#this is like my favourite poem ever AND NOW I HAVE TO LIVE WITH THIS??? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

astronicht · 15 days

Text

Since finishing Fellowship I keep seeing references to LOTR as a sweeping heroic tale etc and this is now confusing to me, both in terms of story structure (hero tale or Romance; immram or exile tale) and the level of fantasy. The thing I’m learning about the art of writing swords and sorcery is that — to me, personally! And I get that this sounds bonkers! — Tolkien mostly feels like low fantasy. He just made the magic that was already there real. To the point where it takes a long time to even notice when people are doing magic, and whether it’s magic is sometimes debatable. Sam even complains about this briefly in Lorien (that the Elf magic isn’t dramatic) which is funny bc he’s utterly surrounded by small magics the whole time. Hell, in a story that stresses the power of words, quite literally to protect, I think that in of the fellowship plus Bilbo, only Aragorn, Bilbo, Legolas [edited to add Legolas sorry for forgetting u my guy], and Sam have actually composed their own poems and songs. And most of Aragorn and all of Legolas’s was Boromir’s funeral song.

I’m mostly asleep and have effectively only read Fellowship so far but idk! My point is that it doesn’t feel like it’s so influenced by the structure of later high medieval and onwards hero stories all that much. WAS Tolkien influenced by French Romances and Shakespeare and modern novels like oh absolutely! But lotr isn’t the Green Night or even Melusine, and it is only Macbeth for special occasions.

I know it’s considered a model hero’s journey or whatever but in-universe (and again, maybe just to me!) it’s not? it’s an exile story. Like The Wanderer or Erik the Red or Deor. Frodo et al say it at the beginning a bunch of times: the hobbits have exiled themselves. Gollum we’re told was exiled by his matriarch long ago and has lived as an exile ever since. Where I am at the beginning of Two Towers, Aragorn just saw the mountains that hide Gondor to the south and sang to them because he cannot yet go home. And there are a lot of those exile stories to draw on, in the time period and languages from which Tolkien was drinking deepest. Exile was a legal state and also a favourite story-frame.

205 notes · View notes

justporo · 8 months

Text

Fluffy relationship headcanons for Astarion and Tav

No one asked but I have to get out some headcanons I have for Astarion (and some for his relationship with Tav (based on my female Tav)) or rather some ideas I have in my head for how it'd be after the ending of the game's events. Bear in mind, I am not done with my first playthrough yet.

We know he can handle a thread and a needle very well. Imagine he would get a dress for her, knowing she's not used to this kind of finery and would add custom embroidery relating to stuff she likes and then giving it to her on her birthday or their anniversary. And Tav just completely loses it, breaking down crying, because neither has anyone ever done something so sweet for her nor could she bear all the care and effort her soulmate put into it.

They bicker - a lot. They swing between old married couple that call each other names and piss each other off and being the sweetest, most diabetes-inducing, just recently gotten into a relationship-y lovebirds.

Laying in bed naked and sharing a bottle of wine while talking about their relationship, their pasts, whatever state the world is in is their favourite hobby.

They have datenights showing each other their favourite spots around town - also working through their collective trauma.

Maybe Tav convinces him to start journaling and slowly working through his past, maybe he finds out he has a knack for poetry doing that, so he starts randomly writing sweet little poems for Tav and leaves them around their place for her to find.

Astarion making a habit out of doing Tav's hair and making sure she takes better care of herself, because she's lived most of her life like a streetcat and didn't care so much about how she looked. Hair? Yeah, I've put half of it in braids and haven't touched them for a year. Make-up? Sure, I've been wearing this smoky eye for a week. Also, why do you think I have this tattoo?

Okay, enough for now. I will most probably put some of these moments in fictions because I simply cannot contain myself. Meet my Tav btw:

581 notes · View notes

ruminiscence · 4 months

Text

Paris: A Year Abroad in a short film

Audio: "Burnt Norton" by Lana Del Rey, a rendition of the original poem "Burnt Norton" by T.S. Eliot.

Where do I even start? Paris has wholly shaped me in ways I never imagined. We refer to Paris as the city of love, but I'm now more inclined to call it the city of art - which only leaves more room for love in your heart. There is so much to contemplate and appreciate in frequenting the vast array of art museums here - from the Louvre, Musée d’Orsay, Musée de l’Orangerie, the Centre Georges Pompidou, and many more. Not only has my perspective on art expanded, but so has my worldview. That’s because art is truly everywhere in this city; art can be found in the walkable streets amidst the rich architecture, the fashionable outfits seen in daily life, and even the exquisite decor in stores and when you cheekily peek into Parisian appartments!

There's always something new to discover in Paris, I'm almost saddened at the thought of the things I've yet to discover or missed. The treasures to unveil in Paris move far beyond the typical tourist hotspots we all know and love. I am obsessed with Parisian boutiques; they are chic and unique (that unintentionally rhymed) in the best way possible. One of my favourites is La Tonkinoise à Paris, located in the 11th arrondissement. This particular arrondissmenet is the best in Paris to be honest, it holds a special place in my heart as I had the wonderful opportunity of living there, so perhaps you can say that I am somewhat biased. Still, I can confidently say that this animated, hip and creative neighbourhood is one everyone should have the chance to explore.

La Tonkinoise à Paris, owned by the lovely Chantal, is my favourite hidden gem in Paris. I had the pleasure of befriending Chantal as I ended up frequenting her store one too many times; I've garnered quite a collection over time. This boutique offers a wide range of eccentric and sustainable jewellery, with her earring creations being the show stoppers, in my opinion. Her jewellery is composed of rings, pearls, brooches, charms, and watches, all unearthed in flea markets and recycled. I love that every piece of jewellery indeed is a unique piece. The decor changes based on the season and theme of her new collections, making it an ever-changing and exciting shopping experience. This is honestly the best jewellery store I have ever been to in my life! I wish the pictures I took could do the jewellery and the boutique's decor justice, but it simply won't, I'm afraid.

Now, onto food, I genuinely need to figure out where to start here. My favourite authentic French restaurant would have to be 'Le Potager du Père Thierry', located in Montmartre. Although it's incredibly small, I love the cosy vibe; I feel like I can enjoy delicious food with friends without feeling surrounded by strangers. Surprisingly, it's also very quiet (yet packed) - I guess the food is just too distracting.

As of late, my favourite non-french restaurant has to be 'Big Black Cook' (let's ignore how inappropriate that pun is, though funny). It's located in the 2nd arrondissement and serves Caribbean food, my friend claims that it was the best meat she's had!

For brunch, I recommend Café Méricourt in the 11th arrondissement. Their green Eggs & Feta are absolutely incredible and quite innovative as far as brunch places go.

As for a boulangerie - seriously, anywhere, literally anywhere in Paris, go to your nearest bakery; there need not be a big fuss - you're in for a scrumptious baked treat regardless!

I'm ever so grateful for the chance to have lived in Paris for an extended period; you cannot appreciate Paris in its entire splendour from a mere short-term visit. The city is an actual work of art; art is everywhere in the city, from the street performers and musicians, the light filters through the trees, the city's many architecturally rich bridges, the picturesque cafés and boulangeries, the beautifully presented food, the way that the city's many different neighbourhoods each have their own distinct character and vibe. In Paris, art is everywhere.

69 notes · View notes

infernalodie · 10 months

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 || 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐳

Inspo: Emile Mosseri - Jacob and the Stone

Pairing: Maddy Perez x Gn!reader

Summary: The stone that stood tall and would never full leave her memory...

Warnings: Angst throughout with mentions of suicide.

Words: 1770

DNI IF YOU’RE YOUNGER THAN 18!

There was this stone Maddy used to go to.

Somewhere in the density of a forest right outside of Highland. Practically resting near the long breaks of the open countryside, this place resided.

It’d been a complete chance that she came to this location. Her car broke down with her friends and their goal to live the night up was still on the list of plans. So, they ventured into this forest and found this large stone.

She remembers Cassie being a ruckus and being the emotional drunk she was. Lexi was reserved and just talked with Kat. Rue and Jules were holding one another. But Maddy found you staring at this stone, perplexed or fascinated by it.

Maddy remembers you dragging your hand across the texture of the rock. Lips twitched faintly as the tips of your fingers gently caught the grooves; scars of its past and present. And something about it made you say, “It’s beautiful.”

Everyone knew you found beauty in the strangest of places. If it is some random obscured painting or one of those poems you would write in your free time–there was nothing you couldn’t find positives in. It had been what made Maddy fall in love with you in the first place.

And she remembers how you looked back at her. A look in your eye that was almost contentful. Like something had been decided the moment you saw this large stone. You had said, “If I ever die, I want to be buried here. I’ll even write it in my will.”

She punched your arm for saying something like that. Warning you that she would be the one to do the job if you brought something like that up. You smiled and laughed. And she remembers your arms curling around her and holding her against your chest tightly. Your face tucked in her hair where you pressed gentle kisses.

That had only been a week before everything happened. That was the last memory she had of you before you were gone. Swept up and taken wherever was after this life. And now, even after all these years, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to go back to that forest–to relive that moment all over again in a place that she imagine still had your lingering presence.

Today, it was the anniversary of your death. So, with the urging encouragement of Lexi and Rue, she drove up to the forest. She walked amongst the trees that the further she got, blocked out the sun that had been beating down on her since she got back from Highland. It left a massive veil between her and the outside world that hoped hadn’t desecrated this sacred land.

Then she finally arrived at the stone. It stood tall- maybe even taller than she had once realized. Its exterior was jaded–chips having fallen off from years of weather conditioning. And in a traditional fashion, your initials were etched into its face. Your name, your birthday and the day of your passing. Each letter and number is rough around the edges, but perfect as its own; much like you.

Flowers were scattered around the marked grave. Much of them came from friends that had specifically come down to visit and pay respects to you. There were postcards from Jules; she believed that in some way, they might make it to you somehow. There were stuffies from Rue who knew of your unhealthy obsession with said items. Lexi left some of your favourite books from your guys’ friendship being built from that.

But Maddy had nothing to offer. Perhaps she thought her visit was enough considering the time she’d pushed to avoid the inevitable.

Exhaling heavily, she forced a smile. “Hey, baby.”

She sat beside the grave with the faint outline of where it had been dug. She clasped her hands together, saying, “I would ask you how you were doing, but I think we both know that would just be stupid of me.”

Painful silence. She didn’t know what to say. What was there to honestly say? You had given up. Maybe you lost sight of the beauty in this world. Lost all hope for society and decided to clock out before you saw anything get worse. Or maybe you had been depressed the whole time but she was too blind to see it. People wore masks–some of who no one would expect. Maybe you were a part of that few.

But since you left, she tried to keep to what she had been before you left–be the person that you loved. So, she wasn’t going to try and beat around the bush with any fruitless questions or statements. “I want to say you left because you couldn’t handle living anymore. But somehow-” she laughed, shaking her head. “-something tells me your sick mind thought that becoming one with the earth was beautiful, huh? I mean, we both know that’s how your mind worked.”

In some way, with your passing, she felt like she had finally grown as close as she could get to you. With your family left in shambles from your death, Maddy had taken it upon herself to be the one to pack your belongings up. Place your clothes in boxes, trinkets in boxes, and all the little handwritten notes that lined your walls. And on the final day, there was only one poem left and she just sat in the center of your room and stared at it. Then she cried. Harder than she ever thought she could. She screamed and fought against the harsh grasp of reality that was; once she took that final paper, you were officially gone. You would be gone from her life forever.

But from time to time, when she came down to Highland to visit her parents, she stopped by your family’s house. She had dinner with them, talked about life, made plans for future holidays and then she would ask to look at the boxes.

There would always be a silence that fell over the kitchen. The uneven breaths from your mother who would purse her lips, forcing a broken smile that could crack as she grabbed Maddy’s hands and hold them tightly. Which would always be contradictory because of the tears in her eyes. And your mom would always say, “Honey, don’t ever feel like you need to ask.”

And your dad would sit there quietly, avoiding eye contact that could betray the tough exterior he had to keep. When, in fact, the wound of your passing was still fresh and it would always stay that way. No child is supposed to go before their parents.

But you did. You defied every expectation; good and bad. You believed in most people who didn’t deserve it. You found lessons in situations you had labelled, “misconstrued control”. Each of those lessons made you grow and in any way you could, you tried to pass this knowledge on to others. But you gave up and in Maddy’s mind and that substituted everything else out. Your action to leave so soon was unforgivable to her.

You gave up when things were getting good for the two of you. When your guys’ story was starting to pick up make things interesting.

“I started reading some of those poems you had taped up on your walls.” A faint smile twitched on her lips. “They almost looked like etchings of thoughts you never said to me.” Maddy’s lips trembled. She remembered clearing out your room and spending hours sitting in the center of that room. Unable to take her eyes off of all the deep and meaningful quotes that you were so infatuated with. If she’d known that she returned to your house in her dreams, finding you standing and staring at each poem with a smile, she would’ve never laid a foot inside that room.

Bowing her head slightly as she swayed. Sniffling harshly, she said, “If you must die, I’ll envy even the earth that wraps around your body.” Her tearful eyes lifted to the inscription of your name carved meaningfully into the boulder. Face twisting with her voice giving way. “And I fucking miss you, Y/n. I hate knowing something else will give you warmth when I could’ve filled that spot for you.”

Her voice cracked. A sob fell from her lips. “I shouldn’t be sad. You fucking left me!” She fell to her hands, slowly lowering herself where blades of grass brushed across her rosy cheeks that kissed the earth. Her body trembled as she sought the feeling of your arms once more. Fingers delving into the dirt, hoping to find your hands interlocking with hers the further she reached. “But I want you here. Even in my dreams, I just want one more day with you.”

It was a distant and unforgeable wish, she knew that. But she was desperate. She had to wake up most nights and cry herself back to sleep because that would be the only way to reunite with you once more. Through the pain, she was healed by your smile. And she trying to find a middle ground between acceptance and refusal.

But that was the thing–no one can have both. When someone is gone, we can’t do anything to bring them back. And with time, we will heal. It’ll hurt like hell and it’ll feel like that wound will always be open, but that’s what comes with acceptance. And when we least expect it, when we find someone that makes our hearts skip a beat like the person before once did, we’ll realize how far we’ve come. How much pain we were able to take and keep moving forward.

It's a sign to try again.

And it hurt Maddy to admit it, but she wanted to keep going. Keep you close to her heart, but far enough that she was allowed to think about the good times instead of the worst.

And what helped was for her to think about how your mind worked–your beliefs that she never could wrap her head around. With time, she learned more about herself and where she stood on the unappreciated qualities of life and the world she lived in. Maddy believed that in some alternate reality, the both of you were still together and thriving. And acknowledging that was beautiful in its own way because she got to experience it for some time–a small sliver compared to a counterpart, but still a gift. But a different version of her would feel it until her last breath.

Something like that was poetic, wasn’t it?

#maddy perez euphoria #alexa demie #maddy perez x gn!reader #maddy perez x gn reader #maddy perez imagine #maddy perez fanfiction #maddy perez angst #maddy perez x reader #maddy perez #euphoria #euphoria fanfiction #euphoria imagine #euphoria maddy perez #x gender neutral reader #x gn!reader #x gn reader #x reader

292 notes · View notes

atom-writings · 8 months

Note

Hi!!!!!!

Can I request the main 8 with a poet/writer s/o?

The main 8 find their s/o's poems or writing about them and it's like how much they love them !!!

(hopefully this makes sense :D have a nice day!

Also your writing super coolio )

hetalia allies + germany with a s/o who's a writer

1.6k words ~ gender neutral heacanons + mini scenarios

tw: swearing, thats it!

a/n: i believe this is after the cutoff so its only 6 characters sorry! also ty :)

America

Alfred may not seem like it, considering his less-than-stellar attention span, but he can be quite an avid reader if he wants to be.

In fact, when he was travelling the western frontier, he often wrote poems himself.

He loves your work, (he’s always the first one showing up on release day!) but he doesn’t love how much time it takes away from you.

Seeing you exhausted and frustrated after a long night, trash can filled with discarded drafts, just breaks his heart. He’ll make sure your office is always stacked with

Alfred wasn’t usually so easily swayed by cheesy romances, despite his sweet soft for them. But now, reading your book, he couldn’t help flushing at every interaction his favourite couple had.

The one he was reading now, well, it just took the cake. Spending the day wandering East Potomac Park? It was something out of his dreams- just endlessly… familiar?

Wait, hadn’t he done that recently with you?

Oh.

He set the book aside, burying his face in his hands as he blushed wildly.

Guess the blue-eyed, blond love interest hero was a bit more than a stereotype after all.

England

Ah, a writer. Arthur has long admired the literary arts, having many a classic writer come from his home. Yes, he’d quite enjoy someone like that.

He loves reading your work, regardless of what it is, but he’d prefer you read it to him. Then he can get all of your silly little notes along with it. Just for him <3

Although he wouldn’t appreciate you spending all day working. He’s not needy usually, but by the time you two go to bed, he’s DESPERATE for your attention.

He tries not to disturb you, though.

From the moment he picked up your work, he could tell where your inspiration for the main love interest came from. Sandy-haired, green eyes, tall but not too tall, always how you had described him.

Of course, that made his reading even more of a joy.

The only thing that bothered him was how the protagonist described themself. Always dismissed, below-par, never worthy of his love. Now, that just wouldn’t stand.

So he began to write as well. In between the margins, on attached papers, on the sides, everywhere. Correcting every disparaging thought.

Then when he finished, he handed the book back to you, with a cheeky comment.

“It was absolutely wonderful, my love.”

Whether you ever saw the notes or not didn’t matter. He had made the book even more perfect, at least to himself.

France

As said before, Francis is a very artsy guy. Very artsy. Although he’s not always skilled at making art himself… so having another artist would help with that.

He’s absolutely the number one collector of your works. Every scrap, every trashed draft, every misprint, he’s keeping everything.

He’s also pretty ok with how much time it takes! It gives him time to relax, or maybe even join in working on creative projects.

Although he would insist on regular breaks. Fortunately, Francis is a hedonist at heart, so those breaks will always provide much inspiration.

True beauty is rare. Living for so long had proven that time and time again for Francis. It isn’t natural, it isn’t easy, and it never lasts. But…that doesn’t make the pursuit of it any more meaningless.

Even more rare than its existence, is the constant presence of it.

But when he read your poems, venerating and elucidating your own feelings, he felt as if he had found it. God, it was beautiful. Your words, unlike any other’s he had read in his many years, made him feel as if he was falling in love all over again.

Instantly, he was transported into your shoes, viewing himself in a light that had never been shone on him before.

He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself now. It felt wrong- wrong to not give absolute reverence to this piece of art.

If he had had access to the Louvre, he would’ve kept it there. But, well, his kitchen wall would have to do for now.

China

Finally, some good fucking talent. He's very excited about his S/O being an artist! He's not much of one himself these days, but it's good to see the youth catching up to the old masters.

As much as he loves you, he's very opinionated. Everything you write he either LOVES or HATES. Though he's always excited to show off his favourites of your works, he's very proud of you.

Though he absolutely is not stand by while you spend all day sitting around and writing. Get off the couch and come with him, you're never gonna write anything real good if you don't have any life experience!

Because of that, he's gonna be a little hesitant to cater to you while you're writing.

Your last work was good, to be sure, but nothing like this. Your newest release blew him off his feet with ease, captivating him with every turn of the page. One of his favourites, he thought to himself, that'll be one he'd have to return to.

The only problem was that it was almost over already. He wasn't that much of a fast reader, was he? Well, I guess it's easy to go quickly if you love it.

And love it he did, to the very last page. Wait, this is the last page, isn't it? Why are there three more?

He flipped through them, his eyes quickly widening as he read the last page.

A love letter? To... him?

“Is this in every edition?” He asked you shakily, looking to you for reassurance.

“Yeah?”

“That's...” He brought a hand to his mouth, covering his blushing cheeks trying to hide the tears welling in his eyes, “That's such a waste of paper...”

Russia

Frankly, Ivan doesn't care much what you do. The most exciting part of you being a writer to him is just that you'd need to spend plenty of time at home.

But he'd always read your work. (Especially rough drafts, he's really good at being blunt but not mean.) And as time goes on, he'll fall in love with your talent more and more. Despite his country's many famous writers, he thinks none of them stack up to you.

He wouldn't mind how much time you dedicate to your craft, but he'd make sure to take good care of you while you're writing. He's truly very worried about you withering away in that desk chair of yours...

“Oh, I absolutely loved the part where-“

Ivan had been ranting for hours, going over every single detail that had caught his eye. Every time he thought of something new, it would lead to another excited train of thought. But there was one thing they all had in common... he really loved one character.

”He's strong!“ He'd gush, ”He's kind, and loving, and I just want him to have a happy ending!“

You let him explain over and over again how much he looked up to this character, wanting to change to be more like him in every way.

But it wasn't until he calmed down a little bit that you felt it was time to reveal the truth.

”Yeah, you know... he's based on someone I know.“

”Really? Who? I must meet him!“ He clasps his hands together in excitement.

”You, you big dummy.“

He pauses for a moment, his smile fading. He looks upset for a moment, trying to figure out how.

”But... but I am none of those things.“

”You are to me. I mean, whenever I thought about you... I'd just write that character.“

He laughs awkwardly, “You are joking, right?”

“No, of course not. You're strong... and you're kind....” he shifts away from you, tears welling in his eyes, “You're loving... and... and I'll give you a happy ending, ok?”

Before you can react, he wraps his arms tightly around your waist, burying his face in your hair.

”Promise?“

”Promise.“

Germany

Ludwig would definitely love a S/O who writes. Mostly for one specific reason, though. Writers, well, they see the world in a different way. Whether that be in a more romantic, more objective, or more sympathetic way, he doesn't care. He wants to talk things through with someone like you.

He wouldn't be a total fanboy, but he'd still love your work. Although, he might not show it the way you want... it's hard for him not to criticize. He wouldn't be too harsh though!

He wouldn't mind how much you get sucked into your writing either. He knows what it's like to be dedicated to your craft, and he won't bother you too much.

Ludwig had never been an emotional person. Never, not once, throughout his many years was he truly moved to tears by fiction. Art depicting real life? Of course, many times. But he simply never found fiction as compelling as reality.

That was, of course, until he read your own works. Now, going through what you had so effortlessly created, he couldn't help tearing up at nearly every turn of events.

The way you were about to put him into the character's shoes without him even realizing, forcing him along the same journey they had gone through. It was... stunning, to say the least.

But when one of the characters began to fall in love, it was like nothing he had experienced before. Not because of any significant jump in quality, but just because... you had written it.

For a moment he sat in silence, pondering the book when he realized.

Was this what it felt like for you to fall in love with him?

It sent a chill down his spine. No, he didn't feel any differently, not at all. But... he had assumed you couldn't possibly love him as much as he loved you. Except... now?

Well, if this was how you had felt. He couldn't possibly let you go anytime soon.

102 notes · View notes

ragesingoddess · 1 year

Text

OK so there was a dead poets society play in my city and I went to see it a couple of days ago and now that I'm somehow coherent and emotionally stable enough i want to talk about my favourite part of the adaptation.

The stage of the play was a kind of moving platform that rotated in a circle so that the change of the different sets and perspectives would become easier. During Neil's death scene he was standing on the front of the platform facing the audience, wearing his Puck crown just like the movie. However he was not alone in the scene. On his left side where the poets, having a meeting on their cave in the background incoherent at first just doing their thing in the background. On his right side stood Keating, his eyes always on Neil, standing at a certain distance as if a glass wall was preventing him from getting closer.

Neil starts narrating the words of the ending scene of midsummer's night dream, a bright, pained smile on his face, like he was trying to say his final lines the way he was supposed to, triumphant and brilliant.

As he is saying his lines he pauses at parts; giving room to the poets to start narrating poetry themselves, the platform rotating so that their meeting is the front view of the audience. Keating's eyes are still locked on Neil, looking desperate to reach out, to touch him, to help him, but he is still unable to do much of anything.

Neil however, gradually starts moving closer to the ports, standing in front of them, looking at them but of course unable to interact. They can't see him, but for those precious moments he can. He is with them in the cave ready to open his final meeting.

And then Charlie asks; "who wants to read who wants to read first tonight?"

And Todd volunteers. Todd who has been quiet in ever single meeting choosing to stick to Neil's side, Todd who always claimed he prefers listening, Todd who had his walls up enough to keep a distance from the boyish affection and belonging the rest of the boys offered, Todd who said to Neil 'You say things and people listen and im not like that ' and believed it, Todd speaks up and volunteers to read one of his own poems first. Because of the poets. Because of Neil.

The play gives Neil the chance to witness this. Moments before his death he watched from his own frozen spot Todd overcome his anxiety,throw down his walls and become the person Neil always encouraged him to be, the person he always believed him to be.

And Neil smiles. His brightest smile in the play, spliting his face in half, moved and amazed and oh, so, so proud.

The poets go quiet again, Neil finishes the rest of his lines, the poets start chanting a poem about life and then Neil pulls the trigger.

The play follows the movie almost scene to scene close after that. But that moment, that directing decision to give Neil the chance to see the impact he so clearly had on his friends and on Todd especially, felt almost like a delibarare choice to show to him that even though his choices broke him, even though he decided taking his own life was the only way, everything he spent his life advocating for is not gone with him; it lives inside the lives of every person that loves him. His friends will go on living without him but the impact he had on them will keep blooming inside their hearts because it has changed who they are. Because he changed them.

It felt like a final act of kindness to the boy who was always kind. A final gift to him to make his choice somewhat less painfull.

#dead poets society #neil perry #todd anderson #dps #john keating #charlie dalton #stephen meeks #gerard pitts #richard cameron #anderperry

387 notes · View notes

zeenimf · 11 months

Text

I just had the age old discussion again with a few Dutch classmates. It was about a phrase Dutch people often throw out there: "Dutch is an ugly language." And every time I hear it my heart breaks. Not that I didn't agree with it when I was younger, but I do now realise how wrong I was.

The argument people bring most often is that it just sounds ugly and funny. But I think what people deem ugly about Dutch is exactly why it's such a beautiful language. We are generally seen as a very direct (or rude) people, not beating around the bush but talking about things exactly as they are. This could also be why Dutch people gravitate towards English so much, where you have so much choice in vocabulary that you can usually find a beautiful and poetic way to phrase things and make it "artistic".

But when you then translate those English sentences back to Dutch they sound super weird, and people then claim it's because Dutch is a broken language. But I think there's a strength to every language and as long as you lean into that you can create such profound things.

My favourite example is from a line from a Dutch song by Racoon from this Dutch album.

Spijt is iets voor later, maar dan ben je bijna dood

If you translate it you get something like "Regret is something for later, but then you're almost dead." it just sounds weeeeiiird. I feel like the second part of that line sounds especially bizarre, but then again, I'm not a native English speaker so I can't truly know.

But the Dutch example feels perfectly normal; it's raw and genuine, and this is where Dutch as a language excels. Tap into your emotion, lay them bare and sing about them. I don't know if this rawness makes people uncomfortable, but it seems like Dutch art requires a level of vulnerability for it to sound genuine, and perhaps that is why it can be confrontational? I'm not sure, these are just some thoughts that I had to get out there. I'll probably write up something more coherent later. Maybe I should start sharing more Dutch art and get people interested in the language.

Regardless this is why I don't believe that we will ever stop learning languages even with the rise in translation software. You can translate factual information perfectly, but emotions do not carry over cleanly. I mean I'm living in Japan right now partly because I want to truly understand haiku and Japanese literature. It's why I read English authors in English, and Dutch authors in Dutch, even when the English translation is more popular.

Just, Dutch can be beautiful if you're open to it. We Dutch people are very good at being spineless, but straighten those backs and write a poem or something, you'll feel better afterwards.

#language #translation #dutch #english #nederlands

129 notes · View notes

runningfrom2am · 3 months

Note

sejanus and coryo not understanding what r is saying when she is quoting a line has got to be one of my favourite things.

“Oh, only being able to hold you without retraumatizing you.” sir-

i love how no matter how much changes in the story, coryo’s hatred towards birds STAY. the boy hates them more than everything.

lennox is making some points with that guilt and love one. being smart is genetic it seems.

you know what? i agree with sejanus so much on the arena part.

i desperately needed someone to tell them what she did in the arena and i’m glad it was sejanus, out of the three who know it. the fact that neither lucy gray nor lennox will be able to process this information as truly real because r, really? oh, how devastating. girlie had convinced herself that [salt->???->staying alive]

“All you did by surviving was make everything weird.” me, one day, probably.

the real comedy is coryo not understanding the joke. also, beatrice the queen <3

she closed her book! she put her book into her bag! she wouldn’t have done that had she not been keen on talking with him. she hadn’t when he first came. 🥹

the fact that she was about to die thinking she was in love while hardly knowing him and now that she is alive, she is living the “what could have been”.

i’m 99% sure that lennox has a calendar where he circled the day coryo will leave, hopefully, with a red marker.

“Watching his eyes- but nothing changes. Baby blue. Worry. More worry.” all i will say is that, this is emotional 🥲

bro i just edited part twenty and it’s over 6k words so get ready hahahah. anyway, let’s dive into this for now!!

1. no me too hahah it’s so funny and coryo tries so hard but sejanus is just always so normal and honest about not really understanding. like at the very beginning when he was like “i thought we were supposed to be mentoring you”, but coryo has always seen her as some kind of walking poem. sejanus loves her honestly, coryo has put her on a pedestal. (not that it’s a bad thing or that he doesn’t love her honestly but he doesn’t try really hard to make her feel understood and she doesn’t even mind)

2. oh my god yeah the DRAMA going on in this man’s head 24/7 hahaha

3. yeah there’s no way that would ever change. (and that makes me believe that tybs will really grow on him lol)

4. we’ve BEEN SAYING THIS like lennox just gets it

5. like,, no one ever thought to ask sejanus what he thought? he was the only other person there! smh

6. literally like they needed to know. she tried to tell lucy gray, but she made the active choice to not tell lennox, even though she doesn’t know the extent of what she had done. (well, she does, she just can’t admit it yet)

7. me now honestly

8. beatrice is such a girlboss i literally love her sm

9. coryo didn’t even have TIME to process the significance of that, he was so focused on keeping her attention 🥹 and bless her HEART she is trying so so hard

10. omg yeah and she totally knows that too 🥹 she’s been comparing them to that story from the very beginning, she doesn’t even know what to do now that she’s seeing the other side. (but also, it’s extremely tragic in a different way, seeing as now she can hardly be around him without shutting down when she wants to be with him so bad)

11. HAHAHA IM SO SURE HE DOES. he is counting down the DAYS

12. as per usual lucy gray was 100% correct and his haircut has made all the difference. she knows her bestie so well

#i have the answers #cold nights <3 #that-veela-girl

25 notes · View notes

independent-variables · 1 month

Note

HELLO !!!

Having now finished binging all of your star wars fics, I come here asking for some recs. Just any of your favourites, bonus points if it will cause emotions (and tears).

Also can't stress enough how much I love your writing, it's so so brilliant <3

(this is neptunesenceladus btw, tumblr hates me and won't let me send asks with a side blog so you get this one)

HI!!! Good to see you, good to see you <3 Always happy to provide recs <3 <3 <3

I want you to know I went through my bookmarks and pulled like sixty fics and had a brief moment of panic, so this is not all of my recs just the first... thirty, or so. If none of these are appealing, oh boy, do I have more!

This list is not in any order other than bookmark order, most are on the shorter side, most are Gen and I am pretty sure all are complete. I tried to warn for stuff that could be a squick when I remembered.

False Dichotomy by nsmorig

Starting off strong with my favorite Cody fic of all time. If you read nothing else on this list I encourage you to read this (if the tags are not a squick) because it will re-shape your brain and shatter your heart into tiny pieces. Basic premise is Force Sensitive Cody gets captured by Dooku and survives torture, experimentation, and imprisonment while trying to figure out his relationship to the Force and to his personhood, and the ways those things are connected.

What's in a Name by Sankt

This is about Fordo post war and it’s phenomenal characterization.

The Last Poem of Jedha by schweinsty

How Bohdi Rook becomes a rebel and writes a poem.

you're like a loaded gun by kazhan

Ok this is E and also Underage, so maybe it’s a skip, but it’s teen Boba/Cal trying to navigate sex and love and secret identities and it’s so fucked up and so good.

chicken, cattle and cat by deniigiq

Obi-Wan and Maul living in domestic dis-harmony on Tatooine. What more could you ask.

Little things [are the reason to live] by i_will_bite

Clone medics navigating a slightly hostile working environment and trying to make it less hostile T-T

Two brothers (and a kid) by meerlicht

What if. Waxer and Boil just stayed on Ryloth, with Numa. What then?

with poise, with grace by andeemae

Stone falls through a hole in a roof and falls in love. Beautiful clone/OC romance and very cute kids, doesn’t shy away from the difficulties of being a clone in love with a civilian. Very much an inspiration for me.

second time around by This_world_of_beautiful_monsters

This is another one I wasn’t sure I wanted to put on here because it deals briefly with rape, but it’s such a wonderfully fucked up take on Anakin and Rex’s relationship. Or, how Vader views Rex.

The Desert Storm by Blue_Sunshine

If you are looking for an epically long series to get invested in I highly recommend checking this one out. This series and its sister-series are some of the best characterization and worldbuilding for Jedi I have ever had the pleasure of reading and it is a fix-it in all the messy, hard, terrible ways people don’t usually write fix-its.

Shape-Changer by Fialleril

This is a foundational fic for me. Incredible Tatooine worldbuilding. Inspired me to write the way I write.

The Sun Is Bright, The Sun Is Blue by ambiguously

CUT AND SU ORIGIN STORY!!!

most things may never happen: this one will by jaigeye

This is brutal but what if you were a droid and you had to dissect a person.

Bad Deal by FettsOnTop (GTFF)

Boba/Lando my beloved. A brief look into their relationship and into Lando’s thoughts leading up to Han and them’s arrival.

and the Force is with me by sauntering_down

Rex and Ahsoka and the way the war changed them, and what they can and cannot do in the aftermath.

Twilight on Owl Creek Bridge by yellow_caballero

The Fox fic of all time. What if you were trapped in a time-loop with a ghost from the future but your life is so monotonous and simultaneously bizarre you don’t even notice.

Fishhooks by yellow_caballero

The Boba fic of all time. This author does not write much for SW but every time they do it’s iconic. What if you were a teenager running away from home but also a perfect clone of your father created to be him but better but also his because you will never escape his body and his ownership and his love. What then.

Staring into open flame by SLWalker

This is such a beautiful and heartbreaking read, it’s basically exploring what would have to happen for Maul and Obi-Wan to have a genuinely healthy and happy relationship post murder and bisection.

Energy Drink Fox by carrinth

The crack comic of all time. What if Fox had space Monster.

lost cause by catboydogma

The foundational Dogma fic. The fic that got me wondering about how clones spend their time on Coruscant.

the married au by dharmaavocado

Clone rebellion my beloved. Basic premise is the clones took over Kamino and then went out into the galaxy as a mercenary army of sorts. Rex and Cody are finding their place in the world, creating business partnerships, falling in love, manipulating public perception of clones. (Background clonecest, not between Rex and Cody.)

#cordelia answers asks #i am so incredibly flattered you enjoyed my fic #hopefully some of these fics give context for why i write what i write and can get you started with new authors #thank you again <3 #fic recs #star wars fic

17 notes · View notes

ramayantika · 10 months

Text

~ The one deceived

»»————> ◐◐◐◐◐◐◐◐◐◐◐◐◐◐◐<————««

O lovers, enchanters of your sweet maidens, must you keep in mind to never displease the queen of your hearts.

'She who adorns herself in fine silks and jewels, awaits you at night hiding from the entire town in the heart of the forest where fierce beasts lay, she must never be kept await for long and certainly must not be left alone if ever your eyes droop for a night. Who knows someone else might snatch the beauty away?

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫

With dark eyes not blue lotus

she fashions a welcome garland.

Petals she strews—

not various species of jasmine

but smiles.

Water she offers from ripe

moistened breasts

rather than ceremonial jars.

With only her own body

she makes for her

lover an

auspicious welcome.

~ Erotic Love Poems from India

A tightly knotted braid pinned by jewelled pins moves like a serpent by her waist. She carefully arranges flowers in her hair, just the way he likes. She spent months apart from him, and now is the time to bring long lost romance back into their lives -- of sweet nothings, stolen kisses, teasing words and the bliss of just being around your lover.

The morning was spent in perfuming the hair and the body. His favourite scent: the rain perfused soil. It always enchanted him when she passed by the busy market place in front of him. She usually preferred a light scent of roses, but today she has to make him heady as soon as he catches a whiff of air around him.

A necklace decked with moonstones sits on her making her look dazzling. Her wrists are adorned with glass bangles, and a shy smile teases her lips when her friends tease her on the various ways glass bangles can be broken tonight.

"Quiet. You must not speak like this. He's a gentle lover," she admonishes them with a stern look that soon melts into a beautiful blush and her friends once again start teasing her.

"You look perfect now. If you decorate yourself anymore, your dazzling form shall blind him as soon as he enters the house," says a friend, dabbing a kohl dot behind the jewelled maiden's ear to ward off the evil eye.

»»——⍟——«« ♧♧ »»——⍟——««

The letter in betel leaves 🥀

Handmaiden bears a large plate on her tender hands.

Soft silks from lands far and wide,

jewels crafted in nothing but perfection,

perfume extracted from only exotic flowers and oils,

But what pleases the bejewelled beauty?

A silver box revealing a richly stuffed Kaushal paan.

'In separation I have burned for several moons, and my heart wailed in agony. Where do I carry this ocean of love when you are the shore that binds me to you? Oh, my dearest, my lovely moon, it is you I desire. Come meet my by the riverside near the sweet-smelling jasmine bower.'

.・。.・゜✭・»»——⍟——««.・✫・゜・。.

झांझर झमके सुन झमके आधी रात को

उसको तोको न रोको तोको न रोको

आधी रात को।

𝐎𝐡, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐈 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬.

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝��𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭,

𝐌𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐡𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬,

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈 𝐚𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭?

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭.

𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞,

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬...

'We sipped on moon-gleam at midnight.

And the moon rose in our eyes, at midnight.'

-- Delicate as the moonstone, bangle laden wrists

alert the love god who stands ever ready with love arrows.

She traverses down the narrow forest path,

Her feet leave behind fresh red footprints on earth,

And jingling anklets make the serpents steer off her way.

-- The jasmine bower fresh and fragrant as ever,

Fireflies adorn the bushes like earthen lamps in a house's courtyard.

The moon unveiled shines on the resplendent maiden

And like the chakora, she fills her eyes with the moonbeams,

In each, a vision of the man prisoned in heart.

-- The forest grows still.

Doe eyes search for him in every corner of the forest.

Is he playing games today? Must I walk and search for him now?

The love god too has dozed off, his bow and arrows discarded beside.

The garland around her neck now frail,

Tiny buds fall down and mingle with the earth...

»»————>○○○○○○○○○○○○<————««

And, rasikas, here we behold a man who did not keep his promise. Sends the extravagant betel leaf and promises of giving a beautiful night, but gives in to the sweet embrace of slumber while the beauty awaits in the forest, her once radiant face now pale in fear and annoyance.

Oh, the pain of shattered dreams filled of love, sweet words, passionate touches and long nights. How can one scorn a woman this way after long nights of loneliness?

Chuckle in mirth my friends, for the man dreams of kissing her lips in his sleep. Who shall tell him about his lover's wrath at dawn break tomorrow?

*******

Breathing hard into the lotus calyx

Annoyed at his care less actions,

She wipes an angry tear from her soft cheek.

Tosses away the wretched droopy garland,

Flings the silver anklet far across the room.

Red lips that should have been kissed curse the sun.

Arms that should have been curled around his neck

Lay bare bereft of bangles on the silken sheets.

Her bosom that should have carried drops of perspiration from a sweet night of love

That should have been kissed tenderly, Adorned with a chain of bites

Now heave in anger, wanting a respite.

The love god scoffs at the man yet deep in sleep

Who makes love the scorned woman in waking.

The love goddess pitifully caresses the heart broken girl,

And winces when the moon-like beauty sends

A silver box encasing an empty betel leaf and a lone anklet

»»——⍟——««

Tags: @ratna-the-furball @swayamev @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @pulihora @arachneofthoughts @krishna-priyatama @yehsahihai @reallythoughtfulwizard @ketchup-jar-ka @manujanolavu @morally-gayy @celestesinsight @desi-cleopatra

I used a lot of references from kamasutra for this and probably this is one of my in a way most explicit lol

#samridhi writes #love poems #ancient Indian aesthetic #nayikas #indian academia

47 notes · View notes

scotianostra · 4 months

Text

January 15th 1803 saw the birth of Marjory Fleming, "Pet Marjory", child writer and poet, who died in 1811 of meningitis at the age of 8 years and 11 months.

One of my favourite, yet tragic tales, young Pet Marjory is a touching story of a wee lass that packed so much into her short life.

Marjory Fleming was an extraordinary child prodigy, she left poems, letters and a journal that are now one of the treasures of the National Library of Scotland; and in 1889 Sir Leslie Stephen, Virginia Woolf's father, wrote an entry about her for the original Dictionary of National Biography, believing that 'no more fascinating infantile author has ever appeared. What makes this all the more remarkable is, Marjory was a mere 8 years old when she died.

It’s been said she was a distant relative of Sir Walter Scott, although there is no real evidence they ever met Robert Louis Stevenson and Mark Twain also thought highly of her.

Marjory spent most of her sixth, seventh and eighth years in Edinburgh being tutored by her teenage cousin, Isabella Keith. Isabella is mentioned is the somewhat odd opening line of Marjory’s famous journal: ‘Many people are hanged for Highway robbery Housebreking Murder &c. &c. Isabella teaches me everything I know and I am much indebted to her she is learnen witty & sensible.’

Marjory returned to Kirkcaldy in July 1811, and wrote on 1 September to her cousin, ‘We are surrounded with measles at present on every side’. She herself contracted measles in November and although she apparently recovered, died in December from what is now thought to have been meningitis. She was a month short of her ninth birthday.

Marjory was an accomplished and witty poet and diarist although she was not published until 50 years after her death. Her writings became hugely popular in the Victorian period albeit with the published editions altered as some her her language was thought inappropriate for an eight year old. The first account of her was given by a London journalist in the Fife Herald and reprinted as a booklet entitled Pet Marjorie: a Story of Child Life Fifty Years Ago. The nickname ‘Pet’ and the spelling of her name with ‘ie’ were inventions of her biographer: both appear on Marjory’s gravestone in Abbotshall Kirkyard, Kirkcaldy erected in 1930.

Marjory’s precocious intellect is noted in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography: ‘She records enjoying the poems of Pope and Gray, the Arabian Nights, Ann Radcliff’s ‘misteris [sic] of udolpho’, the Newgate calendar, and ‘tails’ by Maria Edgworth and Hannah More.’ Her abilities are also apparent in the pithy comments in her journal and in her valiant attempts to write in rhyming couplets.

Robert Louis Stevenson is quoted as saying, ‘Marjory Fleming was possibly – no, I take back possibly – she was one of the noblest works of God.’

I had a hunt around and found a few of her poems and have picked out two that I liked best the first is written about her cousin with whom she lived in Edinburgh, the simplicity and innocence of the poem I must admit has brought a tear to my eye, especially as it written by a 6 year old……“

My Dear love Isabella”

Here lies sweet Isabell in bed,

With a night-cap on her head;

Her skin is soft, her face is fair,

And she has very pretty hair;

She and I in bed lie nice.

And undisturbed by rats and mice;

She is disgusted with Mr. Worgan,

Though he plays upon the organ.

Her nails are neat, her teeth are white,

Her eyes are very, very bright;

In a conspicuous town she lives,

And to the poor her money gives;

Here ends sweet Isabella’s story,

And may it be much to her glory.I love in Isa’s bed to lie,

Oh, such joy and luxury!

The bottom of the bed I sleep,

And with great care within I creep;

Oft I embrace her feet of lillys,

But she has gotten all the pillys.

Her neck I never can embrace,

But I do hug her feet in place.

The manuscripts of Marjory Fleming’s writings can be seen in the National Library of Scotland online here https://digital.nls.uk/marjory-fleming/archive/100989212

#scotland #scottish #history #child prodigy #poet

17 notes · View notes

withereddd-rxsie · 1 year

Text

My Surrenderman headcanons

This is my first post ever. I would just like to share some of the headcanons I have about my favourite, sadly underrated character:) I hope I reach some more Surrender fans hiding in the shadows patiently waiting for content.

RELATIONSHIPS WITH HIS BROTHERS

SLENDERMAN:

I like to think of Slenderman as a dictator, who controls through fear and holds everyone affiliated with him to a high standard. He expects perfection from everyone, especially his brothers.

Surrenderman, as the youngest, wants to live up to that impossible standard expected from him. He wants to prove himself as a worthy addition to Slenderman, even if it means risking his mental health. Surrender has always been a people-pleaser, but it gets way out of hand when it comes to Slender. Everything Surrender does is to impress his older brother. He studies and trains hard to improve his abilities and techniques, hoping one day Slender will appreciate his efforts, but he always gets brushed off. Slender in no way coddles his brothers and refuses to give Surrender the validation he so desperately seeks. Surrender works so hard all for nothing, building up a serious tension between the two brothers.

TRENDERMAN:

Trenderman manages to live up to Slenderman's unhealthy expectations. Trender is a huge perfectionist and expects no less from himself and the people around him. He sometimes struggles to find out whether he's doing it for himself or if he's just like Surrenderman, desperately seeking Slender's approval.

Surrenderman finds it hard to talk to Trender, as they barely find any common ground. Surrender feels pressured in the presence of what has basically become Slender 2.0. Whenever he's around either of them, there's this huge mountain of expectation dwelling on his shoulders. He feels overlooked and underestimated by them, that they don't even see him as an equal being because he isn't perfect.

OFFENDERMAN:

Offenderman has always been the black sheep of the family. He doesn't find any common ground with any of his brothers. His entire life he's been expected to be something he's not, Slenderman had always tried to "fix" him, to put him in this box that he traps everyone else in. The box he's trapped Trender and now Surrender. He hates to see his youngest brother ruin himself over something impossible. However, there's nothing he can really do. Surrender is extremely goal-oriented and ambitious, he wouldn't listen to anybody.

Offender's interactions with Surrender are short and uncommon, but when they do occur he tries to be very chill and lighthearted with his brother, knowing he can use some of that in his life.

SPLENDORMAN:

Splendorman, while not as much of an outsider as Offenderman, is also disapproved of by Slender. Similarly to Surrender, he also feels the burden of expectation put on him, but he doesn't actively try to prove himself.

Splendor has always just wanted the 5 of them to get along, but seeing how Slender's one-track mind has torn the family apart, he's lost hope.

He hates seeing Surrender suffer the way Trender used to suffer on his journey to "Perfection". He wishes for Surrender to snap out of it, but all he can do is offer him all the support he can.

General headcanons

-Surrenderman is the youngest

-He hasn't fully grasped the concept of his abilities, often struggling to use them at all

-His potential abilities would most likely be teleportation, telepathy and using his tentacles offensively

-He is also the shortest, standing at 3,60M/11'9. While Splendorman is the tallest at 5,80M/19'.

-His favourite color is baby blue

-He definitely listens to Lana or Melanie

-He indulges in writing in his free time. He was given the suggestion to write down his feelings by Splendor, ultimately discovering a new hobby and talent he never even suspected. He writes little poems and songs

-Slenderbeings don't need to eat and he doesn't even like eating, but he enjoys cooking meals

-He is very overprotective of the things he cares about and wants to speak his truth, but is too afraid of Slenderman like everyone else is

-He not only loves writing, but he also loves reading. He really likes Greek mythology and can ramble about it for days if you let him

-I mean it, he can talk non-stop if you give him the opportunity to and if he feels safe enough

-He has a little stutter and has a hard time controlling it when he's nervous

-And he's nervous 90% of the time

-That guy cannot handle crowds and strangers

-His stutter becomes less frequent if he's with someone who makes him feel comfortable

-I have a feeling he'd smell like forest fruits

-He has deeply rooted generational trauma passed onto him and the rest of his brothers by Slenderman, he experiences it the hardest by far

-He's very emotional, struggling to understand his own emotions and writing helps him manage them slightly better

-He often feels neglected and useless, believing that he's of no use to anybody, since he isn't even half as strong as his brothers

-His ideas and beliefs get overlooked, building a sense of unimportance in himself and leading him to believe the things he has to say are nothing more than a disturbance

-I think he'd also struggle with his self-image, often having a hard time accepting who he is

-IDENTITY CRISIS CHECK

These are all of the headcanons I have at the top of my head. Let me know if you'd like to know anything else about Surrender or his brothers in my AU and I'd be more than happy to respond! I can also write you a story with these characters!

63 notes · View notes

hinny-canons · 9 months

Text

@corneliaavenue-ao3 ‘s Several Sunlit Daylights

Debut: Stay Beautiful

Making paper chains for Christmas was always a long, but fun task. Ginny always took responsibility for it and she never used magic to make them.

She got all of her materials and set them out on the table and got to work.

Her work was stopped short when Harry entered the room and saw what she was doing. “Hey, Gin,” he said. “What are you making?”

“Paper chains,” she said, looking up at him. “I just started making them.”

“That’s nice. Do you need any help?”

Usually, Ginny would say no, since she liked to do it by herself. But this was Harry. She’d do anything to spend time with Harry.

She scooted over on the floor to make some room for him. “You can make them with me,” she smiled.

Harry grinned. “Great! You’re gonna have to tell me how first, though.”

She told him how to do it quickly and he caught on pretty quick. She came to realize that Harry was a fast learner.

“So, you’ve never made any Christmas decorations before?” Ginny asked, making a conversation.

“No, the Dursleys weren’t too big on making them yourself when they could just buy it.”

“They sound like no fun.”

“They weren’t fun at all. That’s why I like it here better, it’s more lively and happy.” Ginny was so happy to hear that Harry felt comfortable at the Burrow. He deserved to have a safe place. “And I love spending time with you and Ron.”

Hearing him say that he loved to spend time with her, made her heart flutter. Not to mention he was looking at her rather tenderly, his eyes like a jungle she could get herself lost in.

Ginny just smiled at him. “I love spending time with you as well. I think I’ve gotten to know you better recently.”

“Yeah, it’s been nice. However, I will never forget the time you had a crush on me and wrote me poems,” he smirked.

“Oh, please, forget it!” Ginny groaned. “It was the most embarrassing moment of my life, my poem about you read in front of everyone!”

“It was rather cute.”

Ginny looked at him. She couldn’t believe he thought it was cute! Eleven-year-old Ginny would die if she heard that. Fifteen-year-old Ginny however just has butterflies in her stomach.

“I’m glad you think that and never said it to my little self out loud. She would have died.”

Harry laughed. “No, it was a nice gesture. Most girls at school just like me because I’m the Chosen One, or whatever. None of them have said my eyes are as green as fresh pickled toads.”

Ginny stared at him in astonishment. “You still remember it!”

“Of course, I do! I still have the poem in my bag.”

Okay, Ginny didn’t know how much more of this she could take before falling head over heels for Harry Potter!

They continued making the paper chains when Ginny started talking again. “For the record, I don’t think girls only like you because you’re the Chosen One.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard the way the girls talk about you in the Common Room. They usually gush about how pretty you are or how sweet you are.”

Ginny saw the slight blush rise on his cheeks. “Really? Well, that’s new.”

Ginny looked at the way he smiled and got back to the paper chains. She knew he was very pretty and that he needed to hear it from someone. His hair is perfect, everyone knows that. His eyes are Ginny’s favourite colour. His smile is like the radio.

Does he know? Will he ever know?

“Well, I think you’re beautiful, Harry,” she blurted out.

Harry’s eyes lit up as he looked at her. “Thank you.” If his cheeks were red before, they were definitely red now. “I, uh…I think you’re beautiful as well. Very beautiful.”

Ginny felt like she was gonna melt in a puddle of happiness with how softly he was looking at her.

She wanted him to stay beautiful like this, looking at her like she was a treasure.

#hinny #hinny fanfiction #harry x ginny #HERE WE GOOOOO

51 notes · View notes

the-sun-is-also-a-star · 6 months

Note

"For someone who loved words as much as I did, it was amazing how often they failed me."

-- If We Were Villains by M. L. Rio

“Because freedom, I am told, is nothing but the distance between the hunter and its prey.”

-- On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong

and as for poetry, i like to talk about "Written in my Dreams by W. C. Williams" by Allen Ginsberg with other people because it's short and rolls over the tongue nicely and i like to come back to it, puts a smile on my face, you know?

i'll also never forget "A Carcass" by Charles Baudelaire from when we read it at school years ago and then again in high school and i have now chosen Les Fleurs du mal as one of the books for my oral school leaving exam, so it's definitely one of those authors i read once and was never able to get out of my head

and last but not least, Louise Glück (may she rest in peace) and her "Theory of Memory" which includes the ending "Right now you are a child holding hands with a fortune-teller. All the rest is hypothesis and dream." and i simply don't have a choice but to love this one

i have so many more favourites, but these are the ones i can think of right now hehe <33

what r ur favourite poems and quotes??

those are brilliant actually

mine are quite, different to what one may think but i like finding meaning in things that other people think are only surface level :

思い出なんかいらん - we don't need memories

this is from the anime haikyuu LMAO which is a fucking volleyball anime and it is the team motto of one of the teams. It is quite honestly my life motto at this point. I used to live in the past, excused people for thing they do now because they were different in the past. they were different in my memories. I was so focused on the past i forgot to enjoy my present. I am done doing that. My memories hold me back. I am tired of it.

"to love and lose and still be kind" - warsan shire

this is pretty self explanatory. i dont think I've had a hard life. but i certainly haven't had an easy one. i have a habit of giving too much of myself to people. I'm working on rectifying that whilst still being kind.

"but i cut people out like tags on my clothing" - conan gray

I LOVE people watching its one of my favourite songs. but this line is really important to me. I've cut the tags off of my clothing for as long as I can remember. ever since i was a kid. I also have a habit of cutting out people the second they break my trust. as easy as cutting off tags from my clothing. I don't think its a good habit or a bad habit. it just. is.

"It's always the ones who are quietest who often have the greatest things to say" - TJ Klune, Wolfsong

This is from one of my favourite books of all time. I was a quiet child for a while. I never got excited for anything and after a while my parents suspected I had childhood depression, we still don't know for sure if I did. It makes a lot of sense though. It took me a while to become confident in my own voice and my own opinions. this quote is really important to me.

"Men don't cry. My daddy taught me that. Men don't cry because they don't have time to cry.

I must not have been a man yet because I cried. I bowed my head and cried." - TJ Klune, Wolfsong

This isn't personal to me in anyway, I just really, really love this part of the book and these two lines in particular.

"I'll be your hands." "I'll be your sanity." - TJ Klune, Ravensong

love has always been something I've read about. but this quote takes the damn cake.

as for poems,

At a Funeral by Dennis Brutus

I analyzed this poem for an English Lit class and the story behind why it was written really stuck with me. It was written after the death of Valencia Majombozi who was shot on the day of her graduation from nursing school. Its a protest poem and it just hits really fucking hard.

Death of a Naturalist by Seamus Heaney

This was the first poem that i ever took inspiration from. I had of course written before, but I really enjoyed Heaney's writing style so it strongly influenced my poem Quietude, which I am planning to submit to the empty inkwell publication...hopefully lol

Identity Card by Mahmoud Darwish

This poem is written as a form of protest poetry as well. Mahmoud Darwish was a Palestinian poet, for those of you who do not know and he wrote this poem about being asked for his identity card by Israeli Officers. Its really, really good.

#IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG JSHSKSJSK #this was really fun to make tho #poems #poetry #quotes #english literature #literature #poets #mahmoud darwish

22 notes · View notes