtly implying that he only acts part-time currently (if you understand what i'm hinting at). the ending 'the grapes of warmth' being a reference to steinbeck's 'the grapes of wrath', once again pleasing my nerdy ass. diluc being protective over his staff and dawn winery family. kaeya being a typical younger sibling and taking every chance to tease the older one. venti sneezing around diona. klee's misunderstanding of the events surrounding kaeya making the situation twice as wholesome. kaeya, once more, doing everything in his power to help jean and make her work life easier. kaeya knowing the schedule of the winery staff members and diluc despite not being around as much. diluc willing to openly display another one of kaeya's gifts inside the winery. adelinde serving us a ragbros childhood story along with a nice, home-cooked meal each time we meet her. kaeya being a beloved son not only to his adoptive father, but to many. diluc's staff trying to cover for his darknight hero vigilante persona as if kaeya doesn't know about it. kaeya helping out the people in need, out of the good of his heart, no questions asked and not needing anything in return. the ragbros nation predicting plenty of scenarios, one of them being grape picking that, as it turns out, kaeya indeed participated in. venti writing kaeya a personalized poem, once again accepting him as a child of mondstadt.

#many thoughts head full #i don't think i'll ever get over this hangout #my heart will burst #kaeya #kaeya alberich #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #crepus #crepus ragnvindr #adelinde #elzer #klee #lisa #lisa minci #jean #jean gunnhildr #albedo #venti #barbatos #diona #dawn winery #mondstadt #sumeru #kaeya hangout #genshin brainrot #genshin impact #genshin impact 3.8 #wilhelminaesque

[daisyjones456]

Television on in my living

This is the first time my eyes hurt, not from the bluelight

But from the horror glimmering in it

Ghastly images of humans who look and feel like me

One for the money, two for the show, three to get ready

And the forth one was killed

Someone beside me says it's a sorry sight

Moves on to watch NFL and what not

All the story tales in the world live inside a small box

How so different they seem

We are all flesh and blood

Bones beneath skin and a heart beneath the armour

Some of us die from boredom

Some of them die of starvation and waste

The reporter with her face carved of stone exclaims

'The hostages were showered in gold and platinum'

Then killed in broad daylight with barbs made of silver

Skip the channel and you are saved

For us how easy is it to escape

The portal to escapism lies in our hands

Their hands are filled with sticks and stones and guns

So young, yet so old

So full of hope, but the eyes are filled with doom

The fat monster with his sticky hands and shiny shoes

Sits atop a jeweled throne

Brandishing statements about what he would do

Just for a second I believe him,

Because it is easier to believe than face the reality

Making proclamations in comfort is nothing revolutionary

I do it to, so does my dad, and the guy across the street I see everyday

All of us share the earth, we were told

Then why do we get it for free while they have to fight for it?

I have five homes across the world

There's a child of 3 who belongs to no one

No country, no homeland, and no mother to call his own

Things that are nightmares for you and me

Imaginations that haunt your teen

Is a normal day for the child of three

I can't do much I say, after all what power do I have to make any change

We delude our ourselves,  make ourselves weak, play the victim card,

Break our bones and refuse to mend

Just so we don't have to fight the war

Just so we can say 'I'm powerless'

How do I tell my daughter that this world is pretty and kind and generous?

When she turns on the TV, she's gonna call me a liar

How do I tell my son that the men are strong and powerful and virtuous?

When he turns on the TV

He's gonna give me a look soo murderous

I'll tremble in fear

------

In a faraway land,

A mom sings a lullaby

While a child falls asleep to the sound of a gunshot

How can I enjoy a glass of wine if it reminds me of blood

How can I read in bliss, when words are stolen from their lips

How can I feel the sun on my back, while there's someone shivering in the cold

How long can this land hold the grief and suffering

The soil is sick with blood

We are the gen-z crowd, we proudly convey

We are meant to care about deeds and feats our parents didn't even think about

But when it comes to action, we are as useless as a broken condom

The millennial and boomers in here, you haven't done anything much either

Because some of you started it in the first place

I believe that by writing this poem

I'm doing the world a favour

That I'm someway, somehow doing my part

There's that damn delusion again

Always creeping up in the wrong places

So you didn't put in a brick in the fire

That doesn't mean you didn't stroke the devil

That doesn't make you innocent

We wave white flags all around

Ask for peace, ask for love, ask for humility

Did any of you get it?

Bright Sunday morning

Reading the body count like it's a math problem

When did we become so emotionally stunted

We care about our nails and hair and suits and house and cars and perfumes and all the bullshit things that don't make any sense

But if someone asks us for a pen we'll stab them in the eye and call it a prank

--------

It's very simple the universe follows our lead

The universe doesn't make us, we shape it

By our thoughts, buy our actions, the way we speak to each other

And frankly the current state of affairs isn't surprising to me

The world has seeped our energy, it seems

We label callous behaviour as cool

And if someone dares to speak up

They are called intense and aggressive and too much

We shun them into silence

Send positive thoughts, mediate, the stars look so pretty tonight

Such bullshit!

My earth is failing and you ask me to look up at the stars!!

No, i won't sit and listen,

I won't forgive and forget,

Won't turn the other cheek or a blind eye

We have been silent for far too long

Our activism has made us weak, given us a reason to not do anything

So I won't sit and listen

I won't forgive and forget

I will be positive not because I want to ignore the venality and depravity

It's because my treacherous heart still believes

#war #poem #original poem #poetry #poems on tumblr #sad poetry #poets on tumblr #depressing shit #social justice #social causes #equality #justice #youth #child abuse #emotional abuse #stop the war #sad poem

[lychniis]

MEMORY — REFERENCE NOTES + CONCEPTS

index

( some gods were but forgotten memories ; even for him. ) there was once a god in sumeru, cursed to be forgotten. foras, who danced beneath the moonlight. foras, who walked amongst mortals and granted her wishes, who stood upon destitution and death in the face of madness. foras, who dared to love morax with her heart and soul.

AO3 SUMMARY

REFERENCES ;

🦋 — INTRODUCTION

first off, thank you to @silentmoths and @ofoceansandtombsanew for actually sitting through my mad ramblings for this fic and the story. a lot of my current notes and plot threads were actually developed while i was speaking to them and to bear that level of patience witnessing my keyboard smashing? you have my respect ( also please check out the latter's god reader fic for genshin ; her reader, amur literally has my heart ).

one of the main reasons why i’m excited about this fic is mostly due to sumeru’s lore as a whole. the reader is from sumeru, and with me being south asian, i can nerd out and add as many references as i want, both in and out of lore and straight out of historical and mythical text. this post is actually a compilation of the references i added to my story so far. i'll keep updating it with every chapter, so if you're interested in any way, feel free to drop by!

in regards to the reader; yes you could say she is an oc of sorts, but simultaneously, she is not. i think the only set thing about them other than their backstory and personality is the godly title 'foras'. the interpretation of her appearance is wholly up to you, though i may end up drawing artwork of my own of my interpretation of her.

memory as a whole, is supposed to be a tragedy, as well as a bit of a study on zhongli's character and other stuff related to the reader that i will delve into later. but loneliness and helplessness as a whole is certainly going to be a recurring factor here. also i'm a total sucker for the 'god who loves humanity but is too weak to help them' trope. think of the song zange mairii...it's sort of like that.

speaking of which, yes foras is a god similar to the ones in noragami, one of my favorite animes, who are either reincarnated humans or were born from a wish or a story. due to this, human belief and memory is what essentially keeps them alive. i think you know where i might be going from here >:).

🦋 — PROLOGUE

i. the poetry used is an excerpt of the first and a part of the second paragraph of walter del la mare’s poem, two epitaphs. there is no clear explanation on what the poem itself is about but i take it to be a reminder of human mortality in a way. the poet is basically telling you that all in all, in the end, you're going to be pretty lonely after death and that kind of struck me as morbid and funny. it does tie into the reader's story in a way, since she literally dies before being pulled out as a fresh new god centuries later.

you know, like a potato.

ii. bhasmasura is actually a demon from hindu texts, a demon who asked lord shiva for a boon after he meditated for a really, really long time. unfortunately, hindu gods weren't all that great at noticing red flags and shiva certainly did not when bhasmasura flat out asked him for the ability to spontaneously combust anyone who he touches.

shiva did realize his oopsie when said demon turned on him and flat out started chasing him through the heavens trying to boop his nose. in the end, vishnu, the guy who manages the divine balance and all ended up taking the form of one of his incarnations, mohini, who is dubbed to be the most beautiful woman in the world and effectively seduces bhasmasura.

now, being a simp, bhasmasura skips the dating stage and asks her to marry him. mohini refused and states that the only way she will accept his hand in marriage is if he replicates her dance moves to the 't'. now at the stage of near obessive simping because mohini hot, bhasmasura agrees and mohini starts showing him the dance steps he was meant to copy. he does do surprisingly well.

until mohini touches her head.

and this dumbass does too.

so he ends up reverse midas touching himself and spontaneously combusts due to his own powers. mohini then returns to the heavens as vishnu again, ignoring all the horrified stares he received. the moral of the story : don't skip to marriage without a few dates.

iii. one of the main reasons why i chose bhasmasura is mainly because of the relation between the boddhisattva and vishnu. due to years of adaptation and appropriation, hindu and buddhist gods are pretty easy to mix up or corelate to each other. in some parts of india, people might just tell you that the boddhisattva ( who is buddha's og form ) and vishnu as basically the same. it's really confusing and explaining it in depth would take a while. all in all, it's kind of similar to the roman-greek thing where they have similar gods going by different names.

the boddhisatva's incarnations are actually detailed as different stories in the jatakas. so yeah, in the archon war, rukkhadevata basically mc-killed teyvats bhasmasura XD.

iv. mahosadha is a prominent characters in the jatakas and is actually the one incarnation i'm the most familar with ( a la the amar chitra katha comics ). in the original stories, he was a really smart baby who was later adopted by a king and made his advisor at the age of seven. so yeah, smart baby. most of his stories revolve around him completely decimating evil plots and schemes.

here he is is more or less one of rukkha's avatars ( like nahida...hmmmm foreshadowing??? ), a leaf taken from the irminsul. you could say he's sort of her son, but since he is a completely separate being from her, he has more of a diciple who traverses around teyvat to collect knowledge while she manages her nation. the reader is actually his junior in this craft.

he can also talk to birds and has a pet parrot, which i think is cute.

v. 'anahita' is my stand in name for the goddess of flowers. she's the persian goddess of nature and fun fact, nahida's name is actually derived from 'anahita' which is pretty fascinating! anahita's symbol is the lotus flower ( similar to nilou's own lotus motifs ). while the recent quest did give lots of insight on the goddess as a person, we still got no name. i mean, come on hoyo, don't be shy-

vi. 'vanrani' means 'forest queen' or 'queen of the forest'. sort of a nod to the aranara's 'arayani'. he usually calls her that as a term of endearment or informality rather than using it as a formal title. it's on the same vein as say, the names 'venti', 'zhongli' and 'ei'.

vii. ah yes the monsoons. it's basically the only drastic change in weather we get in the coasts. i remember many a day kicking buckets under leaky parts of my roof and sitting in the dark in the middle of power cuts. good ol days.

viii. the reader's goetia name is 'foras'. according to the ars goetia and our overlord, wikipedia :

'foras is a powerful president of hell, being obeyed by twenty-nine legions of demons. he teaches logic and ethics in all their branches, the virtues of all herbs and precious stones, can make a man witty, eloquent, invisible (invincible according to some authors), and live long, and can discover treasures and recover lost things.' [ source wikipedia ].

my other alternative name was 'bifrons' for the reader, but foras' 'wish granting' schtick seemed to sit better.

🦋 — CHAPTER ONE

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🦋 — CHAPTER TWO

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🦋 — CHAPTER THREE

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🦋 — CHAPTER FOUR

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🦋 — INTERLUDE

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🦋 — EPILOGUE

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CHARACTER CONCEPTS + SKETCHES ;

🦋 — FORAS

[ t b a ]

AINE © 2023. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

#( 🔸 ) // MAYSA #zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #author notes

[hagatha-christie]

YOU ALREADY KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS. OCTOBER READS

The bad:

Mistletoe and Mishigas by MA Wardell - I know this is not a visual medium so just imagine me rubbing my eyes and sighing extremely heavily. (1000% on me because I sought out something I knew I'd hate because I needed to channel my anxious energy to something. Also doing these lil writeups has made me realize how often I read something specifically because I'm anxious. Humiliating but unfortunately for all of us, true.)

The fine:

Passing Strange by Ellen Klages - this was so average I almost forgot what it was about. Would have made a much better short story!

Iris Kelly Doesn't Date by Ashley Herring Blake - idk man. There's some stuff I loved in here and some stuff I didn't love but it's what I come to expect from romance novels which are (for me) average at best

Station Island by Seamus Heaney - king, this was not your fault, I am just too stupid to understand a lot of the historical and geographical references you made so it was hard for me to follow. It's me, not you!

The good:

Hyperboreal by Joan Naviyuk Kane - this was so beautiful and sparse and reminded me why I have always been so obsessed with the Arctic.

The Employees by Olga Ravn - strange and foreboding and told in a very interesting format!

Bliss Montage by Ling Ma - I like my short stories weird and emotional and she delivered. Could've been a little weirder but still very good!

The great:

Out There Screaming edited by Jordan Peele - There's a story in here about a girl who steals her (ex)boyfriend's actual heart out of his body so he'll love her again and I just think that's fantastic.

A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers - a reread that is honestly gonna be a forever favorite, though I do prefer the second one over this one!

Welcome to St. Hell by Lewis Hancox - I kept seeing this around and had zero interest in reading it until I saw an interview with the author saying a major source of his gender affirmation as a child was MTV's Jackass, at which point I checked to see if my library had it. Extremely funny and sweet.

The Solace of Open Spaces by Gretel Ehrlich - I identified a little too closely with the surly cowboys and sheepherders who went months without speaking to anyone which I don't know how to feel about.

The President and the Frog by Carolina de Robertis - speaking of weird and emotional!!!!! look I do not feel great about the state of politics in the world in general right now and like I know it's fiction but this was really moving and I found quieted some of the dread I've been feeling about current affairs specifically. Favorite author status atp

Currently: slowly working my way through Unfortunately, It Was Paradise by Mahmoud Darwish, Selected Poems and Prose of Paul Celan, and The Wind's Twelve Quarters by Urusla K. LeGuin and also just started I Am Not Sidney Poitier by Percival Everett

#reading

[thetaurusgeminisystem]

What if... (Roronoa Zoro x OC)

A/N: I haven’t watched a lot of One Piece yet, but I really enjoy Zoro, Sanji, and Law. This scene is mainly written based off of two writing prompt ideas from Tik Tok 1. Start a poem with What if and 2. Write a scene with little to no dialogue so that the audience can see how your characters interact with one another alone. This scene takes place after a vague battle where Zoro might have gotten hurt and Pearl is now cleaning him up. I hope you guys enjoy, if you do then I’ll write more about Pearl. Pearl uses She/her and They/Them pronouns. This scene was also written by her (She is one of our alters in our system) and this memory took place in her source memories. 

What if I told you 

What feelings bubble within my chest

When we sit here in silence Would you think I’m a mess? 

The waters of the east blue were calm with only a small wave lapping against the side of the ship while it sat at the docks of the port they were currently in. The sunny was mostly quiet and empty as most of the straw hats were either asleep below deck or in the port town. They would collect items that were wanted or needed before the crew would head off on their next adventure. 

Thankfully they were getting this time to lick their wounds after the last battle that they had faced. Most of the crew had gotten beaten and bruised, something they were all pretty used to at this point. 

Zoro liked the quietness of the calm night. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his crew, but sometimes he needed a rest from their antics. After sustaining a few pretty painful injuries from the latest battle, he was thankful to have the main deck to himself. There was maybe only one person who’s company would make this calm night better for him. Pearl. 

He knew he had seen her on the ship not long before he had come up to the main deck. Maybe she was asleep? No…they had bad insomnia, he knew that too. Memories of trying his best to comfort them into sleep came back to him and a small smile cracked onto his lips. 

What if I took your hand in mine Would you let it fall Or would you hold it in return When the thudding of my heart calls 

He was brought out of his musings when he heard the sound of some of the deck boards creaking behind him. The familiar scent, his new favorite scent, of fresh flowers wafted to his nose. He didn’t have to turn around to know who had wrapped their chubby arms around his middle for a hug. He only winced a little as he didn’t want to scare her or worry her, within moments he relaxed in her hold. 

Zoro turned around and wrapped his arms around her chubby frame in a loving manner and then he rested his chin atop her wild, orangish curls. He closed his eyes for a moment and burrowed his nose into the springy curls he had come to love so much, a deep hum escaped him. 

The moment was cut short when a nasty cut on his right arm brushed against her and he gritted his teeth. Pearl felt the swordsman’s body tense up and instantly remembered what she was originally here to do. She pulled back gently and looked up at him with worried eyes. She also looked a bit tired and worn like himself. 

What if I asked you to dance 

Step by step to the beat of a soft song The world around us being left behind As we focused on each other all night long

Zoro realized that with their tired state they must be feeling non verbal at this moment. By now the swordsman knew the botanist well enough to know exactly what she needed during these moments just by studying her demeanor or being observant. He knew he couldn’t say that when they had first met and he accidentally had intimidated her. He remembered that long week of getting them to speak to him, showing her that she could trust him. 

He noticed the medical kit she had set by her feet. Normally he wasn’t one to accept help, especially with injuries. He knew better to argue with Pearl though. They were stubborn when it came to caring for their friends and loved ones. She was the only one he would allow to give him medical attention with the exception of Chopper. 

Zoro nodded softly in understanding and then he softly lifted her into his arms and sat down on the deck so that they could both be more comfortable. Pearl was a blushing mess as she realized she was sitting on his lap, almost straddling it. She shyly turned to grab the medical kit that Chopper had given her and then she looked into Zoro’s soft gray eyes. 

Before she opened the kit, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the scar that ran along his right eye. She then gestured to his arm that had the gash on it. Zoro complied and held up his arm for them to inspect. They then took out a bottle of cleansing alcohol and two clean cloths. Pearl then held out the first one knowing fully well that Zoro would most likely bite down on it while she worked to keep from screaming. 

What if I got hurt I would do it to protect you Your life is precious my dear Don’t you dare shed a tear 

They poured some of the alcohol onto the other cloth and delicately took his injured arm into her smaller hands. She then wiped off the dried blood before touching the cloth to the opening of the gash. They earned a hiss from the man beneath them and gave him an apologetic look. She then continued and took care to not hurt him further as she cleaned. Once the gash was clean she pulled out a fresh roll of bandages from the medical kit and began to wrap his arm. 

Once the pain had subsided, Zoro became entranced by the girl sitting on his lap. He always found himself entranced by her even in mundaneness like this. Their curls reminded him of a beautiful sun rise he would wake up to upon the ocean horizon. Her eyes were the color of his favorite robes and full of life. He especially loved when he caught a hint of mischief in them. Their face was dotted by so many freckles that he vowed to himself he would count them all one day. 

He was brought out of his thoughts again when he heard a small giggle come from her. He smirked a little and leaned in to kiss her forehead. A chuckle escaped him as he saw the warm blush bloom across her cheeks. She did her best to distract herself again as she moved to clean some of his other smaller cuts on his face, neck, and chest area. That was another thing that entranced him, their blush. It was a sight because it spread quickly across their cheeks and it was beautiful to him because he knew he was one of the only ones who could cause it. 

What if I told you

That you are the owner of my heart Would you love me back 

Would a flame between us start?

They finished with ease and without further pain from the swordsman who now wrapped his arms around their fluffy waist. He then buried his face in the crook of her neck and allowed her scent of flowers and plant life greet his nose. He let out a tired sigh and planted a kiss on her shoulder. This got a shiver out of them as they closed the medical kit and set it to the side. She closed her eyes and softly wrapped her arms around his neck. Their fingers gently carded through his green hair, their lips planting a kiss to his temple. 

“I love you sweetheart” Zoro finally mumbled as he held her close to him. 

After a moment Pearl mustered up the energy and softly said “I love you too Roronoa” before resting her forehead on his shoulder. Her body calmed in his embrace and soon she was at peace in his arms. Once again the only sounds that could be heard was the sound of the ocean waves and their breathing. There the two fell asleep like this, needing it after a long, hard day. 

#one piece #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x oc #one piece oc #one piece fictive #one piece alters #osdd system #taurus system writings #one piece zoro #zoro #zoro x oc #zoro fluff #fluff

[wolfpants]

18, 32, and 35 please, my dearest wolfie 💛💛

Hello you!! Just catching up with all of these now after a long ass day in the office!

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end.

I love this question! Okay, here we go, I'm going to take something from my most recent multi-chap, Tiny Home, and I chose this passage from the start of the fic because it reflects not only Draco's current living situation when the story begins, but his state of mind. His feeling of being consumed by his own home, a place where he doesn't really feel safe in (and definitely isn't safe in) but he deals with anyway because, silently, he feels like he deserves it:

He glances across the room, at what once used to be a grand entryway. The chequered tiles are all broken and fractured; nature has long since taken over the space in the way that she spills through the window frames, claims the ceilings and walls with her vines and seedlings and buds. The whole manor is being swallowed by the earth. Each day, Draco wakes up to another flower, another root taking space in his landing, his kitchen, his dining room. 

One day, he imagines that she might take him, too. Sprout from his core, lace up through his ribs and burst from his mouth.

It’s a strangely comforting thought.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

Okay, so, everyone who knows me knows I'm a huge fan of the Captive Prince series, and I could honestly pick any line from that book, but this particular line from Damen to Laurent kills me every time, because it speaks of the enormous lengths they've come since the first book:

'... you are true. I have never known a truer man.' He said, into the stillness, 'I think if I gave you my heart, you would treat it tenderly.'

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

Write what you know. I think this is such a silly rule. It completely disregards imagination.

Weird questions for writers!

#writing #tiny home #ask #ask game

[underthenightskydreamsneverdie]

The Things I Learned to Love

I stroll through gardens beheading roses And bring home bundles of thorny green stems  Then place them in vases and wonder why they wither and die Was my love not enough? They pricked my hands, wounded me and drew my blood  And yet I loved them  And yet it wasn’t enough  I know good things never last  But what about the bad things that I learned to love?  Why must they die too? 

Travis Liebert in Everything in Between

#just got my travis Liebert poetry books in the mail #this poem is speaking to the current state of my heart #travis liebert #the things I learned to love #everything in between #poetry #poem

[pinkcherrybombs]

Confessions

Summary: Office Au- "Since we're about to die, I need you to know, I've always loved you, Jungkook."

♡Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader

♡Work Count: 642

♡TW: Mentions potential death/bomb threat (nobody dies), Angst, some fluff briefly, mentions of potential unrequited love.

(A/N;I wrote this while I was half asleep at 3:00am so I apologize in advance if this makes no sense at all, in my current sleepy brain it does lmao. Also sorry it's short <3 Love you all! )

(masterlist) (part 2)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Since we're about to die, I need you to know, I've always loved you, Jungkook."

The words slip out in haste as your gaze remains locked to the floor. You're beyond terrified to even glance at his reaction. Which is almost impossible not to, considering how tightly both of you are packed into the closet. Seconds turn into minutes as the space fills with a suffocating silence, neither of you daring to speak.

You didn't expect him to say it back; after all, if he did feel the same way about you, he would've already said so. That's just the type of person he is and always has been. Jungkook was never the type to shy away from his feelings, not from management, not from clients, especially not from you, his best friend of ten years. But, you, on the other hand, are the complete opposite, choosing to keep your feelings locked away, hidden from the world and only expressed to yourself in your most vulnerable state. This is why it's so shocking to you that you're now suddenly expressing these emotions to him out of nowhere. Yes, eventually, you planned on telling him. Normally picturing it as drunken confession at some holiday office party, or maybe even a whispered secret before retiring but never like this. Never did you imagine your admission would come out as you both were pressed chest to chest in a stuffy closet. Waiting for a supposed bomb planted in your company building to go off and kill you both at any minute.

Feeling a light squeeze on your hand, you finally lift your gaze only to be met with a comforting smile as he mutters the words, "I love you, too."

Opening your mouth to respond, the words don't come out. Instead, a radiating smile curls on your lips, filling the room as your heart flutters in your chest. Those four simple words send shockwaves throughout your entire body, and for a moment, you forget where you are. Only focusing on the fact that he actually loves you back, Jungkook, the man of your dreams, the man who's as easy to love as breathing, actually loves you back. At that moment, you can't even be upset that you're going to die in mere minutes. Because like all the Shakespeare poems you used to adore in high school, you'll be parting with the one you love, the one which you finally know loves you back.

"We sincerely apologize for the false alarm, everyone; please head back to the lounge. The facility is all clear." Outside of the door, the area immediately begins to buzz with dumbfounded conversations and the shuffling of movements, people coming out of all the places they were previously using for shelter. Loud conversations of people expressing frustration and annoyance filter through the wall cracks and leak into you and Junkook's confined space, but you don't mind. Though it's outrageous, you can't even find yourself to be upset. In a weird God actually worked in your favour for once. Reaching to cup his face, the words tumble out before your mind can even put them in a coherent sentence "no bomb, we can finally date!" However, the expression on his face does not mirror your enthusiastic one. Carefully pulling at your fingers to lower them, a heavy sigh leaves his lips, "I-I'm sorry, I thought we were gonna die, I just didn't want you to die sad, Y/n."

At first, you don't understand, but it's enough to make you choke out a sob once you do. Hesitantly peeling yourself away from him, you wordlessly exit the closet, despite the pleas coming from within. You'd deal with this tomorrow, or maybe the day after, but right now, you just needed to leave.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungguk x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #bts x reader #bts x you #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #bangtan sonyeondan #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts angst #bts drabble #bts scenarios #bts headcanons #jjk x reader #jjk angst #bts au #jeon jungkook #jeon jungguk #bts smut #jungkook fic recs #jungkook oneshot #bts oneshot #jungkook x y/n #jungguk x reader #jungkook scenarios

[whoreofabaddon]

There is something to be said for finding joy and beauty in those things that we have already been given. Yet it seems as if everyone is constantly searching for the next 'best thing' in religion. It reminds me of a poem in which The Devil states there is no true faith in human love because we will always be disquieted by our desire to search for something we don’t possess.

And, as always, The Devil speaks the truth. Mankind seems to lack appreciation for what we already hold within our hearts and palms.

Why is it that we must rush so foolishly towards the next thing we see romanticized and cast off the faith we’ve held like an ill fitting coat? Is the aesthetic that you’ve seen touted on a website more important than the core where the truth is contained? Isn’t it tragically superficial to believe that the next thing you try on will be the one to hold the answer when it has been there all along?

This isn’t to say that conversion does not have its place but simply to remind the religious communities on this website (the tumblr pagan/luciferian/etc communities in specific) that there are answers already within your system. You simply need to take the time to understand them, you need to allow yourself to draw inspiration for your beliefs from other sources without believing you must convert, and build up your love for what you already possess. You will not find any religion to be an easier match when you don't put your heart into your faith. It will still feel hollow if you do not fill it up with your passion, your devotion, and your admiration.

In many ways religion is simply a beautiful cup and you choose to fill it either with poison or with wine.

Give me any religion then I will present it as beautiful. I will wrap my soul up in the overwhelming love of the believers and mark the pages of holy texts with the good works of the devoted.

Your interaction with the divine should not be about whatever seems pretty and interesting; it is about your own soul responding to the call. It is about your ability to adore the history of your community. It is about the brotherhood of mankind bound together by shared rituals that have taken place through hundreds of years.

So take your faith and live it out as a love song. Take your god and write them a hymn exhaled into the cold night. Take inspiration from those things you think you will have in that new religion and for a moment allow it space in your current system. Is there anything truly different about what values they uphold or have you simply grown bored with how you’ve dressed up your faith?

You do not need to be jealous of another’s love for their religion. You are also able to find that deep love if you put forward the effort to build it up and kindle it like a fire.

#pagan #luciferian

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Crimson Ties (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: None for this chap Genre: Hurt + comfort Summary: Sure, your soulmate may be a vampire (of sorts), but there's nothing that love can't conquer, right?... Maybe it's time you learn a little more about the odd circumstances of your soulmate's existence- and the fear that lies beneath the surface. Notes: If the last chapter was "hurt" followed by comfort, this is "comfort" followed by hurt, also known as the part where the story's central conflict comes into play. Features an appearance from Daniela, who reminds us that Cassandra's not the only one with a sharp tongue around here. Previous Chapters: 1: Stem the Flow, 2: Tangled Strands, 3: Rumbling Thunder

4: That Which Burns

“Of all the stars, the fairest,” Bela murmurs in your ear, keeping her arms wrapped loosely around your waist, before giving you a gentle kiss on the cheek. If you hadn’t already been blushing, you certainly would have now done so. You’re leaning into her touch, face flushed as can be, loving every moment of this. For a while now you’ve been curled up with her, while she reads excerpts from her favorite works. Although both of you would have preferred to do this outside, enjoying the view of the stars, you figured it would be best not to push your health too much. After all, you had lost a huge percentage of your blood. Well, temporarily, but it was still better to be safe than sorry.

“That’s probably my favorite line from Sappho,” you chimed, fondly remembering some of your schooling. “Though the one about being remembered always stands out to me. I’m not sure I remember it correctly, and I’m sure it’s been translated a few different ways over the years… but I think it’s ‘someone, I tell you, will remember us in another time’. Might have gotten that backwards, actually.” Giving an awkward little smile, you sheepishly rub the back of your head with one hand. “Either way it feels so romantic. To think of a love so strong that it echoes throughout time, fondly remembered for generations… it warms the heart.”

“Mhmm, most definitely, my dear. Many aren’t as lucky, however,” Bela laments, an odd expression crawling onto her face. There’s the slightest waver to her lower lip as she speaks. Concerned, you turn in place to get a better look, gently reaching out to caress her cheek. Is there something I’m missing? You think, wondering what you should say. “I’m alright, I promise. Merely distracted by a fleeting thought. Let’s read another, yes?” Before you can protest, she’s already turned to another page, starting to read as if she already knew which one was next (which would not, at all, surprise you).

Love shook my heart, Like the wind on the mountain, Troubling the oak-trees

“Oh, if only I could speak Aeolic Greek, so that I could serenade you with tender prose, all the days of your life… just as it was originally written. Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Bela offers, once again smiling wide, as if nothing in the world was wrong, at least not when you were by her side. Though you are not keen to ignore her earlier stroke of misery, you are equally reluctant to put a damper on her current upswing. Now what were you to do? Little comes to mind, other than the simplicity of human warmth, and so you lean once more into her embrace, head held aloft on the strength of her shoulder.

“Here, as I am now, is more than lovely enough. Your voice is soothing in any language, sweet as sugar, relaxing as can be,” you reassure her in your softest tone. Heart fluttering, she finds herself easing back into the comfort of the moment, forgetting all about her earlier woes. “Shall we read another?” Nodding, Bela again turns the page and begins to read:

He’s equal with the gods, that man Who sits across from you, Face to face, close enough to sip Your voice’s sweetness

And what excites my mind, Your laughter, glittering. So, When I see you, for a moment, My voice goes,

My tongue freezes. Fire, Delicate fire, in the flesh. Blind, stunned, the sound Of thunder, in my ears.

Shivering with sweat, cold Tremors over the skin, I turn the colour of dead grass, And I’m an inch from dying.

“Does that make me equal to the gods, then?” You ask, as soon as the last line is given its moment to shine. A small hum comes from your soulmate, who seems equal parts intrigued and confused. “I look in your eyes and my lungs light on fire, my heart ricochets around my chest, and I hear the chorus of angels singing your holy praises. The fact that I can manage to speak at all is confounding. Maybe the muses have seen fit to lend me their artistry, so that I might make conversation worthy of your existence, my dear.” With that said, you find yourself being squeezed gently, Bela placing another kiss against the top of your head. Now, it seems she is the one without the ability to speak. “The divine witnessing the divine, yes?... Let me read the next one, and we’ll see if my voice could ever compare to your own.”

It’s innocent enough, your choice. A turn of the page, just another poem, selected for nothing more than respect for chronology. Yet something drains from the space around you as you begin to read, so subtly slow that you hardly notice.

Girls, you be ardent for the fragrant-blossomed Muses’ lovely gifts, for the clear melodious lyre: But now old age has seized my tender body, Now my hair is white, and no longer dark

How were you to realize that the great shadow of fear loomed over your soulmate, when she had refused to name it mere minutes ago? How were you to know to halt your reciting, when the aching of her heart rendered her throat dry, and she could not bring herself to call out to you? Words poured like poisoned wine from your lips… your soulmate having no choice but to drink up every last drop.

My heart’s heavy, my legs won’t support me, That once were fleet as fawns, in the dance I grieve often for my state; what can I do? Being human, there’s no way not to grow old

A shaky breath from age-old lungs, exhaled into tense air, forced out past a trembling jaw. Say something, Bela tells herself, any poem but this. For a split second you pause, and she wonders if her thoughts have found new light in your own mind. But you break the momentary silence without much care, simply having been unsure of your pending pronunciation of an old name, perfectly unaware of your partner’s panic.

Rosy-armed Dawn, they say, love-smitten Once carried Tithonus off to the world’s end: Handsome and young he was then, yet at last Grey age caught that spouse of an immortal wife

At last her ordeal was over. The final words hang heavy in the air, weighing down her shoulders, but they are done. Her fears had been dragged out from the pit in her stomach, now waving about like dirty laundry. There was only one way for her to avoid this happening another time: Tell you the truth. By now her silence had earned your attention, with you turning in her lap again, concerned gaze meeting her hollow one. Gently, she gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“I… am not one to balk at the nature of things, however painful the truth. Yet I hesitate now, with the very person I am bound to with crimson ties… How cowardly of me,” Bela all but snarls, anger clearly not directed at you. It’s clear in the way that she holds herself that she has more to say. There’s not much you can do other than wait, though you do tuck an arm around her waist, beginning to rub soft circles against her back. “Allow me to drop the pretenses. You are not immortal, but I am. We’ve only been together for a day and a half, and already I’m worrying about your lifespan. It’s safe to say that this particular poem was an unfriendly reminder of our situation.”

Oh. How exactly were you supposed to respond to that?... Your girlfriend- your soulmate- was immortal. Hmph, as if her essentially being a vampire hadn’t already been enough to freak you out. Now this? Well, maybe it wasn’t too much farther of a stretch from the last revelation, even if you were still recovering from that one. Even then, something told you that this was equally hard for Bela- both to say, and to simply feel. As if she needed more stress surrounding her partnership with you…

“Of all the ways for us to mimic legends… I don’t even know what to say, my dear. I… I suppose that I can only reassure you that we will make the most of every moment we have. However much time we are destined to get, we’ll make sure it is filled with bliss,” you reply, slowly, making it up as you go. An ache builds in the center of your chest as you talk, an internal yearning for greater confidence. Although words were your “weapon” of choice, you were not always a master in your use of them, too human to be infallible. “Maybe we should set aside the poetry for now, shift our focus to something, ah, less meaningful?”

“That would be for the best,” Bela agrees, already shifting like she was going to stand up, before you even had a chance to get off of her lap. Something strange had fallen over her expression, an invisible veil, putting an uncomfortable distance between the two of you. Inside your chest, a thundering heart threatens to go still. Had you done something wrong? Did you commit some unspoken sin? Together the two of you rise, in sync yet more separate than before, a thousand questions and anxieties rendering both of you silent...

—————————

Across the room from you, a pair of bright eyes watch your every movement, peering out from over an open book. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought that the “ruse” was intentionally poor. But for all the five hours you had known her, Daniela Dimitrescu had done nothing other than prove herself odd, clumsy, and quite possibly… overconfident. Admittedly, that still made her undeniably more pleasant than Cassandra. If you had to be stuck alongside someone other than your soulmate, well, ‘twas best that it was this strange redheaded gremlin. Even if she had expressed an unfortunate interest in eating you.

Gods, what is wrong with this family? You think, frowning a tad, unable to stop yourself from making eye contact with Daniela. Instantly she’s looking away, pretending to be engrossed within her book. The very same book that had remained open to the same page for half an hour now. I do hope Bela is having more fun right now, with whatever “business” called her away so unexpectedly. She hadn’t seemed happy to have to leave your side, earlier tension notwithstanding. Coming here to the library had been her suggestion, though you doubted she knew that Daniela was there, or at least hadn’t anticipated her sister’s unnerving behavior. Already the redhead was looking back at you, even less subtly than before.

Sighing, you decided that you could only put up with so much of this tomfoolery.

“Are you in need of something? Or is there something on my face?” You ask, setting your own book aside as you do. There’s a few moments of silence, as Daniela glances around the room, as if you might actually be speaking to someone else. When no scapegoats teleport to her rescue, she very awkwardly clears her throat, then moves to sit at your table. Though you are loath to admit it, your heart starts beating faster as she approaches. Not out of attraction, hell no, rather fear. Perhaps getting her attention hadn’t been the wisest choice after all…

“I just think it’s funny,” Daniela chimes, trailing off just long enough to run a finger down the length of your arm, “that Bela abandoned you so quickly. You’re so… fragile. Cassandra told me about the fun little introduction you had to our family- the blood loss, being chained up, the fear you felt when you got caught in our territory.” Suddenly she’s devolving into a fit of giggles, hand resting not-so-gently on your wrist. When you try to pull away, her nails dig in, and her gaze snaps back to your own. “But you don’t remember that part, do you? If you did… oh, we’d have to lock you up, like the little pet you are, to keep you from running away. I’m sure Bela wouldn’t mind seeing you in chains.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You snap, uncharacteristically furious. While it was true that you couldn’t recall exactly how you made it into the castle’s dungeons, you refuse to accept Daniela’s implications about your soulmate, or her assessment of your dedication. A brief second passes where you think she’s about to lunge towards you. Instead, she withdraws her hand, moving it to prop up her chin instead. Then, her lips slowly drag upwards into a wicked grin, wide eyes filled with dangerous amusement.

“So you’re more than a wannabe Shakespeare, after all? A bit more teeth, a touch more vulgarity, maybe a twinge of bloodlust, and you might actually fit in around here. Not enough to get our family’s ‘gift’- our secret to a long, happy life- but enough that Bela won’t grow bored of your sappy poems,” she teases with another string of laughter. Before you can question her about this ‘gift’, she’s all but jumping to her feet, stretching out her arms as she does. “I can’t wait to update Cassandra about you. We’ll be betting on how entertaining you’ll end up being. Try to keep from bailing on my dear sister too soon, alright?”

Just like that she’s disappearing into a swarm of flies, leaving you more confused (and angry) than ever. Taking a deep breath, you try to focus on what you need to do next: Find Bela. Talk to her. Get some goddamn answers.

#bela dimitrescu x reader #bela dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #got some fluff got some angst #casual reminder that daniela is capable of being just as cruel as cassandra #just normally a different kind

[ladywhistleclown]

Benedict Bridgerton x M!Reader: Valentines Fools

Summary: Benedict does something special. Word Count: 3334 A/N: I read this post about Valentines in Regency England, and found it so interesting that I had to write about it. of course, I made it gay. duh. Also, I wrote the ‘poem’ later myself, but its inspired by many LGBT poets/writers from history who wrote poems like it, about hope for future LGBT folks, just very simplified. This is some of my best work, and I don’t want it to get snubbed just because its not f/m, so like, give it a chance! MLM fic is also fun :) Enjoy! Warnings: Fluff, Drinking, Giggly men doing giggly men things (being stupid) -- Valentines Day, in your mind, was a rather dreadful event. Ladies and Lords spent days agonizing over hand-made letters, writing disgusting poetry about love, or rejection. You had never partaken in the act, partly because you had never had anyone to write to, and partly because even if you had, you had neither the patience nor skill to craft such detailed notes of devotion. You thought it best to leave such things to artists and ladies, of which you were neither. This year was only slightly different. After having met Benedict at Lord Granville's, striking up conversations about art, women, and your places in society, you had developed a rather strange relationship, one that you would almost call a courtship, if it wasn’t so clearly an impossibility. Benedict simply wanted to explore something new, something outside the realm of society and expectations, and you, lovesick fool that you were, happily obliged him. It was nothing more than attraction and curiosity. Second son or not, Benedict could never marry a man. Even if he wanted to.

At least you could drown yourself in booze at Lord Granville's. He was a good listener, with even better advice, and you knew that he understood exactly your pain. It was here you found yourself, a day before Valentines, throwing down your sixth beer and lamenting to Granville, who sat patiently by your side. “Society is not kind to those like us.” You sighed, running the tip of your index finger along the outer edge of your glass, staring blankly at it, as though if you drank enough, the answers would appear in the liquor. “No, it isn’t. But we are kind to each other, and ourselves.” He replied, looking over you with pity. You had never been much of a drinker, not for as long as Granville had known you, but your infatuation with Benedict had brought it out in you, and he wondered if it was a mistake to invite the Bridgerton boy here, if it caused an old friend to suffer in a way that was very familiar and personal to him. He knew the pain of impossible love too well, and saw himself reflected in your morose state. “Of course. You’re too kind to me, Granville. I talk your ear off about my foolish troubles with Bridgerton, but never think to ask of yours.” “I am not nearly as troubled as you are. And as I said, we must look out for each other, as the ton certainly will not.” he lifted up his own drink, pausing just before it reached his lips to glance at you, “Perhaps I should dis-invite Bridgerton from future events?” “Oh hell, Granville, don’t torture the man on my account. He enjoys the art and the company, and besides that,  I’d rather him here than at some brothel.” you grimaced as soon as the words left your mouth, an embarrassing slip revealing just how deeply attached you were. “Apologies. The alcohol has loosened my tongue.” “No bother. I understand that jealousy quite well.” Granville said, his voice still light and amused, and you couldn't help but laugh as he took a sip, winking at you before putting his glass down. “What jealousy?” Came a loud voice from directly behind you. You jumped, Granville almost knocking his drink over in his shock. Of course, he would arrive now, when you were drunk and foolish. You breathed out quickly, praying that you would say nothing incriminating before turning to face Benedict. He looked confused, glancing from Granville's face to yours, before reiterating, “What jealousy, Granville?” “Merely of other artists. I’m sure you know it too.” He recovered, taking another drink before gesturing to the table, “Care to join us?” Benedict sat in the chair closest to you, and you shot Granville a look of pure spite. In your drunken haze, everything seemed too much. His voice was too smooth, his smile too large, and the way he draped an arm across your chair, caging you in, was entirely too casual. You promised to whatever God was listening that you would slaughter Granville for this. “Of course I do. You know better than anyone.” He agreed, sliding easily into the conversation. You remained silent, not trusting yourself in your inebriation to respond beyond a simple hum of agreement or a grunt of displeasure. If you allowed yourself to speak freely, no doubt you would be weeping in Benedict's arms like a little girl within minutes. “What do you think?” You started, retreating from your thoughts to find both Benedict and Granville looking at you. Benedict’s eyes shone with thinly veiled concern, tilting his head and gently shaking you by the shoulder, while Granville simply smiled in amusement. “I..was lost in thought. My apologies.” You said quickly, waving Benedict’s hands away and sitting up completely. You were drunker than you thought, and briefly you wondered if you would even be able to make it to your carriage without help. You figured if you couldn’t, you would force Granville to escort you. He certainly owed you, after pulling this little stunt. “You’re wasted. Perhaps you should head home.” Benedict said gently. You huffed, shaking your head. “Don’t concern yourself with me, I can take care of myself. Now. My opinion on what, exactly?” “Valentines,” Granville supplied, glancing into his empty cup, “we were talking about all the effort that goes into such cards and letters. Artistry, in a way. What do you think of it?” “I find the holiday wholly unnecessary. And it takes far too much time to make such delicate things. A canvas is much more secure.” you huffed. Benedict stiffened beside you, although in your semi-consciousness, you barely noticed, your eyes fluttering between shut and open. “So you wouldn’t make any?” Benedict asked. “No.” “Would you receive them?” “I suppose it would be rude to deny such labors of love. But I have never received one, and I doubt I will this year. Ladies don’t send cards to men like me.” you shrugged, drooping over the table. The longer you sat, the harder it was to hold yourself up. If you passed out, it would be a good escape from such intimate topics with Benedict, so you allowed yourself to slump on the table, sighing. “Alright, that's enough. I’ll help you home.” Benedict declared, standing up and taking you by the arm, heaving you up. You groaned in protest, but didn’t fight as he slung your arm over his shoulder and half dragged you away from the table, Granville following behind. “Apologies, Bridgerton. Next time I won’t allow him to indulge quite so much. You may end up getting more than 10 minutes with him that way.” He said cheerily. “I’m sober enough to know when I’m being mocked, Granville.” you opened your bleary eyes to glare at him, finding his eyes twinkling with amusement. He patted your shoulder. “It’s no trouble. I was about to head home, anyway.” Is all Benedict said as he helped you into the carriage, climbing in after you and seating himself on the same bench. Granville waved you both off as Benedict rapped his knuckles on the carriage, directing your footman to take you home. “Now you have me alone and vulnerable. Not very gentlemanly of you, Bridgerton. What would the ton think?” you teased, leaning lazily against the side of the carriage, away from him. You hoped it was subtle, that he thought you were just drunk and loose and tired. You couldn’t bear the thought of him finding out just how weak you were for him. Then he would leave, and you would be crushed. “They would think nothing, because we’re men.” He pointed out, leaning closer to you. You hummed, acknowledging his words, but didn’t reply beyond that. It was only then that you realized how precarious a situation you were in. Drunk, alone, with a man you loved, who seemed to be moving closer and closer by the minute, although maybe you were imagining that part. Anything was possible when you were this drunk. “They would be wrong, though.” Benedict finished softly. He reached over, brushing his fingers along your jaw, moving downward to loosen your cravat. You sighed, tilting your head back to allow him easier access, cursing yourself but unable to shove him away. You were such a fool. “Are you planning something?” You asked. He finally managed to pull your cravat away, revealing your neck to him. He laughed at your question. “With you this drunk? No. I only wanted you to be more comfortable.” He tossed the cloth onto the other bench, leaning safely away from you to stare out the window after. While you were partly disappointed, you were mostly relieved. You wouldn’t have been able to resist, and only would have brought yourself more shame and confusion in regards to him. But Benedict was a good man, and he would never take advantage of you in your current state. Your heart squeezed. Too good of a man. “I’m sorry to be such a burden tonight.” you blurted suddenly. Benedict looked at you, his head whipping away from the window so quickly it almost made you dizzy. “I shouldn’t have drank so much. It was foolish.” “You’re never a burden to me.” He said, his voice soft and indignant, almost as if he was offended by the mere idea that you had inconvenienced him. “You shouldn’t have to chaperone me home like a weak debutante.” “I’d rather you than a debutante. Trust me.” You chuckled, shaking your head and glancing out the carriage window. You could see the square, and your home, fast approaching. It appeared as though your time with Benedict was over for tonight. Relieved and downtrodden, you sat up and attempted to right your swirling vision as the carriage came to a stop. Benedict stood, helping you up and out of the carriage. After explaining the situation to your housekeeper, he hauled you all the way into your home and bedroom, even being kind enough to help you out of your boots as you lay back in your bed, arm over your eyes, trying to stop the room from spinning. “I’ll be going, then.” He said quietly, standing up and brushing his hands together. You lifted your arm, making certain you weren’t going to puke before crooking one finger, beckoning him closer. “Come here.” You breathed. He obeyed, moving dutifully to your side, remaining silent despite the question in his eyes. You sat up slowly, ignoring your dizziness. Placing a hand on the back of his neck, you pulled him closer. Benedict, realizing what you were after, leaned down and forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. You flopped back into your bed after he pulled away, grinning, although you couldn’t see it, having already rolled over and buried your face in the covers. “Goodnight. I hope you enjoy tomorrow.” He said ominously, the clicking of his heels against the marble floor the only indication you had that he had left. Before you could even think of the meaning of his strange farewell, you were dragged into rest. -- The first thing you registered after waking was the pounding behind your eyes. Moaning in pain, you lifted your arm over your face, blocking out the light that your butler had let in through the curtains. “My apologies, My Lord. Should we have a cure made?” He asked politely, noticing your haggard state. “Quickly.” You begged. He nodded, bowing before swiftly leaving the room to procure you a bit of relief. Sitting up, you turned away from the windows completely, opting to try and find your balance. After a moment, you were able to make your way to your wardrobe, pulling on your breeches and doublet. Today you had no need to dress formally. Valentines was a day you dedicated to staying completely shuttered away from the rest of the ton, tending to your estate and business ventures. It was easier than being bombarded with reminders of love, and much easier than running into any Bridgerton, although one, of course, you wanted to avoid above all else. It would only pain you to see him giving or receiving such intimate letters, especially with the women of the ton. Once your butler had delivered your cure, and you had thrown down the slimy, disgusting mixture, you were feeling much improved. You made your way to your study, smiling at your maids as they bowed before rushing off, no doubt in a hurry to finish their work and make off with their sweethearts for the day. You felt a twinge of jealousy, smiling sadly as you opened the door to your study. Oh. In your study sat piles and piles of cards, all handmade, some gilded with gold while others were trimmed with lace. You picked one up, in awe at its intricate gold-foil flowers, embossed on the front and lined with sharp swirls and embellishments, all clearly hand done with a calligraphy pen. You opened the card. The script inside was as lovely as the rest of the card, although it was the words that brought tears to your eyes. I sit and I look into your face And I see those before us, Who have loved as we do, And I see those after, And I pray that our impossibility Will become their reality. Yours. You choked on a sob, quickly closing the card and setting it down. The last thing you wanted was to ruin something so perfect with tears. It was not signed, and it didn’t have to be for you to know. Benedict. You looked around the room. There were at least 3 large piles of cards, enough to last an entire year, all handmade and intricate. You wondered how long this had taken him. It would take you days just to read them all. Surely, your servants thought you were either the biggest rake in the ton, with all these notes. You couldn’t care less. You gathered them all, handling them as gently as you would glass, slipping them into your desk cabinet and locking it. They were yours, no one else's. Benedict's words were just for you. Dazed, you leaned back into your office chair, holding the first card, running your fingers over the edges and rereading the lines over and over. It wasn't quite a poem, nor a letter, but a sentiment. A dream, a wish. You would be lying if you said that it wasn’t your dream too. A future where love like yours would be special, not sinful. Love. You jolted. And then laughed. How could you ever have doubted him? Surely, it was only love that would drive him to do this. Only love that would have him escort you home, make sure you were safe and comfortable. That would make him sit for what must have been weeks, if not months, working tirelessly on card after card just to take advantage of the one day where letters between unmarried men and women could be sent freely. Of course, he did so for a cover. But was that not also love? He wanted to protect you from ire, from harm, and so he delivered all the letters he felt he couldn’t today, just to keep from drawing unwanted eyes. Crying and laughing all at once, you pressed the note to your chest. How had you doubted his love for a second? His devotion? You truly were a fool, although not in the way you had expected. It took you half an hour to calm yourself, and by that time, your headache was back and worse than before, thanks to your emotional outburst. But another thing was back, too. Your butler, standing in the doorway with an impassive look on his face, glancing about the room, no doubt looking for the heaps of cards the servants had dropped off. “Do you know what card came from which maiden?” You asked, holding up the first card. It was the only card you had yet to put away, and though you were loathe to show it to him, you thought you should make it try and seem as though you had no idea who they had come from. “The cards were delivered mysteriously early this morning, My Lord. No names, no signatures.” “I see. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. None of them will be receiving a response.” You laughed, setting the card down. “What is it?” “A visitor, sir. The Second Bridgerton. Says he has something to discuss with you, about Lord Granville's gathering last night.” Your heart stuttered. “Send him up. No doubt he wants me to apologize for making such an ass of myself last night.” You joked, and he smiled back, giving a quick nod before rushing off to fetch Benedict. You quickly tucked the last letter into your desk drawer, pulling out a decanter of whiskey and pouring yourself a small glass. “No better cure for a hangover than more drink, right?” Benedict stepped into your study, shutting the door behind him even as he teased you. You laughed, pouring him a glass as well. He took it gratefully, sitting down in the chair across from yours, the desk between you two. “You may mock me if you wish, Benedict, but I am feeling positively delightful.” you said dramatically, lifting your cup in cheers. Benedict touched his glass to yours, and you took a sip. He did not. “Would that have anything to do with any deliveries?” He questioned, a secretive smile spreading across his face. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” “That’s why I asked.” You snorted, shaking your head quickly. “It would, if you must know.” Dropping all pretenses, he leaned forward, smiling even brighter now. “So you’ve got them. Do you like them?” “Of course I do,” you breathed, leaning in as well, dropping your voice to a whisper, “how long did they take you? They’re beautiful. True artistry.” “Much too long, as you said last night. But they were worth it, if you like them.” You nodded once. Smiling, he brought one hand to rest on your desk, palm up and spread open. You took it, intertwining your fingers. “Do you truly...love me? In that way?” you asked nervously, avoiding his gaze in favor of staring at your two hands. “No, I spent hours of my precious time making hand crafted love letters for a man I consider a friend.” He rolled his eyes. “If anyone would do such a thing, it would be you, Benedict.” “Certainly not. It would be Colin.” You laughed, and he grinned. Standing, he quickly rounded your desk and pulled you up by your still connected hands, pulling you against him and kissing you firmly. It was sudden, but not unpleasant, and you wrapped your arms around him, carding your fingers through his hair before resting your hands on the nape of his neck. After a long moment, he pulled away, eyes shining mischievously. “I do love you.” “And I you.” you said quickly, desperate to reciprocate. You had spent so long convinced that Benedict only saw you as good fun, that the revelation of love had left you reeling. But you would be damned if you passed up this opportunity to tell him of the affections you had kept secret since your first meeting. In response, he kissed your jaw once before pulling away, still smirking. “But you taste of garlic and egg. You truly should not have indulged so much. Now I can’t kiss you.” Groaning, you turned away from him, clamping your lips shut even as he wraps his arms around your middle, pressing kisses to your neck and cheek lovingly, cooing affections like a lovesick fool. You smiled at that passing thought, leaning into Benedict and returning his whispers in kind, leading him with purpose to your bed chamber. Perhaps you were both lovesick fools. You could live with that.

#benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict imagine #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #netflix #male reader #mlm fanfic #mlm #x reader #mine #fanfic #bridgerton fanfiction

[author-morgan]

Title: Picnics and Flowers Pairing: m!Eivor x fem!Reader Rating: T Summary: With the help of your little sister and her band of rogues, Eivor and you finally have to face the feelings you’ve kept from one another. Plot idea by @angstygunslinger. just took me six months to write it.

A FRUSTRATED SIGH escapes your lips as your little sister dashes off with the piece of parchment you were using for a letter —now half-written. Rising from one of the tables in the longhouse, you start after her. “Helga!” You shout, catching her disappearing toward the granary. “Come back here!” You round the corner of the longhouse in haste, colliding with a wall of warm muscle, the both of you falling at the sudden impact. A warm and familiar laugh fills your ears from beneath you. “Eivor!” You gasp, eyes wide in shock —he was not due back to Ravensthorpe for some time. He smiles at the flush of color creeping up to your cheeks. “Sorry, I was–”

“Chasing after Helga,” he finishes, laughing again, “as always.” Much had changed since leaving Norway, but Helga’s antics for mischief had not —you swear she must be one of Loki’s spawns with how often you have to chase after her and keep her from getting into serious trouble. You roll off Eivor, and he’s quick to rise, offering his hand —calloused from battle— to help you up. 

Eivor smiles as he brushes the dirt from your shoulders and the smudge on your cheek. “It is good to see you,” he notes, the amusement gone from his voice. Of all the people in Ravensthorpe, he always finds himself missing you the most. Your gaze flicks away from Eivor, unable to meet his clear blue eyes and the soft smile hiding behind his golden beard without making a fool of yourself. “But weren’t you chasing after your sister?” Eyes widening, you dart off after Helga again. Eivor shakes his head, laughing to himself as he conducts his rounds.

EIVOR CALLS FOR a feast to celebrate the Raven Clan’s new allies in the north and his return to the Ravensthorpe. For now, he has no intention of leaving —at least not until the time comes to secure another alliance with the lords of England or Sigurd summons him away. It is a good feeling, knowing you will see Eivor more often —like the days before you fled Norway. You watch as he makes rounds, speaking to Gunnar and Wallace, among others who call this growing settlement home. He may not wear the title of Jarl, but Eivor is a good leader with the love and respect of his people. 

Helga stumbles to where you sit, hiccupping with every other step and trying her best to hide the cup of mead behind her back. Part of you wants to laugh; you’d gotten into similar trouble as a young girl —Eivor and Sigurd your accomplices— but Helga is all you have in this world, and despite calling you sister, you’re the only mother she’s really known, too. “You are too young to be sipping on Tekla’s mead,” you tell her, giving her a cup of watered ale instead. She opens her mouth to protest, but you shake your head. “I won’t hear anymore on it, Helga.”

Pouting, she clambers onto the bench next to you, reaching for the last remaining piece of a berry tart at the table. If she can’t have any more mead and fun, then she’ll eat enough sweets to make you stay up all night to hear her complaints. Helga follows your gaze as she bites into the sweet raspberry tart Tarben made. You’re watching Eivor as he speaks to Mayda and Bertham —young lovers in a predicament with disapproving parents. Helga can’t say she’s surprised to find you staring at him. You seem to do that a lot. With the glances you and Eivor have exchanged all evening from across the longhouse, and after snatching a half-written poem from your desk a few days ago, she decides it’s time for her greatest plan yet. “Do you like Eivor?” She asks —words slurring together. 

“Of course,” you answer, unsure why she would even ask a question like that. Helga knows how close you and Eivor are and how he oft comes in the late hours of the night seeking counsel, especially if he and Sigurd were at odds over something. “He’s one of my dearest friends.” Nigh every story worth telling from your childhood features Eivor. 

Your little sister rolls her eyes with an exaggerated sigh. “No” —she shakes her head, whole body squirming on the bench— “not like that. Like how,” she pauses, trying to find the right way to describe it, “Gudmund and Gudrun like each other?” 

Skimming the hall, you find the two shipwrights —having sent Eira to bed, Gudrun sits on Gudmund’s knee, sharing laughs and exchanging quick kisses. You ignore the way your stomach and heart seize at the thought of having something like that with Eivor and decide not to respond to Helga’s drunken question, but she thinks silence is just as good as a yes or no. You narrow your eyes, seeing her struggling to keep hers open after drinking all that mead and stuffing her belly with meat, bread, and sweets. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” The question perks Helga up. Across the table, Hytham hides his laughter behind a cup of ale. 

“We are celebrating,” Eivor notes, throwing an arm around your shoulder as he sits next to you with a tankard of mead in hand —he winks at Helga.

IN THE WEEK following the feast, Helga tells the other children in Ravensthorpe to meet her behind the stables. Sylvi, Knud, and Eira all appear after their morning chores are done, looking to Helga for what their next adventure entails. Last time, they put a cowpie in Osbert’s slipper and spent the rest of the day hiding and running from the collector as he chased them about the settlement with his hammer and chisel, threatening to carve off their noses while they slept. The empty threats made for an amusing afternoon. 

But this time, Helga’s plan is not nearly as nefarious. No, she likes to think she’ll be doing you a favor since you seem oblivious to the obvious. “He’s always staring at her,” Sylvi says, peeking over the stable fence to see Eivor watching you pick raspberries to help Valka with her elixirs and salves. “You know, they both smile more around each other too,” Eira whispers. All of Ravensthorpe seemed brighter when you and Eivor reunite. 

“I have a plan,” Helga announces to her cohort of merry troublemakers, motioning the three of them closer.

HELGA FINDS EIVOR fishing off the docks, a woven basket next to his feet almost filled with eels and trout —a successful morning, which means he’ll be done by the time you finish with the stew and her plan can come to fruition. “Eivor!” Helga shouts, skipping onto the wharf and stopping next to him, peering down into the murky water of the river Nene. “Will you come to our picnic?”

He regards Helga and the sweet smile on her round face —she’s up to something. “I think I can make time,” Eivor tells her, what few duties he had could wait until the evening hours. Besides, whatever your sister is plotting will undoubtedly be far more entertaining than writing correspondences to the Raven Clan’s allies.

“Can we pick flowers first?” Helga asks —she made sure to find a patch of wildflowers nearby where your favorite wildflowers in England grew. With you tending to a pot of stew in your shared cabin, she knew this plan would work out just dandy. Eivor agrees, pulling in the last of his catch for the day —a good size bullhead. Taking the basket of fish and eels to Merton, Eivor follows Helga as she leads him to the eastern part of the settlement, where there’s a dense patch of wildflowers growing atop a small knoll, knowing she’s up to something but saying nothing of it. He’s always found Helga’s antics to be amusing, but not quite as amusing as your exasperation after catching her getting into mischief.

“Those are–” Helga starts, looking at the handful of purple vetch and cornflowers “–your sister’s favorite,” Eivor finishes with a smile. He kneels, offering one of the flowers to Helga, tucking the stalk of vetch behind her ear. “Can you keep a secret?” Eivor asks, already knowing she couldn’t —the quickest way for Ravensthorpe, and even Fornburg, to learn of something was to tell Helga and tell her it was a secret too. Leaning closer, he whispers at her ear, smiling as her eyes and smile widen. Eivor rises, looking down at your sister with a glint of mischief in his eyes too. “Where should I meet you and your friends, Helga?” He asks.“

“Under the tree near the waterfall by Valka’s,” she answers, scurrying back to find her friends and tell them the good news.

SIGHING, YOU SIT down a small pot of stew under the tree where Helga said to come —only your sister and her friends are nowhere in sight. You pinch the bridge of your nose, not believing you’d fallen victim to another one of her ploys. You’d been up since the crack of dawn to make a pot of pork and leek stew to pair with a loaf of Tarben’s brown bread and apple preserves. Hands on your hips, you glance around, searching for Helga and her friends up in the tree, or hiding in the bushes, but it’s just you, birdsong, and the soothing calm of the waterfall.

The low croak of a raven perching on a branch above startles you —Sýnin. The raven looks down at you, croaking again, but this time it sounds as though he’s laughing at your folly. You scowl at Sýnin, jumping when you feel someone tap on your shoulder. Turning, you find Eivor standing behind you, holding a bouquet of wildflowers with an oddly bashful look about him as he rubs the scar on his neck. “Eivor?” You ask, heart racing and stomach-churning with butterflies —you hadn’t expected to see him so early in the day, especially in your current state. Eivor doesn’t care if your hair isn’t plaited or the apron you wear has a few stains. To him, you’re just as beautiful now as you are dolled up for feasts.

Remembering the flowers, he pushes them forward. Smiling, you take the bouquet. Vetches and cornflowers are among your favorite, but Eivor already knows that. You inhale the peppery sweet scent of both flowers —smile widening and mood improving after being caught up in another of Helga’s games. “Be a pity to let this go to waste,” Eivor remarks, gesturing to the pot of stew.

In agreement with that, you and Eivor sit beneath the great tree. You ladle out two bowls of stew while Eivor slices into the loaf of brown bread. “I think we’ve both been deceived,” you mutter, still glancing around the pool and bushes —expecting to see Helga hiding somewhere.

Eivor laughs, knowing it to be the truth. Helga had orchestrated the perfect moment —the perfect opportunity— for him to confront and confess the feelings he’d kept locked away for years now. Eivor decided quite some time ago he’d prefer to love you in secret to protect the precious friendship you shared, then speak of his heart’s desires and risk everything. He sets aside his bowl, shifting. “I don’t mind if it means time with you,” he smiles, reaching for one of your hands. It’s instinct to curl your fingers around his —thumb running over his scarred knuckles. Eivor whispers your name, leaning toward you.

He kisses you —without warning or permission— lips brushing against yours, only just. A chance for you to pull back, but you don’t. Smiling, you press your lips against his, chasing away any doubt he could have harbored of if his sentiments are returned. You lift a hand to his scarred cheek, loosely combing through his golden beard. There’s a pause, where you both draw back, just barely, letting out shaky breaths. Eivor slips his hand from yours, cradling the back of your head as he takes another kiss, this one firmer —confident— taking the breath from your lungs yet calming the racing of your heart. “Eivor,” you breathe upon parting, still cupping his cheek. His smile is wide, and his eyes clearer than you have ever seen before. He leans back in, kissing the corner of your lips and then your cheek, knowing these kisses are just the first of many more.

Glancing over his shoulder, Eivor sees Helga and her accomplices peeking out from behind Valka’s hut. “You can all come out now,” he calls, laughing. Your sister and her friends come forward, unable to hide their victorious grins. You wish to scold Helga for the deception, but you cannot find it within yourself to be upset with her, especially not when Eivor takes your hand, kissing your knuckles before he begins ladling out stew into the remaining bowls for the children with a smile. No, this time, you may even have to thank her for her antics, for she had just brought you together with the man you love.

[taglist:  @angstygunslinger @vanillabeanlattes @withered-poppies @ananriel @itseivwhore @maximalblaze @dynamicorbit @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @elizabethroestone @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @thedragonqueenfan @callmemythicalminx @edelaen ] if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!

#Eivor #Eivor Wolfsmal #Eivor x Reader #m!Eivor #m!Eivor x Reader #male Eivor #male Eivor x Reader #Eivor Imagine #Eivor Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Valhalla #Assassin's Creed #my writing

[alatismeni-theitsa]

I have no idea when you posted asking about the experiences of Greek diaspora / Greek heritage but I just saw it so I thought I’d send in my stuff.

I am so disconnected from it because my grandma didn’t want to pass the language into her children so she could have adult conversations they wouldn’t understand. And she didn’t pass on the culture because her husband was Jehovah’s Witness. And so I just feel an intense feeling of grief over a culture that I’m apart of but know very little about. I have some recipes my Yiayia made, a cookbook by women from the Greek Orthodox Church in NYC, and two lullaby’s. (We lived in the US with my great grandma so we had more interaction with Greek culture than our cousins who’s lived with my grandma in Ireland)

And there’s not much out that I’ve found where I’ve been able to learn about my culture and not felt like I’m intruding. Especially because I don’t “look Greek” like some of the other greek kids at my school. I look Irish. I don’t have a Greek name and I don’t speak any of the language. The only way I’ve found to connect is through food but I’m limited to the cookbook because if you look online it’s hard to find recipes that aren’t just trendy mediterranen inspired health food. My mum is starting to reluctantly tell me a little about my family from Greece. And my grandmas cousin and her family is very very greek. So if I fly down to see her she’ll teach me stuff (though she’s the matriarch of the family so she’s pretty intimidating). Anyway. That’s my experience with my my greek heritage.

I just sent the long-ass ask about Greek heritage but I forgot the bit where I was Greek enough to get bullied over Greek food. Yay. Dolmades are good though I don’t care if they “look little poop”

___________________[END OF ASK] __________________________

Hey and sorry for the delay 💙 I asked some time ago but that doesn't mean newer answers aren't welcome anytime!

Dear, I am grieving with you for the loss 😔 I can't say the reasons the language wasn't passed on seem very logical to me. There are things that didn't get passed on to me because my grandparents thought I would automatically know, or they didn't bother teaching, so I can relate to that feeling 😔

You are definitely NOT intruding! I can understand why it feels this way after what you told me, but it seems to me you have every right to know! Greek culture welcomes anyone from Cameroon to Japan, so, realistically, nothing should stop you from having access to it. Plus, it's your own family!

Oh damn, the "I don't look Greek" plague 😩 As everyone knows there's no specific qualifier of appearance for being part of Hellenismos. On this particular occasion, I'll go one step further and say that, unless you have raid hair, you probably look like a lot of Greeks.

There are Greeks whose appearance is rare for this ethnicity, but "looking Irish" is a thing that 1/4 (at least?) of Greek people relate to. One thing Greeks of diaspora often hear is that "they don't look Greek enough", aka they look "too white". Your surrounding Greeks might not look like you but if you go through my tag #Greek people, which has hundreds of videos, portraits, and photos of Greeks from all eras, you might realize you look like many Greeks.

There are Greeks whose appearance is rare for this ethnicity, but "looking Irish" is a thing that 1/4 (at least?) of Greek people relate to. One thing Greeks of diaspora often hear is that "they don't look Greek enough", aka they look "too white". Your surrounding Greeks might not look like you but if you go through my tag #Greek people, which has hundreds of videos, portraits, and photos of Greeks from all eras, you might realize you look like many Greeks.

Again, appearance doesn't matter in the slightest when it comes to culture, but I sensed your appearance issue was the flavor of "too white looking" and it's the most infuriating thing to me because many, many Greeks look "too white looking" for the standards foreigners have made for them!

Anyways, on to the food! I am so happy you are trying some of the recipes :D (And that you are doing everything to connect to your heritage if it brings you joy!) How dare they speak badly about dolmades??? 😭 Many countries close to Greece also have that dish and we must find them so we can have a dolmades alliaaaaanceee!

I'd also like to add, don't feel pressured to get too much into the culture if you don't want to. Many Greeks in Greece keep different types of distance from their tradition and that should also be your right. Again, do and learn whatever pleases you! Just keep in mind that you are valid in your current state without going the extra mile to learn every Greek thing possible.

People across the globe can have various degrees of Greek heritage and if that "amount" of heritage is "less" then it's okay and natural because it's what happens when people immigrate. The more generations pass, the more this old part is left behind. For example, many Greeks in Greece can also come from other backgrounds (Austrian, Egyptian, Slavic (various countries), etc) and they, too have many parts of their older heritages lost. They practice Greek customs almost exclusively now.

There's a cultural plane that shifts all the time in countries around the world and families assimilate to a new culture as they adapt to a new place. At this moment you are also part of a US regional culture and there is no shame in *also* identifying as part of it. That won't erase any Greek part of you.

The above doesn't aim to discourage you in any way on searching more about Greek culture! It's only a general disclaimer. People from inside a culture (usually in diaspora) tend to judge those who participate less, as if any person with X heritage is in a place to keep the same amount of touch with it 🙄

Sure, tradition is very important but nobody should be forced to practice it if they don't want to - or if they just can't. Tradition is people, and some traditions change or die naturally because many individuals from the inside wanted it to.

It's hard being caught in between - not "American enough" and not "Greek enough". The paradox is that you must first feel secure in this position. Granted, it's easier said than done but mentally it will save you the mindset of needing to be "more American" or "more Greek". As you understand, you don't need to feel apologetic to Americans for who you are, and you don't need to feel apologetic to Greeks in America or anywhere else for the exact same reason.

Some Greeks of diaspora feel distressed about their accents in Greek (or they don't want to admit they have an accent) or for not being perceived as Greeks automatically by other Greeks when they visit the country. But that's unavoidable because these differences exist and people raised in Greece can spot them. Therefore, people in the US whom you are afraid might feel superior to you for knowing more things about Greece, may come to Greece and feel like foreigners.

So they shouldn't make this a race beacuse it's not one they would normally "win" by their own standards. Chances are, after you learn anything you can, you will also have distance from what is considered the "default" Greek culture. It's part of the organic process of time + distance from the country, and Greeks with half a brain won't look down on you for that.

What I mean to say is that there is no certain bar an ordinary person can ever pass to be given any prize of the "ultimate Έλληνας". Not even Greeks in Greece know where that bar is when it comes to their own touch with tradition. There is no golden standard, no finishing line!

I encourage you to continue your journey on learning Greek things and while you are at it, know that objectively you have nothing to prove to anyone, even though you might feel otherwise. I say, fly to your grandma's cousin and let her teach you stuff!

You know that the intimidating demeanor Greek aunties and grandmas have doesn't necessarily reflect their love for you. You might also know that older Greeks are more reserved in showing appreciation. And in the hypothetical scenario where they don't really like you that much, they are still bound to you because you are family, so feel free to use their expertise 👀 If they don't give their knowledge to their family, whom are they going to give it to?? The neighbor??

If they throw any shade at you for now knowing enough take a deeeeeep breath, remember this isn't a race, and continue learning from them. (And you will feel the Greek experience of not deemed worthy enough by your relatives 😂 It's a win win!) If you haven't, check the poem Ithaca by K.P. Kavafy! I think it applies to this situation in a way!

You can always come here and browse thousands of posts about Greece! (In the Desktop version the most important show up on the left of the main page). I have #modern Greece #Greek custom #Greek tradition #Greek dance #Greek cuisine #Greek literature and whatever else your heart desires!

If you want to slowly learn Greek, Greekpod 101 and Easy Greek channels on YouTube have great content! I also have my tag #learn Greek on this blog with sources and explanations. (#Greek language and #Greek word can also be useful!) They are all accessible to English speakers!

You now have a distant Greek auntie who is at your disposal for any type of question (even the "stupid" questions)! Literally, ask me anything and I will try to answer it or find more info for you! You can DM me if you don't want to leave an ask. You are not intruding and it's my pleasure to help!

#thank you for your message <3 #it's hard for me to give tone in text - i hope i wasnt too intimidating either :p #the blog is here for your questions about greece so dont hesitate to ask! #answered #greek diaspora #greeks in the us #greek speaks

[anasticep]

Why Julie and the Phantoms is a masterpiece of a show. Part 2. Heroes and Villains or Let that foil shine

NOTE: Thanks again for your kind response to Part 1. I never expected that. It being my first tumblr post and a first meta in quite a long time I was blown away. I read all the tags, some were really hilarious. About having more than one brain cell xDDD I laughed so hard. It means a lot.

NOTE2: Please remember that the gifs are made by me, so don't crop, edit or give as yours.

Part 1.

Before diving into meta, I have to mention that the Villain of the story is actually one of the best in the decade. He’s cool, evil from the start, we understand his motives and we certainly are not supposed to love and make excuses for him. The writers made sure of that. So back to the main topic.

A foil is a character who contrasts with another character; typically, a character who contrasts with the protagonist, in order to better highlight or differentiate certain qualities of the protagonist

Foils in literature are not necessarily antagonists. A friend can be a foil or sometimes even a thing, a song. Whatever can make a good and real contrast to the protagonist. But it’s not very simple to use this author’s device and not fall down a deep hole. Because you have to make sure you did just the right amount of work to make it understandable for a reader, the things you want to contrast are definitely there and still you don't waste a character. On TV it can be even harder given limited air time. And, well, I don’t come across this device being used in full very often nowadays. It’s usually good and evil fighting for the plot. That’s why I personally appreciate JaTP so much.

Caleb is clearly a foil to Luke. As much as I’d love to say that Julie also has one, that’s not entirely true, at least not this season. Carrie is not her foil though it may seem so, and I really think that’s cool as Julie’s journey is being presented through her own demons and I'm going to cover that next. That being said, of course Caleb doubles as an antagonist plotwise, but I personally consider him being written more as a contract to Luke so we could see and appreciate his character and journey better.

1. Origins

Caleb and Luke have extremely similar backgrounds. They are both natural performers. They know how to deliver, because c’mon, “Now or Never” is something and so is “The other side of Hollywood”. Stage is their natural habitat, their element, power. Although they channel this power from completely different places.

Let’s start with our little ball of energy. It’s emphasized TWICE that he doesn’t care about the money aka the physical side of art.

All Luke wants is to make music. Connect with people. He is so happy just to be heard despite him loving to perform. Making music is what makes him feel alive and basically that’s enough. I think if there was no “hologram” magic at all, Luke would have still been extremely happy to make music with and for Julie. Because that’s the way he is.

But Caleb doesn’t know that. He knows, and I’m standing by that, right away that Luke is the one to aim at. Because we always feel the similarity in people. If Luke said yes, Reggie and Alex would have followed. So Caleb recognizes the passion and shoots at them what he thinks is appealing. And, oh boy, he delivers.

“The Other Side of Hollywood” is a perfect song to emphasize Luke and Caleb being foils for each other. Follow me here:

But these lines come from very different places. For Caleb the only thing that matters is himself. He owns the show, he IS the show. It’s about being famous, drowning in applause, admiration. Look at how he performs. Confident, yes, but still very much in control. He must keep his perfect face. No flaws, no real emotions, no real connection (Did you miss ME? I did too // This band is back). Whereas Luke is simply living the best time of his life each time he performs. Is it just jamming? Bring it on. Doing fun riffs? He’s all for it. He doesn’t care how he looks (though who could deny gorgeous sweaty Luke), he owns the show just because he is a natural.

So back to the business. Caleb immediately puts the boys in his own shoes:

On the other side we live like kings // Your soulprint on the walk of fame on the boulevard of your wildest dreams // I got your glamour, got your gold, got all you’ll ever need

And, I mean, he is not that wrong. You can see the appeal on the boys’ faces. They are young, passionate, handsome, talented musicians. Of course they wouldn’t deny fame. Of course they would want all that to some extent. And Caleb is very sure he pulled the right strings.

Watch me make a move, I’m your number one choice

Also I have to mention, as we are talking about TOSOH (IKEA name again) and it being a foil for Luke, thy lyrics still don’t forget about what is important for Reggie and Alex (we’ll talk about that just a bit later):

Welcome to the brotherhood -> Reggie

Where you won’t be misunderstood -> Alex

Then again, lots of foreshadowing in the song, if you listen carefully the lyrics are stressing the true colors of the offer:

A tomb with a view

Man, what a metaphor. I would have run out of there the minute I heard this line. But our boys share one brain cell (I can’t get over how funny this is) and it’s currently taken by Julie, so I don’t blame them.

Disappointment is huge. Caleb read it all wrong. So we are moving to the next point in our Heroes and Villains essay.

2. Recruitment

It’s very cool that Caleb offers the boys to join his band right after Luke offers Julie to join Sunset Curve. They both are going out of their ways to get that (although have different budgets apparently. But look, they live in a garage). Luke made a hit with a bunch of Julie’s not very well structured lines (I love Flying Solo with all my heart as a song, but as a poem it just looks weird to me) to impress her, and we all saw the show Caleb had thrown to impress the boys. Plus food. And fancy dancing. But here is where contrast comes again.

Caleb offers to join the band, yes, but only as backup singers. It’s his show, remember? It’s only about him. He doesn’t care if they are even good. He wants their magic under control.

Share the spotlight with ME / How do you like MY new band?!

Luke offering Julie a spot in the band is a completely different story. He saw what she is capable of. He instantly knows she must be the key to a new sound, a new level. And he, a natural performer, frontman, lead guitarist, steps back and gives the spotlight to Julie. To think about it, he could have just got her magic under control by giving her simple lines, incorporating piano in the songs and that’s all. They would be visible, he would still be a center of attention, and Julie herself wouldn't mind that much. But that’s not who Luke is. Yes, there is a funny scene of “Hey, I’m your lead singer” and “you don’t have to be mean”, but it’s just messing around. Because right after that he finishes Flying Solo, writes several other songs with Julie, seeks her approval of Sunset Curve songs and basically follows her around like an adorable excited puppy.

Moving on and back to the rejection. Again the writers are mirroring them. Julie quits the band & the boys decline the offer. What does Luke do? Well, he tries the way he knows: books a gig, makes Reggie and Alex sing in perfect harmonies and does his puppy eyes thing. And it doesn’t work. And Luke goes to reflect and then probably try to come up with a plan. But something tells me he would not have haunted Julie until she joined them.

What does Caleb do after the initial rejection? Puts a cursed stamp that leaves them no choice but to join HGC. You don’t need to say more.

But in fact the more I think about it, the more I suspect Caleb also not possessing enough mental capacity for a human being. Like, if it wasn’t for Willie, how would they even know? Has Caleb planned to simply show up one day and casually explain? Look, foils in everything.

“You’re in a tough spot… So, you wanna join the band?” | “Looked like it hurt… you know where to find me”

But we sidestepped a bit.

3. Pulling the strings

After the song Caleb comes out to consolidate his success. What he does is clever and, btw, that’s the only time he becomes Julie’s foil. They are stating basically the same thing.

Again, Julie is concerned about the band and the boys, while Caleb is only concerned about having them under control. But they both are pulling basically the right strings.

What is interesting, Caleb actually impressed the wrong person (and that person is our sweet Reggie). Luke follows the string Julie pulled. Although the offer is tempting, he insists twice that they are in a band already directly to Caleb and then in Eats&Beats he says "It's like Julie said, we have a new band, a new sound». No matter what Caleb promised, Luke is not affected at all although Caleb’s offer is a very-very safe choice.

Speaking about using friends as foils, Alex and Reggie also serve as contrast characters for Luke at some points. Luke’s indifference to money is first stressed through Alex who is clearly the chief accountant for the band. His lines about not getting tips, living in a garage and «it’s a little bit about the money» are waved aside by Luke. Reggie is clearly the most affected by the whole Bobbie thing. His lines «I don’t care what Julie said, I’m glad we scared Bobbie», «So we’re gonna forget about getting back at Trevor?» are getting a clear contrast by Luke’s «It’s what Julie said, we have a new band, a new sound» and «He has to live with that guilt».

While editing the article I realised a very cool thing I haven't noticed before. How badly Luke wants to go on tour. And again that's another thing Caleb offers as if reading his mind. That's actually brilliant, to think about it.

Caleb is a VERY good reader. He tests the waters with a speech about disappearing from stage and going around the world and all dreams coming true. Still he doesn’t know the boys and especially Luke, so his phrase “no real connection” doesn’t register that much.

But he learns. Remember the lines I’ve marked before?

Reggie is afraid they will not be together after they cross over. He is in desperate need of a family. So wouldn’t it be nice to spend the rest of your afterlife with your brothers? (Reggie's main insecurity is loneliness, feel of a broken family. That's why he is the most concerned about crossing over. Will his family stay intact?)

Alex is insecure, and not being understood by the people closest to him will always hit hard. So welcome to a place where you won’t be misunderstood. And actually we know there is a guy you like and find comfort in. (Alex's insecurity is growing up in times when he could not truly be himself even with his family and for sure not believing he would ever be able to find someone meant just for him)

That mirrors the whole Luke’s beach speech perfectly. Only comparing them we can truly appreciate why Luke is the leader. He shuts down his own demons to make Alex and Reggie remember that they are not alone (“and I believe in you”. sorry. Olicity fan).

Caleb makes them suffer to get what he wants. But this time he is careful with the words aimed at Luke. Yes, he repeats his words about vanishing and applauses BUT he makes sure that his words about CONNECTION are the key words for Luke. Intense look, calming voice, touching - these are all elements of hypnosis. And Luke is in a daze. (Continuing the parents' thing, for Luke the main insecurity is not managing to connect with his mom. Maybe that's such a big thing for him: through all these people he wanted to find that connection with her)

4. The Hero’s journey

That’s the best part actually but I won’t be saying anything new or that you don’t know. Luke is made of lyrics and music. That’s his soul, heart, that’s the feeling running through his veins. He doesn’t need anything other than that in his life. Playing for eternity is “a gift no musician would ever turn down”. But he actually does turn it down. As well as his dream to go see the world with his band (is there covid in jatp universe?). He is the one who resists the hardest to the pull. Luke, who always has a guitar in his hands, doesn't want to play. Because it’s not only about the music now. He has this amazing girl in his afterlife who was willing to accept them for who they were, helped Luke battle his own demons, eased his pain and made him open up. And it doesn’t make sense any longer without her anymore. “And you’re a part of me now till eternity”.

Caleb, being Luke’s foil, completely misses the whole point of connection. It’s not in his nature. His house band are just recruits (Just so happens you’re in luck we’ve got a vacancy). For Luke his band is his family (We are the only family we ever gonna need). The Connection theme is one of the main in the show. And it’s so cool to show it focused through Luke whose best way of interaction is a touch. But not being able to touch Julie Luke has to find other ways, although it’s not that simple for him. And Julie backs that up: We connect in so many other ways. They literally touched each other's souls. Without knowing she put a stamp of her own on Luke, Alex and Reggie. They’ve never felt loved enough, appreciated enough, supported enough. They’ve only had each other. And Julie’s stamp is love. And for Luke (as well as Reggie and Alex) from now on this girl is worth dying for all over again.

_______

So yeah. I hope you enjoyed it, as I for sure enjoyed writing. There is gonna be a part 3 about Julie and a few honorable mentions of parallels of the Pilot and the Finale (I hope at least to do all that). I’ve also figured very very cool connections in the songs and I can’t wait to share.

Also as I was heavily speaking about The Other side of Hollywood, @catty-words has a wonderful meta on rain metaphors here (sorry for tagging, if you don't want to be tagged), check it out if you somehow missed it. It's super clever.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie molina #luke patterson #reggie peters #alex mercer #jatp meta #jatp analysis #my gifs #my edits #don't crop #please be nice #caleb covington #ana's meta #am i smart? i am #having more brain cells then sunset curve

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐎𝐧𝐞

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Rowan glanced at his pocket watch and attempted to swallow his irritation.

How was it only nine-o-clock still? He had already suffered through enough social niceties to last a lifetime.

Now, he listened with but half a mind to his cousin drone on about the night's guests. His head was filled with all the tasks he needed to see to, including searching for a new governess for his sons. His boys kept chasing away every woman he employed and he was hesitant to hire a tutor, because he believed they needed a woman's influence too, now that his own wife was too ill. The physician had done all he could but there was not much hope she would wake, loathe as he was to admit it. Perhaps he should have accepted his mother-in-law's offer and send the boys to their her after all?

"--and Arobynn's here too—"

That caught his attention. "He is?"

"Mhmm. Look, over there, no, no, to the left—besides the pretty redhead, yes, just so."

A man stood by the entrance with a red-haired woman on his arm, tall and muscular, with a fine-boned face. His auburn hair were pulled back into a bun, offsetting his pale skin and the fine cut of his suit was a stark reminder of his prominent position in society, despite the whole stigma around tradesmen.

"I knew he was fond of flaunting convention but escorting his mistress to a ball?"

"You haven't heard?" James approached them with a drink in his hand. "She is not his mistress but an adoptive daughter of sorts and his apparent heir."

Fenrys choked on his drink.

"He named a girl heir to his trade empire—and not even his own blood—stupid!"

"Spoken like a man," said the gentleman and shook his head. "He raised her himself, is introducing her to all his associates and she doesn't look dumb either."

James nodded towards the redhead he had seen earlier, dressed in the finest black silk with a neckline low enough, it bordered on scandalous. Her copperish-red hair were pinned into an elegant coiffure with pretty, gold hair combs and a simple, pearl necklace completed the striking picture she made. Her sharp, defined features were barely beautiful until she laughed—a musical sound in itself—and he wondered whether he had seen anyone prettier.

"If hers was the last face I ever saw, I'd die a happy man." Fenrys sighed and walked off.

James rolled his eyes. "He's about to seek an introduction to her, isn't he?"

Rowan's lips twitched up.

He had always liked James. The man was completely without artifice and his enthusiasm for everything was so infectious, no one could remain angry with him. He had spent a few summers with the Galathynius children, until their youngest daughter was abducted and the visits stopped.

"I say you must frown a little less, sir, unless you wish to give offense."

Rowan looked up, startled at being addressed by the object of his thoughts. She looks even lovelier up close, thought he.

"I detest these events."

"So do half the people in this room and yet, appearances must be maintained."

"Deceit is not in my nature."

The lady frowned. "It is not deceitful to pretend you are interested in an event in order to spare your host's feelings."

"Your motive may be charitable but it is no excuse for dishonesty."

The lady looked amused but did not pursue the topic further. "I hope you will forgive me for speaking without a proper introduction, sir. I am not a fan of convention."

Rowan smiled.

An unmarried woman, not even of age, and already a heiress to a trade empire—by all accounts, she did not seem like one.

"I will, if you allow me to remedy the situation now." He bowed with exaggerated formality. "I am Mr. Rowan Whitethorn of Harcomb, in Doranelle."

Her cheek dimpled. "Miss Celaena Sardothein—my father—"

"Mr. Hamel, yes, I know." He almost cringed at how rude he sounded. "He and I, we are—"

"—business associates, yes, I know," she teased with an impish grin, replying in a poor imitation of his own deep voice.

Her eyes twinkled with amusement, filled with laughter and mirth—turquoise orbs, ringed with brilliant gold.

All of his resolve flew out of the window. "Miss Sardothein, will you allow me the pleasure of leading you into the first set? The dancing is about to commence."

"The pleasure will be all mine."

In hopes of starting a conversation, he said, "You are a fine dancer."

"I would have believed you to be a liar if we hadn't already established that deceit of any sort is your abhorrence."

He smiled. "And if I were being insincere?"

"I would take it as a compliment to myself, for it will mean that you are acting on my advice from earlier about lying for the sake of appearances."

They fell silent again.

"We must talk some, you know," said Rowan. "For someone who claims to be concerned with appearances, do you not think it would look odd for us to spend a half hour together but in silence."

She startled at the sudden statement. "Introduce a topic then and I will do my poor best to maintain the conversation."

Rowan complied and was pleasantly surprised to find her lively and good-humored and well-informed on most subject from current fashion disasters to books to political bills and movements. Her arguements were passionate and far from taking offense at his dry humor, she matched it with witty quips of her own; and to top it alll off, she was as skilled a dancer as a conversationalist.

Rowan was almost annoyed when the song came to an end. He could not recall the last time he had been half as well entertained.

"You will be the death of me, you foolish, foolish chit!" screeched the old matron.

Fenrys had allowed himself to be dragged into a bookstore, which happened to be one of his least favourite places, by his cousin, James—the second son to his uncle, Lord Rhoe, the Earl of Narrowcreek—and was now eager for any sort of amusement. He turned towards the high-pitched shriek with interest.

A young lady stood near the shelves, tall and proud, even in the face of her mother's ill-bred manners.

Her blonde hair fell down in waves, half pinned by dragonfly-shaped hair combs. The fabric of her dress was fine enough for her to belong to the first circles and yet, he could not recall seeing her—or her mother—anywhere.

"Ungrateful child! Wait until I tell your father what you did; he will be most displeased."

She bit her lip to contain her mirth, though her cheeks flushed with embarassment. Her eyes flitted to the door and back, as if she was looking for some escape.

"Poor girl," the bookshop owner murmured.

The following words had the unfortunate attention of drawing the mother's attention towards the owner.

Lord Fenrys almost laughed at the alarmed look on the owner's face when she began lamenting to him instead and then looked over at the lady who was staring at the door with a thoughtful look, as if wondering whether or not to attempt an escape.

She must have decided in it's favour because she gathered her skirts and made a mad dash towards the door.

Fenrys realised he was standing in her way and hastened to move but it was too late—

"Darn!" cried she.

The commotion drew her mother's attention and upon spotting her wayward daughter lying on the floor with a grimace, she rushed over with a whole new litany of complaints.

Fenrys could have sworn the lady cursed under her breath.

"Stubborn, stubborn child! I told you not to run off without me but oh, how you love vexing me," shouted her mother in her high-pitched voice. "And what are you doing, bothering this fine gentleman over here? You had better not to talk to anyone if you are determined to refuse them all. You broke that poor man's heart—"

Fenrys quirked an eyebrow in interest, looking thoroughly entertained.

Her cheeks flushed further.

He frowned.

Up close, her face looked awfully familiar. He searched his brain for an answer.

A memory flashed in front of his mind. A highly unconventional black dress, a tinkling laugh and a ballroom.

Realisation dawned.

"Miss Sardothein! Fancy seeing you here," said he. "I almost didn't recognise you because of the hair."

"The hair? Oh, yes, I am very fond of dyes, but you have caught me in my natural state."

"I find you lovelier than ever. If you will forgive me for prying, I could not help but observe you haven't bought a thing yet, even though I know you to be a great reader! Is the reading material not to your taste, Miss Sardothein?"

Celaena answered wryly, "As a matter of fact, the books here suit my tastes very well—It is only that I am not allowed to buy books for a month—as punishment."

"No books! And what awful crime did you commit to merit that?"

"I rejected a marriage offer."

"A capital offense!"

Celaena smiled, "Indeed."

"I hope you are appropriately ashamed of yourself!"

"Horrified at my own audacity, really."

The lady looked up at him and grinned; Fenrys' own face turned pale and his mouth fell open in surprise. Ashryver eyes! She had ashryver eyes—like James, Aedion, and their mothers Helen and Evalin and—gods. The little poem his cousins had made up in childhood came to the forefront of his mind.

"The fairest eyes, from legends old,

Of brightest blue, ringed with gold."

But how...?

He looked at the woman again: her eyes bright and mirthful and thick eyelashes resting on her cheek, the face tugged at his memory; and she smiled so impishly, he had seen that smile before—

"Aelin," he blurted out.

He was startled when her smile dropped and recognition flickered in her eyes.

Fenrys shot an alarmed look towards the shelf behind which James had disappeared. Aelin was here! But how could this be? His heart thumped loudly inside his chest.

"Aelin?" She inclined her head in question.

He smiled uncertainly.

Was she really his little cousin? Aelin had been five year old when he last saw her.

But if he was wrong about this, could this come to bite him in the ass? She was certainly as old as his cousin would have been, had she been alive and she had the same unruly blonde curls and those ashryver eyes, teeming with life.

It couldn't be...

Arobynn's adoptive daughter.

"Yes, Aelin was my favourite cousin—you, uh, you remind me of her."

"If she is your favourite, then I am inclined to take that as a compliment." Celaena—Aelin?—smiled again, though her eyebrows remained drawn still. "The name does sound familiar. Perhaps I would have heard of her in the newspaper? The society column is a great source of amusement to my father. He reads it aloud to us from time to time."

Father? He wondered if she was talking of Arobynn or Mrs. Rhunn's husband.

Fenrys smiled sadly. "That is not possible for you see, my cousin died when she was five."

At least I thought she died.

"I am sorry for your loss." Then, with an arch look on her face, she asked, "If she was like me as you say, she must have been delightful."

He chuckled. "An absolute troublemaker."

"Definitely like me then," said she, sparing a look towards her mother. "I should leave now, before my mother lists you off as yet another suitor!"

And before he could think to stop her, she curtsied and scurried off.

Fenrys stared at the door, somewhat dumbfounded. Aelin is alive. He marvelled at the thought and then wondered how on earth he would inform her family—James would be ecstatic and his father would have to be informed, and Edward would have to be called to London, gods. Edward!

Aelin had been missed by all but no one grieved her as the poor man had.

Edward would be ecstatic; everyone would.

Fenrys ran towards his cousin out of breath, who was still examining titles in one corner.

"Fenrys, god, slow down, man! Whatever happened? You look like you saw a ghost."

He blinked.

Then, without any attempt at tact or discretion, he blurted out: "Aelin is alive."

"Aelin, Aelin, stop that—no, look at your frock, mother will be so angry, no, Aelin! You will hurt yourself like that."

The man watched, concealed behind the ridge as a little girl skipped from one mud puddle to another, blonde curls bouncing up and down as she moved. Her elder brother followed at a more sedate place, calling out admonishments and threats, not that they had an effect on her.

Aelin grinned over her shoulder and ran, leading her brother on a merry chase.

The man was still debating how to go about abducting the girl when fortune smiled upon him; she twisted her leg and fell down, prompting the boy to run towards her.

"It hurts," she whimpered, refusing to stand.

The man smiled maliciously and waited as the boy looked around. "Very well," he said finally. "If you promise not to go anywhere, I will fetch papa. Do not move, Aelin."

The boy rushed towards the manor house, ignoring the twisted knots in his stomach and burst into his father's private study. In his panicked state of mind, it took a few attempts for Rhoe to make sense of his garbled words.

A foreboding feeling rose in his stomach.

She will be fine, he tried to reassure himself. Aelin, troublemaker that she was, had had a lot worse than a twisted ankle.

But his alarm grew the nearer they came to where she was supposed to be and his heart pounded inside his chest. All colour drained from his face when they didn't find Aelin where she was supposed to be.

"Are you certain this is where you left her?"

Edward nodded.

Rhoe suddenly felt dizzy, his knees buckled and bile rose up in his throat.

He reined himself in and with admirable composure, organised search parties to search around the estate and the neighbourhood.

The search carried on until late that night, when an express rider from the nearby magistrate arrived with a letter: a nearby warehouse had burned down earlier that day and two bodies were found: a man in his forties, who could not be identified and a seven year old girl who had on a silver anklet bearing the word fireheart and requested Mr. Galathynius' presence tomorrow at the warehouse to confirm the girl's identity.

Rhoe folded the letter, excused himself from company and sent his sons to their beds.

Then he entered his study: the study no one was allowed to enter without permission—except his Aelin—slumped into the armchair by the fireplace and wept.

note: ...and it's here. I have so many drafts of this chapter lying around, I'm surprised I actually finally posted it lmao.

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#throne of glass #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfiction #tog fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #sarah j maas #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fluff #rowaelin regency fic #valiant #aelin-queen-of-terrasen

[ukdamo]

By the Danube

Attila Jozsef

As I sat on the bottom step of the wharf, A melon-rind flowed by with the current; Wrapped in my fate I hardly heard the chatter Of the surface, while the deep was silent. As if my own heart had opened its gate: The Danube was turbulent, wise and great.

Like a man’s muscles when hard at his toil, Hammering, digging, leaning on the spade, So bulged and relaxed and contracted again Each single movement, each and every wave. It rocked me like my mother for a time And washed and washed the city’s filth and grime.

And the rain began to fall but then it stopped Just as if it couldn’t have mattered less, And like one watching the long rain from a cave, I gazed away into the nothingness. Like grey, endless rain from the skies overcast, So fell drably all that was bright: the past.

But the Danube flowed on. And the sprightly waves In playful gaiety laughed at me again, Like a child on his prolific mother’s knee, While other thoughts were racing through her brain. They trembled in Time’s flow and in its wake, Like in a graveyard tottering tomb-stones shake.

I am he who for a hundred thousand year Has gazed on what he now sees the first time. One brief moment and, fulfilled, all time appears In a hundred thousand forbears’ eyes and mine.

I see what they could not for their daily toil, Killing, kissing as duty dictated, And they, who have descended into matter, See what I do not, if truth be stated.

We know of each other like sorrow and joy, Theirs is the present and mine is the past; We write a poem, they’re holding my pencil And I feel them and recall them at last.

My mother was Cumanian, my father Half-Szekler, half-Rumanian or whole. From my mother’s lips sweet was every morsel, And from my father’s lips the truth was gold. When I stir, they are embracing each other; It makes me sad. This is mortality. This, too, I am made of. And I hear their words: “Just wait till we are gone…” they speak to me.

So their words speak to me for now they am I, Despite my weaknesses this makes me strong. For I am more than most, back to the first cell To every ancestor I still belong. I am the Forbear who split and multiplied, Shaped my father and mother into whole, My father and mother then in turn divide And so I have become one single soul.

I am the world, all that is past exists: Men are fighting men with renewed anguish. Dead conquerors ride to victory with me And I feel the torment of the vanquished. Arpad and Zalan, Werbaczy and Dazsa, Turks, and Tartars, Slovaks, Rumanians Fill my heart which owes this past a calm future As our great debt, today’s Hungarians.

I want to work. For it is battle enough Having a past such as this to confess. In the Danube’s waves past, present and future Are all-embracing in a soft caress. The great battle which our ancestors once fought Resolves into peace through the memories, And to settle at last our communal affairs Remains our task and none too small it is.

#poetry #hungarian #attila jozsef #danube #history #forebears #ancestors #life #vitality #hope #indifference #fate #perception #labour #strife #fulfilment