#naaiivety

[angeluus-blog]

" God forgot about me. "

I DON’T REMEMBER, THIS WAS IN MY DRAFTS & IT HURTS || ( accepting !! )

          words fail. fingers ticking, digging nails deep inside his palms. as if to force his battered skin into place. trying desperately to search… to find something. there was only one thing he knew for certain– that of all people, if such a thing existed– a god could only be cruel if it managed to leave wendla bergmann behind. arguably– without her, there would be no meaning he could even associate with the idea. she held the world together, somehow with those gentle fingers– she kept it all in balance. creating light in places she may never even get to see. right there in other people…even-- in him.

          he knew– whatever he said may fall insignificant to this spirituality. it was something he could just never grasp. he’d stopped believing a long time ago. only given evidence of a dead deity. a corpse used by his father to crux above others, and damn him with the back of his hand– for it touched holier things in its pseudo-virtue. he knew he could never put his thoughts into an effective form of comforting. wendla’s god was much kinder, greater even than the one used as justification in his father’s house. it was one who looked over the world, cared for it– it was active, alive, a motivator… so when she lost sight of it– the world was less kind. frozen. 

          lost to how his soul could even try to bring a warmth. for in belief, his sphere was so shattered, he wasn’t quite sure if he could see through her window of passion quite enough to make her feel comfort.

          nails finally unlatched, leaving behind imprints of his intense forethought, “ i know… that you know… i’m not worthy of belief – but, i DO believe that any god would could ever forget about you… wendla… isn’t one at all. ”

          “ and if it be – i remember you, moritz remembers you, bobby remembers you, melchior remembers you, thea, anna, martha – we all do. && i’ll do anything… ANYTHING… to make up for that missing piece. ” 

#naaiivety #man i know this is a million years old #but better late than ever #bc i love you #and wendla so much #▒ ❛ and whisper some silver reply ❜ 「replies. 」 #songslight

[enjolraaaa]

naaiivety replied to your post: this editorial piece is supposed to be 1k words...

I feel this. my current personal hell is my professor assigning a paper that has to have three specific arguments supporting the thesis with textual, cited evidence and requiring it to be ONLY ONE PAGE

WHAT

HOW

#naaiivety #( replies ) #and WHY

[makochosena]

@naaiivety liked!

❝ This is stupid! No matter how hard I try, I just can’t get sign language right. ❞

#[ hope this works! ] #naaiivety #VERSE. to be determined.

[beastkept-blog]

lcgillimens replied to your post “gonna give some love to wendla because I’ve been neglecting her”

YO WAIT THAT U?!

hahahahaha @naaiivety,  yup !   I’ve been playing wendla for a long time now tbh she’s my babe.

#lcgillimens #ᶠᶦʳˢᵗ ᵗʰᶦᶰᵍ'ˢ ᶠᶦʳˢᵗ ᴵ'ᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍᵃʸᵉˢᵗ �� OOC.

[pcssibilitiesarchive-blog]

naaiivety replied to your post: since it’s b&c month, i have to show you guys my...

NI C OLE HOW THE FU CK $3???

IDK I HONESTLY COULD N O T TELL YOU

someone just looked at it,,, tossed it in a box,,, like

yeah that’s worth a good three dollars

#naaiivety #it must be NICE to just toss away Good playbills like that #Rich People

[sollucem-blog]

                  ❛      i mean, EVERYONE deserves a second chance, right ?     ❜

＜  ｀    @naaiivety    ;    call .    ｀    ＞

#naaiivety #❪ verse ? ❫ ⋮ ❛ ᴜɴᴅᴇᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴇᴅ ❜ #jULI A #J U L I A #J #U #L #I #A #ILYSM

[sobohemian-blog]

❛ the books that i keep by my bed are full of your stories . ❜

monsters & men // accepting

             “ how poetic ! ”      there’s an effort behind the words,   a strain to make them come out as enthusiastic as they do.  ( the same strain that’s been in her smile for months,   for years ).       there are better stories than ilse’s ;   much better.    “ tell me:   do you think of me each night before bed then?   a glass of warm milk  &  thoughts of  poor  ilse?     i’m flattered. ” 

#naaiivety #rp #|| la y s on the ground jULIA

[hxmlct-blog]

@naaiivety liked for a starter.

It was often Hamlet’s custom to go for walks in the evening, when night had only begun to descend, when the sun had only just dipped below the horizon. There was something about that half-light that comforted him. Something that was not yet the long, bleak stretch of night when thoughts buzzed in his head too loudly for him to sleep. Nor was it the harsh, searing day, when the light stung his eyes and all was a hazy blur. It was the only time when Hamlet felt truly awake. Truly ALIVE.

It was also a time for himself, when no one hounded him about policies or lessons or matters of state. No one else dared tread this twilight hour. So he was more than surprised to see the girl, out here among the weeds. At first, Hamlet could not be sure that she was real--- perhaps she was an apparition brought on by the failing light. But he called out to her, nonetheless:

“Hello?” He waved an arm in the air. “Who’s there?” He was half afraid of the answer.

#naaiivety #v: sweet prince #// hey :D

[granxaire-a-blog]

           weretrash for @naaiivety

                        Bones shift, muscles stretch and shrink and there’s a brief flash of fucking ow why as he falls to all fours, but it’s gone as fast as it comes on. What’s left of the cynic is dark chocolate colored wold with black splotches like ink from his claws to his legs. He gives himself a shake and then offers Wendla a fangy equivalent of a smile, tail wag and all.

#( ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʀᴇᴅ ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴏᴅ ᴀɪɴ'ᴛ ɢᴏᴛ sʜɪᴛ ᴏɴ ᴇɴᴊᴏʟʀᴀs ) ! werewolf verse #naaiivety #feel free to use icons i just dont have anythigng wolfy yet lmao

[angeluus-blog]

“it’s okay to hurt & breakdown. you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

I DON’T REMEMBER, THIS WAS IN MY DRAFTS & IT HURTS || ( accepting !! )

           legs were dangling off the ledge. staring down into that seeming abyss. fingers itching on the inside of wrists. leaving behind scathed skin, burning etches digging deep beneath the surface. drawing blood in its attempt to hold it all together. as if trying to prick a needle and watch it thread itself in uneven stitches. pulled together with a variety of dead body parts-- a living, breathing frankenstein. brought together by the collective memories of breaking down at the hand of his creator, only to try putting himself together -- every new appearance, looking less and less like himself. hiding in the dark. screaming in his mind as all the hands kept pulling and tugging. trying to restrain the pieces of him that were still left.

           strength wasn’t in his dna. it was a pseudonym for his obvious shortcomings. he was caged in his own mind. what he was doing was a necessary service -- bottling himself up just tight enough... to keep it from all LEAKING out. keeping it from hurting the people around him. trying desperately to hide it away, in hopes-- he would be the only one left to hurt. 

           he was a sheep hiding in wolf’s clothing. right there in plain sight. leather camouflaging skin. dirt kicking up from the slight movement of his feet. trying desperately to keep himself on the tightrope... STEADY. like a well-rehearsed circus act... only for the animal to be beaten down behind the scenes. 

           hardly taking in that sentiment playing along her fingers. losing it in the jumble of the forces pulling his brain apart... and the strings tearing his heart to shreds... just a corpse breathing. 

           breathes becoming heavier and heavier as his eyes focused on the gravel under his soles. trying desperately to prim and prime... put on the concealer. and just keep moving. he couldn’t allow his nightmares reality. not here, not for wendla... they were his own curse. and he was the only one meant to bear them. --  alone... in solidarity... as it all came crashing in. he couldn’t bear to let them consume her too... she DESERVED so much more.

           fingers finally unlatched with the faint smell of blood staining the tips. his shoulders collapsing in on themselves, hardly holding his frame together. rooted in the ground, rocking with the wind. those fingers now only left shaking as they attempted a mask at whim, “ i... i’m fine... wendla... i DON’T need to talk. ”

#▒ ❛ and whisper some silver reply ❜ 「replies. 」 #naaiivety #songslight #why on earth are most if not all of these drafts so sad #i'm like sadistic #why do you people write with me #geezzzzzz

[pcssibilitiesarchive-blog]

naaiivety replied to your post “naaiivety replied to your post: i really wanna make thanksgiving...”

sit around & talk about those strange americans

them and their weird holidays it’s just an excuse to eat a lot of food and not feel guilty about it

#naaiivety

[sobohemian-blog]

            it’s been nearly a year.   thirteen,   ilse neumann had disappeared,  without a trace      like a breeze of wind,  she may as well have never been there.  the minute she was gone,  her parents claimed they THREW HER OUT.  no need for dirty miscreants in their house.    now,  fourteen,  she’s back like a summer breeze.             she hasn’t yet returned home      hasn’t had the courage to face her parents again.   as is,  she’s in a shirt that,  even tucked into her dirty skirt  ( which hangs too short ),   is too big to possibly belong to her   to a WOMAN, at that.  fiery locks are shorter,  barely passing the bottoms of her ears,    but the biggest change is in her eyes.   only a year ago full of life  &  dreams,  darker;  pale wrists marked with purple,  yellow,  green,  just under the sleeves.            and when she spots wendla bergmann among the trees,  only skirting the edges of town,   her heart begins to  P O U N D   & her hands tremble.   “ wendla bergmann ! ”  she shouts in scratchy syllables,  knowing very well she wouldn’t  HEAR.   bare feet sprint to the girl,  smile stretched tight in a desperate attempt  at the girl she was before.    when she reaches the other  ( who hasn’t changed a bit ),   she waves  so hard her hand could fall off,  signs for the first time in nearly a year.    “ wendla!   why are you here?  i didn’t expect to see you ! ”   as if  ILSE  isn’t the one who’s appearing like a ghost.

@naaiivety

#>( #verse ii. OUT THE DOOR? ⁽ ᵖʳᶤᵃᵖᶤᵃ ⁾ #rp #naaiivety #implied abuse //

[lupinrcmus-blog]

@naaiivety

          The sun was bright over Hogwarts’ grounds, September still in its dog days as Remus walked out into the warmth. He extracted a sheaf of parchment and quill from his book bag as he spied Wendla; Remus had to stop himself from calling her name. Instead he waved, trotted over to the Hufflepuff, plopped down beside her, and attempted to sign: Hello Wendla. How are you? Remus’ brow knit as he switched to his quill. He recalled most of the simple signs she had shown him, but he was still a beginner. When he turned the parchment to her, it read: Did I get your name right? He didn't mind communicating with Wendla through writing, but as he befriended the younger witch, Remus felt determined to understand her method of communicating. It seemed the use of sign language was woefully scarce at Hogwarts. A boy who’d spent much of his childhood apart, Remus aimed to help spare others from separation born of ignorance. Plus, Wendla was one of the kindest people he'd ever met. If anyone deserved the extra bit of effort, she did.

#naaiivety #verse001 #[ year: 1976 ]

[pcssibilitiesarchive-blog]

naaiivety replied to your post: i really wanna make thanksgiving starters but ella...

this is so cute but wendla is making confused german noises so

ella is the same she’s just ??????

#they'll make their own holiday and make good food just because they can tbh #my kids #naaiivety