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ronannott · 5 years

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❧ he is a boy made of smoke — a soldier, a weapon, a wound in motion ❧

❝ He’s the same on the field as he is everywhere else. Strong. Graceful. Fucking ruthless. ❞ JORDAN BOLGER? No, that’s actually RONAN NOTT. A SIXTH YEAR student, this GRYFFINDOR student is sided with the DEATH EATERS. HE identifies as a CIS MAN and is a PUREBLOOD who is known to be STUBBORN, UNTRUSTING, and WRATHFUL but also DRIVEN, RESOURCEFUL, and COURAGEOUS. { JANE, 22, NZT, SHE/HER }

aloha this is ronan (and jane again, which is just embarrassing) and he is... Something™

he has a pinterest here

ronan is the eldest of two children of theodore nott and isolde montague; he was born three years before his sister, but their current age gap is... a little more complicated

[ emotional abuse tw ] // theodore nott was always a hard man. rigid and cold, with expectations. he was never as good a teacher as he believed, always expecting more from his children than he was capable of teaching them, and yet never letting up. their inability to reach his expectations was not the fault of his teaching —- it was always, always on them. ronan pushed himself to be better, to fulfil under his father’s tutelage, and when it became evident that his father’s expectations exceeded his father’s capabilities, ronan pursued things privately —- upon arriving at hogwarts, seeking out thalia rookwood for personal training, but even prior to that, conducting his own study, spending his own time seeking to please his father. it was never quite enough, but sometimes theodore looked like it almost was, and ronan lived for those moments of reprieve.

[ experimentation tw, kidnapping tw, just generally despicable actions warning ] // theodore nott had always hated vampires. all part-humans, really, but vampires were a special abomination in his eyes —- that which was human, was alive, and then turned into something other. a corpse walking. death made flesh. a monster pretending to be a person. theo had always been one for experimentation, someone who enjoyed exploring old magical texts and following their alchemical recipes, but it was when his children were younger that he finally got his hands on certain dark texts (ones which would make aleister crowley’s beliefs look saint-like) and took the next step: no longer would he experiment on materials, but finally, on vampirism itself. of course, you can’t attack a concept without knowing what it’s made of. you can’t destroy a disease without curing the sick. and for that... you need the sick.

[ emotional abuse tw ] it took him a while to graduate to it, beyond his theoretical writings, but eventually, he began capturing and experimenting on vampires. the cellar was his domain, and his children dared not challenge that authority. besides, they had their own studies to do —- memorising military strategy from historical battles for ronan, reciting the properties of magical plants for eithne, and every distraction that kept theo down there was one more thing standing between them and his punishing gaze roving over and over them, finding faults in areas they already believed picked bone-dry. [ end experimentation/kidnapping tw ]

this was the way things were. their mother, isolde, was present and loving but not strong —- something about her had always seemed fragile, delicate, but that was okay. their father was strong. it was okay if their mother was soft, because their father was strong enough to keep her safe. and if their father was getting more distracted, spending more time downstairs, well, that was okay too, because he’d trained ronan and eithne, hadn’t he? they could protect her. and he was still there, of course; his presence was permanent, constant, and it was a relief for him to be downstairs, because as much as his children loved him, they were suffocated by him too. [ end emotional abuse tw ]

[ torture tw, experimentation tw, murder tw, death tw, parental death tw, violence tw, attack tw, kidnapping tw, just generally despicable actions warning ] one night, it all changed. it was the winter of ronan’s fifth year, and he was sixteen. eithne was a second year, and still twelve. she was the one in the library that night, nearest the door to the cellar. in every other respect, the night was the same as any other. only this time —- one of theodore’s subjects escaped. it’s a blur for ronan. he remembers his father hoarsely shouting his name — and running running running — and the door to the cellar open — his father’s throat ripped out — someone—-something—-crouched over eithne, drinking hungrily, greedily, desperately, and then looking up — mournful eyes, furious and desperate and guilty and a thousand other things ronan didn’t know how to decipher — and then they hurled themselves out the window and ran into the night.

ronan doesn’t remember much of that night after those flashes. he knows he went down to the cellar, to his father’s sanctuary, and found devices that made him feel nauseous in ways he wasn’t sure he’d ever be rid of. he found cauldrons and flasks, labels and meticulous notes in his father’s precise handwriting. ink is stark on parchment, standing bright against the page, and the words burned through his mind. he could barely process it, but he processed enough to understand what it was that had attacked eithne, what it was that had killed his father——what it was that his father had done. [ end tws ]

there was blood in some of the flasks, and grabbing the only ones labelled as ‘clean’, he rushed back up the stairs to give them to his sister. there was blood, so much blood, and his mother was there — when did she get there? — and she was crying, wailing, something cracked as she saw her husband’s body and screamed. and ronan? he went into soldier mode. evaluate the risks. save those who can be saved. use any resources at your disposal. he used essence of dittany to staunch the flow of eithne’s blood, refusing to think about how deathly pale she looked, and moved her to her bedroom, before floo-calling his uncle arthur, who worked with the department of law enforcement. arthur, his mother’s brother, surveyed the scene, and then sent ronan to take care of his mother and calm her down, saying that he would ‘handle everything’.

and handle it he did. he never asked about eithne, and ronan didn’t tell him anything, fearing subconsciously what arthur might expect him to do, but when ronan came down later, it was to a few kindly looking officials asking him about the attack, if he’d seen the vampire at all, how very very sorry they were about this attack, if he had any idea how the vampire had gotten past the wards, if there was any reason why the vampires might have targeted his home— .... if it wasn’t so overwhelming, ronan might have corrected them without thinking, but as it was, his training kicked in, in combination with the effects of the events of the night, and he stayed quiet — numb — answering minutely, in shock, with all the uncertainty of a teenage boy who has no idea how to fathom everything he’s experienced the last few hours.

the upshot is this: his father is dead, at the hands of a vampire whom he tortured, by the looks of what ronan finds in his notebook; his sister is a vampire, and there’s nobody they can ask for help, nobody who they trust to keep their secret, and so they must try hazard it out on their own; his mother loses some of herself that night too, dying in the attack alongside his father’s whole self & his sister’s ability to breathe, and ronan doesn’t know how to keep her together by himself.

so he asks theodore’s brother, edward, to move in. edward nott is an experimenter like his brother, fascinated by history and magic and the intersection of both, in old alchemical texts and the applications he can find, but he is interested in the nature of magic, and he has no use for his brother’s cellar of horrors. he’s scatter-brained, absolutely, and has no pragmatic tendencies, but he’s the nott patriarch now, and his presence keeps prying questions away.

the public story is: theodore nott was attacked by a vampire for his anti-vampire rhetoric, and the trauma of viewing the attack has left eithne nott reluctant to return to hogwarts, and has instead opted to be home-schooled. the rumours are: eithne nott had a breakdown about her father’s attack, and is now practically a squib, the poor thing, no wonder the notts keep her home, imagine the shame— the truth is neither of these things, but they are both much better to be believed, as far as the notts—ronan, really, because ronan is the one in charge now, even though he’s a teenager, even though he’s lost his father and practically his mother too, because he’s the only one left, and someone has to hold everyone else up, right?—are concerned. and so ronan does not speak against the rumours, simply trains with thalia, even harder than ever, and dedicates himself more to becoming what his father wanted, because he knows, deep in his heart, that saving eithne was a weakness his father would never forgive.

[ emotional abuse tw ] ( he has a complicated thought process about it, and it’s all due to his father’s teaching. he cannot help but think of it as a weakness, as him not being strong enough to do what his father taught, and to kill the monster before she became a monster, not when she wore his sister’s face —- but the flipside of that is that in his weakness, he gave her a chance, and that chance showed him that, for all the differences between the eithne she is now and the eithne she was before, there are all the more things that have stayed the same. and so he has this warring sense inside himself, of thinking himself weak for sparing his sister because he knows his father would not have, and—treasonously, perhaps, which explains for the guilt which accompanies the stubborn defiance of this thought, contrary as the two emotions may be—thinking he was right to do so. there’s a lot to unpack there, because his father’s teachings are so drummed into his and eithne’s heads, and there is guilt at the defiance even as the defiance exists, there is believing it was a weakness as well as believing in its rightness, and i think one day he’ll unravel that. for her part, eithne has very complicated thoughts on her father too. she resents him for what happened to her, for what he did which allowed this to happen to her, but she feels guilty for that too, because he died in that attack, and she loves him, just like ronan did, and she doesn’t know if it’s disloyal to resent him for what happened. she’s forever twelve, visually, and that’s something she doesn’t have words to explain her grief and fury over, but emotionally speaking, she’d only just be turning fourteen in july, and she is in no way equipped to handle the tangled emotions she has wrt her father and her vampirism. ronan throws himself into becoming what his father wanted (or has, for now) as a way to process his grief and his guilt, especially because he cannot regret saving his sister, and eithne tries to dispel her emotions by wrecking things in the manor. eventually, i think, they’ll both come to terms with it, or at least confront the truth of what their father was and what that means to them, but for now: they are young, and grieving a man they do not know how to believe in anymore, and also the people they could have been. ) [ end tw ]

it’s kinda funny, in a way that isn’t comedic at all, how theodore would have never given eithne the chance ronan did, because as far as ronan can tell, she’s much more like him than ronan ever was. ronan was moulded by him, but he learned military strategy; eithne’s the inquisitive one, who’s always had the desire to see how things fall apart and fit together, though ronan is sure in every bone of his being that she’d never experiment the way theodore did. sometimes when eithne’s angry, she gets that exact same stormy look in her eyes that theodore did, and it’s all ronan can do not to flinch. he’s learning to see it as eithne’s expression, though, and not a ghost of his father. it’s slow-going, but he’s learning, because the last thing he wants is for eithne to look at herself and see her father, because love always came with something hard with their father, and for the first time, the two of them are really discovering what love looks like without conditions. his father is in the way he thinks—-the way he’s been trained to think, with years of studying strategies—-and fights and duels, and he feels his echoes in everything he does, but it’s in eithne he sees his father, and he loves and hates those moments in equal measure. the one thing that the vampirism and his father’s passing did for the siblings that ronan does not regret is that it showed them how much they mattered to each other —- ronan had always loved his sister, but it wasn’t until her turning and the fact that he did ( and still does ) all he can to save and protect her that really showed them how much they mean to each other. his father was his hero, but he loved his sister just as much as he loved him, and he couldn’t hurt her, not even with all their father’s words in his head, and he wouldn’t let anyone else hurt her either, and that meant everything to her. whatever else, the nott siblings would do anything for each other, and now they know it.

the past summer was especially integral for figuring out how they were moving forward. it had been some six months since eithne’s turning, but it was the first time since the winter solstice when his father died that ronan had been present for a long stretch of time ( given the shortness of easter break ). three months together, to figure things out, and ronan spent most of his time with his mother and sister, or trying to read up on things about vampirism, even delving into his father’s notebooks for any information which could help eithne. when he wasn’t doing that, he was training harder than ever before, or sorting out practical matters, like finances.

when it was time to return to hogwarts, he was incredibly reluctant to leave his sister and mother, but there was something undeniably relieving about it —- he’d been going stir-crazy, and it was what set him to try out for gryffindor beater. he’d played quidditch before, in his youth and in the summers, but he’d never felt any need to try out for the team —- nor is he sure he’d have been accepted to it, given the amount of talent the team had always possessed, and it was only this year with openings in beater position that he considered it —- until now; with all his focus going into his sister and his trainings with thalia, and the classes he’d always valued with his father, he needed some other outlet, something to call his own. he was a natural fit for beating —- not only in the physicality, but the inherent protectiveness of the role. not that he’d ever considered his other teammates people he’d generally protect, but he’d been in the role of protector for eithne for so long that it felt surprisingly natural to fit into it in other spheres, even for irritating people such as lily potter. on a broom, politics and personality didn’t matter, not really.

until, well. the war hit. ronan’s montague cousins had largely been involved earlier —- aurelia, tbd* and tristan, particularly —- but ronan himself had been left mostly alone, given everything with his family. it was known to some of the death eaters that he trained with thalia, and given his father’s death at the hands of a vampire and the effect it had on his sister, it was widely assumed he’d want revenge against part-humans, especially with some of his cousins vouching for it, and so he was left alone until the deaths on halloween. and then — expectations were expectations, and ronan knew what his father would want. moreover, he knew being the perfect soldier would help keep attention on him, and not thinking so much about his sister, and how nobody had seen her for a long time. it wasn’t that he didn’t believe, exactly —- it was what he was taught, after all, and it was only within the last year that he’d had a reason to have a crisis of faith wrt his father’s teachings on the vampire front, let alone everything else that had been in the world... though, his father had always been more concerned with creature status than blood status, though he did tend to be slightly more patient with purebloods than others, in part because he tended to know them or their families —- it was more that his decision-making process was focused primarily with his sister and the family reputation, and had not managed to detach itself from the weight of his father’s expectations.

ronan mostly spends his time at death eater meetings with thalia, who’s been a mentor for him for a long time --- there’s a sort of reputation there, about rookwood and nott, that they’re two who can get something done. he’s not as vicious as odilia travers, but he’s no less physical, and he’s a soldier first and foremost.

[ kidnapping tw ] his opinion on the taking of lily potter is... complicated. it’s not so much about who it happened to as how it happened. he's a soldier, and that was a covert act, a sneaky one, an unfair fight? and he knows deception, he practices in... not deception so much as i guess trying to hide things, with his sister, and his mother and uncle and even some elements of his father's legacy, like trying to keep the notts afloat (i suppose pragmatically rather than any other way —- money's fine, he's not got to worry about that — though i do think theo's experiments were costly, but they can manage — but it's more that his uncle is not practical, and not particularly interested in being helpful, he's scattered and too focused on his experiments (thankfully less sharp, less inhumane than theo's, more about the nature of magic), and isolde was never especially a strong personality but has certainly deteriorated since the attack, so ronan's just been the only one focusing on it all), but those are a very different thing from... the sheer sneakiness and unfairness of a kidnapping, i guess. like he is a gryffindor, and there are some things —- sometimes you do what you have to, in war, but kidnapping a teenage girl (especially one like —- as frustrating as she can be, she's also still a face he knew every day? he remembers what she looked like at eleven?) is, idk, it's a factor, i guess. there’s a skewed sense of honour at play there, similar to how he made the choice to keep protecting eithne, to do anything to keep her alive, even if she’s technically dead —- ( i think for most of his life --- and probably at sorting, then --- he thought he was loyal to causes and groups first, because nothing made him doubt it? but now he knows he's loyal to people more than a cause, but even with that, he's loyal to the right person over the wrong one when it comes to the people he loves, like loyalty to eithne wins out over loyalty to theo, and i don't think it's that he loves her more than he loved his father, i think it's about... when it's between the people he loves, he can't choose there so then he goes to the next process, which in his head was maybe what his father would have called weakness but i think came down to... which was the right one to go with? even if he doesn't realise/wouldn't frame it that way? ) i also don’t think ronan realises the kidnapping not sitting right is due to that skewed version of honour (or i guess it's a straightforward honour type that's been skewed by the framing he was taught) or if he thinks it's another like... element of weakness? but i think he recognises it's different to the eithne situation, i just don't know if he's cognisant that it's like... idk, why it mattered that it was unfair? or if he recognises that it reminds him of what his father was doing, or if he's consciously not realising that/subconsciously avoiding it (even as he subconsciously is aware of it on some level, because it contributes to the feeling)? because a big aspect of how her taking sits with him is absolutely how it reminds him of what his father did, because that’s an awful thing to do to people, especially now that he’s more sure that vampires really are more like people, no matter what his father said, because he can see it in eithne, and then he thinks about it happening to eithne, and his mind sort of --- shuts it all down, in order to compartmentalise it, but it bleeds over, and it’s honestly a bit triggering for him, but i really don’t think he’s cognisant of that

he’s big on physical and duelling training, and has been seeking out a lot of stuff about that himself, and with thalia’s help. dada is probably his best subject, followed by transfiguration. fire & smoke, these are his areas, especially smoke —- the aftermath of a fire, the thing that fills a house burned to its bones, something deadlier than fire, even if it’s never shining as bright. he’s a hard worker, but it’s a learned behaviour more than it is inherent. a product of his childhood, really. he’s always loved history, but he’s not sure if he would if he’d discovered it by himself? as it was, his father taught him history, made him study it, and it’s part of the foundation of his life, but he doesn’t know what his relationship to history would look like if you took his father out. his fury is like his father’s too, odd as it may seem —- his father has always been cold, and there’s an inherent warmth to ronan, and fire does not burn in ice, but there’s something there, in how consuming it can be. theodore’s fury and hatred was all-consuming. i’m really hopeful that ronan’s won’t consume him —- that he won’t lose himself to it. he’s dedicated and determined, and absolutely resourceful. when he was sixteen and grieving and traumatised, he swallowed his bile and bucked up his courage and rooted around his father’s cellar, using everything at his disposal to try figure out what could be used to help eithne. he has a lot of secrets, a lot of things he keeps to himself out of necessity, and i think there’s something lonely in that sometimes. there are parts of himself he can’t share with anyone, not even his sister, so he has to swallow them down and hope they never escape. before it all, he was focused, but he always had a tendency towards quick retorts when his temper was stung and withering looks in classrooms. nowadays, he’s slightly more reticent, a bit more careful with his words, but there’s grief and rage that wasn’t there before, things from the last year and a half only, and they are a bleeding edge in his mouth, and sometimes they come out. he isn’t cruel for sport, and he isn’t one to go after people for entertainment, but he has never been much good at backing down when incited to a fight ( he’s learning—-or trying—-but it’s a hard habit to break ) and when he’s furious, he doesn’t much care about the destruction his words or actions could wreak. as long as it doesn’t hurt his sister.

character parallels: diego hargreeves, the umbrella academy — this bears explaining, probably. wrt theodore’s parenting style, there’s a general sense of parallel to the hargreeves, i think, in that theodore is cold and expectant, and isolde is nurturing, if not a particularly strong personality. diego comes into play in a few ways: at his core, diego adores his mother and is immensely protective of his siblings, even if sometimes he’s an asshole —- that’s pretty solidly ronan wrt isolde & especially eithne; there’s the physicality, the fighting ability, which ronan and diego both share; and, although he’s not there yet, eventually ronan’s mindset regarding his father will shift to something closer to diego’s. right now it’s closer to luther’s, as a product of emotional abuse and desperately craving his father’s love, approval & pride, but it’s something he’s been grappling with since the night eithne turned, and eventually resentment will win out over guilt, and recognition over that blind love. i just hope he doesn’t lose himself in it. i think ronan will always love his father—-even if he shouldn’t, i think it’s too entrenched in part of him to ever shake out completely—-but i think he’s certainly coming to a time where, while he might eventually forgive him (he also might not—-i’m genuinely unsure here), he’ll never be able to buy into him or endorse him again. it’s a pretty shattering realisation he’s coming to, because theodore was his hero, undeserving of the title as he may be, but it is one that is coming nonetheless. ; bellamy blake (the 100) — his love for octavia is the big thing, but i think there’s also something to be said for how emotionally ruled he can be, and how he makes bad decision after bad decision (in season one) but his motivations are always understandable and his heart is in the right place --- and when he chooses to lead, he leads. [ murder tw ]there’s also a line in the novel when bellamy catches his mother, aurora, trying to suffocate octavia, and he stops her, but aurora says like... ‘you can have a sister or a mother. you can’t have both.’ and that’s also pretty fitting with this dichotomy of theodore and eithne --- he can live up to his father’s expectations, or he can believe in his sister’s humanity, but the two are mutually exclusive [ end tw ] ; rhys (seven black diamonds) — again, rhys is notable for his protection of his sister, but he’s also a supreme soldier. he’s the best fighter other than maybe his mother (whom he is also v protective of), and family and duty mean everything to him, and it’s an interesting conflict when those two things begin to contradict each other.

#iidyintro #kidnapping tw #death tw #parental death tw #torture tw #emotional abuse tw #experimentation tw #violence tw

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dykedteach · 5 years

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okay so, a liveblog.

i know i haven’t done one of these in a while but it’s the last opportunity i had so, a pure as-i-watch-it liveblog for my own future enjoyment? horror? who knows

(also - last night i dreamt that jaime was still alive after all, and that he and brienne made up but then he poisoned sansa? anyway)

“I’ll find you later.” bitch........no

greyworm don’t you fucking dare babe

please don’t turn greyworm into a villain right at the end just to spite him i will be so mad

i’m so so nervous about tyrion walking through the rubble of the keep because if the twins are dead i absolutely do not want to see visual representation of the fact

the book of the kingsguards deeds im....asdjaskda

they’re going to make me see the fucking bodies aren’t they

okay that scene was so powerful and genuinely one of the saddest i’ve seen on the show and peter dinklage is incredible but i honestly struggled to watch it and i am crying A Lot

they, separately, have been two of my favourites since i started watching and this fucking hurts, i have honestly spent the last week kinda forgetting that they’re dead? and now it’s like. there they are.

also, jaime lannister clown club, my apologies, i so wanted to believe you

if tyrion does something like gives brienne his gold hand i s2g

i miss when jon used to look like he had life in him

he’s going to have to kill greyworm isn’t he

maybe davos will, actually, he’s never had a big kill

ooooooooooooooh the cinematography of the dragon rising behind her

imagine a regent that actually had wings how cool would that be

repeating her promises to/from the dothraki from like s1 is...a Move

“the queens master of war” ohhhhhh fuck me

god he really does need to die doesn’t he

literally what is she going to do?? march on every fucking city and kill them all? HOW are they “suffering under the wheel” the monarchy is the wheel and you? killed it??

arya use a face

aRyA uSe A fAcE

despite the fact i’ve seen leaks saying otherwise i’m so worried tyrion is gonna die

“I freed my brother” god the regret in his voice im dying

why is jon just chilling

JON BEING A TENDER BIG BROTHER why wasn’t 80% of his screentime this season doing exactly this

i love this version of arya that’s serious but not cold

“did you bring any wine?” oh babe

oof the whole afterlife discussion

oh for fucks sake what is it with the lannister men and laying out their bad deeds at the worst time

jon and tyrion arguing is just the two different halves of twitter arguing all this week

“why does it matter what i do” because you’re a good boy, jon snow!!!

god the acting in this episode so far is phenomenal

am i going to cry every time my dumbass golden idiot is mentioned from now on? bitch i might!

is he REALLY a member of the nights watch anymore? do the nights watch exist anymore? there’s no fucking WALL

is he really gonna just be like.....byeeeeee!!

YES bitch EMOTIONALLY MANIPULATE HIS LOVE OF HIS SIBLINGS its what he NEEDS

also, just his sisters?? there’s a bran also

i know we kinda forget about him (which will be hilarious by the end of this episode, if the spoilers i’ve seen are right) but

ooooh snowy dragon

shit, i forget, ashy dragon

ITS THE PROPECY

god the score is gorgeous

she’s literally queen of the ashes, fuck

“i imagined a mountain of swords too high to climb” so, like, the book throne then

oh god my upset puppy

this is it oh fuck

oh god

oh i feel so sorry for emilia clarke

oh jon

oh no drogon!! oh no

god that was quick

oh god when he’s nudging her body i’m so sad

why.....why the throne and not jon....

how does he know the throne is bad i’m?

god the VISUALS

but also....”mom died i’m DESTROYING the CHAIR” feels like a weird jump

god i fucking hate that her story ended like her father’s

we’re halfway through and no brienne, i’m disappointed

how many times now has tyrion had to contemplate his imminent death? bless him

ok so now she’s dead we can please let greyworm go safely to naath or something yeah? he doesn’t have to die or be evil this is fine just user him away

WAIT ITS MY BABY SHES HERE

how the fuck did they get down to KL so quick

WAIT EDMURE

hold um im pausing and rewinding

sam, ?, edmure, starks, WIFE, davos, LORD GENDRY LOOKING FINE, ?, a nights watch i guess? MY LESBIAN, a dornish prince i guess?

oh okay so obviously this is a little while later, and jon and tyrion have been imprisoned while they wait right?

YARA SHUT UP

god sansa looks stunning

edmure tully gets to do something! yay!

oh my god robin is huge now

“a veteran of two wars” where have you BEEN THOUGH BUDDY

“Uncle, please sit” GOD IMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

robin and royce trying not to laugh, sam trying not to laugh, sansa trying not to laugh, this is too much

“Why just us?” BABEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

SAM CHAMPIONING A DEMOCRACY LIKE A BABE

oh fuck off the lot of you

“who then?” well, brienne obviously

make her queen

i want it

give her a crown of sapphires

“bran the broken” that seems....reductive?

“who has a better story than-” well, you see, lots of people.

“and he can’t father children” i mean, he absolutely probably can?

where’s pod, i miss him

i love my diplomatic daughter

ARYA LOOKS LIKE SHE’S ABOUT TO CRY IM

bran being firm with greyworm i LOVE IT

he will be a good king, i agree with that. some emotion would be nice also.

oh god my poor baby

“there’s still a nights watch?” MOOD

“no one is very happy.” also a mood

he truly is ned’s boy, isn’t he.

show him saying goodbye to his family you FUCKING COWARDS

he’s sailing for naath after all i’m!! emotional!

where the fuck does arya think she’s going

i hope she has like, a few years travelling and then comes back

oh god arya crying is just

i’m so emotional

oh fuck

oh no i hoped and predicted for this scene weeks ago and wanted it to be in better circumstances but

why isn’t she wearing her blue armour

i can’t count the number of times i’ve paused this scene already to just solidly cry

“Escaped imprisonment and rode south in an attempt to save the capital from destruction. Died protecting his Queen.”

brienne baby i’m so sorry

okay i’m going to distract myself by questioning how the fuck they rebuilt so quickly

HOLY FUCK PEOPLE WERE KINDA RIGHT ABOUT SAM WRITING THE BOOK

fuckin bronn

oh god she’s HEAD OF THE KINGSGUARD

oh wow i’m so down for bran occasionally warging during meetings and everyone else just being like.......um....excuse us...

SER

PODRICK

FUCKING

PAYNE

“you’re master of grammar now too?” somewhere, in purgatory, a baratheon smiles.

i swear to god, if brienne’s last line is a comment about brothels

(at least she’s not pregnant)

my crack ship came out of this better than my hardcore otp

where’s GHOST

a king, a queen, an explorer, and a pariah.

god but i do love the starks

GHOST

OH god arya’s ship is gorgeous

sansa’s crown is nice but a little too cersei reminiscent for me

i’m just happy tormund is here

okay so actually. overall. and maybe it’s because i saw the leaks for most stuff weeks ago and had time to process it.

i kind of.....enjoyed that for the most part?

certainly the second half.

anyway. that’s it.

fuck me.

#laura watches game of thrones #for the last time #god this had me in my feelings

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love-max1982-us · 3 years

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However with an increasingly diversified global Rogue portfolio

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#Mens ADIDAS ORIGINALS #catalog cercei aur turcia #chanel ágynemű #legjobb kutyaruha esőkabát

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readbookywooks · 7 years

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The voyage came to an end. We landed, and proceeded to Paris. I soon found that I had overtaxed my strength and that I must repose before I could continue my journey. My father's care and attentions were indefatigable, but he did not know the origin of my sufferings and sought erroneous methods to remedy the incurable ill. He wished me to seek amusement in society. I abhorred the face of man. Oh, not abhorred! They were my brethren, my fellow beings, and I felt attracted even to the most repulsive among them, as to creatures of an angelic nature and celestial mechanism. But I felt that I had no right to share their intercourse. I had unchained an enemy among them whose joy it was to shed their blood and to revel in their groans. How they would, each and all, abhor me and hunt me from the world did they know my unhallowed acts and the crimes which had their source in me! My father yielded at length to my desire to avoid society and strove by various arguments to banish my despair. Sometimes he thought that I felt deeply the degradation of being obliged to answer a charge of murder, and he endeavoured to prove to me the futility of pride. "Alas! My father," said I, "how little do you know me. Human beings, their feelings and passions, would indeed be degraded if such a wretch as I felt pride. Justine, poor unhappy Justine, was as innocent as I, and she suffered the same charge; she died for it; and I am the cause of this - I murdered her. William, Justine, and Henry - they all died by my hands." My father had often, during my imprisonment, heard me make the same assertion; when I thus accused myself, he sometimes seemed to desire an explanation, and at others he appeared to consider it as the offspring of delirium, and that, during my illness, some idea of this kind had presented itself to my imagination, the remembrance of which I preserved in my convalescence. I avoided explanation and maintained a continual silence concerning the wretch I had created. I had a persuasion that I should be supposed mad, and this in itself would forever have chained my tongue. But, besides, I could not bring myself to disclose a secret which would fill my hearer with consternation and make fear and unnatural horror the inmates of his breast. I checked, therefore, my impatient thirst for sympathy and was silent when I would have given the world to have confided the fatal secret. Yet, still, words like those I have recorded would burst uncontrollably from me. I could offer no explanation of them, but their truth in part relieved the burden of my mysterious woe. Upon this occasion my father said, with an expression of unbounded wonder, "My dearest Victor, what infatuation is this? My dear son, I entreat you never to make such an assertion again." "I am not mad," I cried energetically; "the sun and the heavens, who have viewed my operations, can bear witness of my truth. I am the assassin of those most innocent victims; they died by my machinations. A thousand times would I have shed my own blood, drop by drop, to have saved their lives; but I could not, my father, indeed I could not sacrifice the whole human race." The conclusion of this speech convinced my father that my ideas were deranged, and he instantly changed the subject of our conversation and endeavoured to alter the course of my thoughts. He wished as much as possible to obliterate the memory of the scenes that had taken place in Ireland and never alluded to them or suffered me to speak of my misfortunes. As time passed away I became more calm; misery had her dwelling in my heart, but I no longer talked in the same incoherent manner of my own crimes; sufficient for me was the consciousness of them. By the utmost self-violence I curbed the imperious voice of wretchedness, which sometimes desired to declare itself to the whole world, and my manners were calmer and more composed than they had ever been since my journey to the sea of ice. A few days before we left Paris on our way to Switzerland, I received the following letter from Elizabeth: My dear Friend, It gave me the greatest pleasure to receive a letter from my uncle dated at Paris; you are no longer at a formidable distance, and I may hope to see you in less than a fortnight. My poor cousin, how much you must have suffered! I expect to see you looking even more ill than when you quitted Geneva. This winter has been passed most miserably, tortured as I have been by anxious suspense; yet I hope to see peace in your countenance and to find that your heart is not totally void of comfort and tranquillity. Yet I fear that the same feelings now exist that made you so miserable a year ago, even perhaps augmented by time. I would not disturb you at this period, when so many misfortunes weigh upon you, but a conversation that I had with my uncle previous to his departure renders some explanation necessary before we meet. Explanation! You may possibly say, What can Elizabeth have to explain? If you really say this, my questions are answered and all my doubts satisfied. But you are distant from me, and it is possible that you may dread and yet be pleased with this explanation; and in a probability of this being the case, I dare not any longer postpone writing what, during your absence, I have often wished to express to you but have never had the courage to begin. You well know, Victor, that our union had been the favourite plan of your parents ever since our infancy. We were told this when young, and taught to look forward to it as an event that would certainly take place. We were affectionate playfellows during childhood, and, I believe, dear and valued friends to one another as we grew older. But as brother and sister often entertain a lively affection towards each other without desiring a more intimate union, may not such also be our case? Tell me, dearest Victor. Answer me, I conjure you by our mutual happiness, with simple truth - Do you not love another? You have travelled; you have spent several years of your life at Ingolstadt; and I confess to you, my friend, that when I saw you last autumn so unhappy, flying to solitude from the society of every creature, I could not help supposing that you might regret our connection and believe yourself bound in honour to fulfil the wishes of your parents, although they opposed themselves to your inclinations. But this is false reasoning. I confess to you, my friend, that I love you and that in my airy dreams of futurity you have been my constant friend and companion. But it is your happiness I desire as well as my own when I declare to you that our marriage would render me eternally miserable unless it were the dictate of your own free choice. Even now I weep to think that, borne down as you are by the cruellest misfortunes, you may stifle, by the word "honour," all hope of that love and happiness which would alone restore you to yourself. I, who have so disinterested an affection for you, may increase your miseries tenfold by being an obstacle to your wishes. Ah! Victor, be assured that your cousin and playmate has too sincere a love for you not to be made miserable by this supposition. Be happy, my friend; and if you obey me in this one request, remain satisfied that nothing on earth will have the power to interrupt my tranquillity. Do not let this letter disturb you; do not answer tomorrow, or the next day, or even until you come, if it will give you pain. My uncle will send me news of your health, and if I see but one smile on your lips when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I shall need no other happiness. Elizabeth Lavenza Geneva, May 18th, 17- This letter revived in my memory what I had before forgotten, the threat of the fiend - "I WILL BE WITH YOU ON YOUR WEDDING-NIGHT!" Such was my sentence, and on that night would the daemon employ every art to destroy me and tear me from the glimpse of happiness which promised partly to console my sufferings. On that night he had determined to consummate his crimes by my death. Well, be it so; a deadly struggle would then assuredly take place, in which if he were victorious I should be at peace and his power over me be at an end. If he were vanquished, I should be a free man. Alas! What freedom? Such as the peasant enjoys when his family have been massacred before his eyes, his cottage burnt, his lands laid waste, and he is turned adrift, homeless, penniless, and alone, but free. Such would be my liberty except that in my Elizabeth I possessed a treasure, alas, balanced by those horrors of remorse and guilt which would pursue me until death. Sweet and beloved Elizabeth! I read and reread her letter, and some softened feelings stole into my heart and dared to whisper paradisiacal dreams of love and joy; but the apple was already eaten, and the angel's arm bared to drive me from all hope. Yet I would die to make her happy. If the monster executed his threat, death was inevitable; yet, again, I considered whether my marriage would hasten my fate. My destruction might indeed arrive a few months sooner, but if my torturer should suspect that I postponed it, influenced by his menaces, he would surely find other and perhaps more dreadful means of revenge. He had vowed TO BE WITH ME ON MY WEDDING-NIGHT, yet he did not consider that threat as binding him to peace in the meantime, for as if to show me that he was not yet satiated with blood, he had murdered Clerval immediately after the enunciation of his threats. I resolved, therefore, that if my immediate union with my cousin would conduce either to hers or my father's happiness, my adversary's designs against my life should not retard it a single hour. In this state of mind I wrote to Elizabeth. My letter was calm and affectionate. "I fear, my beloved girl," I said, "little happiness remains for us on earth; yet all that I may one day enjoy is centred in you. Chase away your idle fears; to you alone do I consecrate my life and my endeavours for contentment. I have one secret, Elizabeth, a dreadful one; when revealed to you, it will chill your frame with horror, and then, far from being surprised at my misery, you will only wonder that I survive what I have endured. I will confide this tale of misery and terror to you the day after our marriage shall take place, for, my sweet cousin, there must be perfect confidence between us. But until then, I conjure you, do not mention or allude to it. This I most earnestly entreat, and I know you will comply." In about a week after the arrival of Elizabeth's letter we returned to Geneva. The sweet girl welcomed me with warm affection, yet tears were in her eyes as she beheld my emaciated frame and feverish cheeks. I saw a change in her also. She was thinner and had lost much of that heavenly vivacity that had before charmed me; but her gentleness and soft looks of compassion made her a more fit companion for one blasted and miserable as I was. The tranquillity which I now enjoyed did not endure. Memory brought madness with it, and when I thought of what had passed, a real insanity possessed me; sometimes I was furious and burnt with rage, sometimes low and despondent. I neither spoke nor looked at anyone, but sat motionless, bewildered by the multitude of miseries that overcame me. Elizabeth alone had the power to draw me from these fits; her gentle voice would soothe me when transported by passion and inspire me with human feelings when sunk in torpor. She wept with me and for me. When reason returned, she would remonstrate and endeavour to inspire me with resignation. Ah! It is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for the guilty there is no peace. The agonies of remorse poison the luxury there is otherwise sometimes found in indulging the excess of grief. Soon after my arrival my father spoke of my immediate marriage with Elizabeth. I remained silent. "Have you, then, some other attachment?" "None on earth. I love Elizabeth and look forward to our union with delight. Let the day therefore be fixed; and on it I will consecrate myself, in life or death, to the happiness of my cousin." "My dear Victor, do not speak thus. Heavy misfortunes have befallen us, but let us only cling closer to what remains and transfer our love for those whom we have lost to those who yet live. Our circle will be small but bound close by the ties of affection and mutual misfortune. And when time shall have softened your despair, new and dear objects of care will be born to replace those of whom we have been so cruelly deprived." Such were the lessons of my father. But to me the remembrance of the threat returned; nor can you wonder that, omnipotent as the fiend had yet been in his deeds of blood, I should almost regard him as invincible, and that when he had pronounced the words "I SHALL BE WITH YOU ON YOUR WEDDING-NIGHT," I should regard the threatened fate as unavoidable. But death was no evil to me if the loss of Elizabeth were balanced with it, and I therefore, with a contented and even cheerful countenance, agreed with my father that if my cousin would consent, the ceremony should take place in ten days, and thus put, as I imagined, the seal to my fate. Great God! If for one instant I had thought what might be the hellish intention of my fiendish adversary, I would rather have banished myself forever from my native country and wandered a friendless outcast over the earth than have consented to this miserable marriage. But, as if possessed of magic powers, the monster had blinded me to his real intentions; and when I thought that I had prepared only my own death, I hastened that of a far dearer victim. As the period fixed for our marriage drew nearer, whether from cowardice or a prophetic feeling, I felt my heart sink within me. But I concealed my feelings by an appearance of hilarity that brought smiles and joy to the countenance of my father, but hardly deceived the everwatchful and nicer eye of Elizabeth. She looked forward to our union with placid contentment, not unmingled with a little fear, which past misfortunes had impressed, that what now appeared certain and tangible happiness might soon dissipate into an airy dream and leave no trace but deep and everlasting regret. Preparations were made for the event, congratulatory visits were received, and all wore a smiling appearance. I shut up, as well as I could, in my own heart the anxiety that preyed there and entered with seeming earnestness into the plans of my father, although they might only serve as the decorations of my tragedy. Through my father's exertions a part of the inheritance of Elizabeth had been restored to her by the Austrian government. A small possession on the shores of Como belonged to her. It was agreed that, immediately after our union, we should proceed to Villa Lavenza and spend our first days of happiness beside the beautiful lake near which it stood. In the meantime I took every precaution to defend my person in case the fiend should openly attack me. I carried pistols and a dagger constantly about me and was ever on the watch to prevent artifice, and by these means gained a greater degree of tranquillity. Indeed, as the period approached, the threat appeared more as a delusion, not to be regarded as worthy to disturb my peace, while the happiness I hoped for in my marriage wore a greater appearance of certainty as the day fixed for its solemnization drew nearer and I heard it continually spoken of as an occurrence which no accident could possibly prevent. Elizabeth seemed happy; my tranquil demeanour contributed greatly to calm her mind. But on the day that was to fulfil my wishes and my destiny, she was melancholy, and a presentiment of evil pervaded her; and perhaps also she thought of the dreadful secret which I had promised to reveal to her on the following day. My father was in the meantime overjoyed and in the bustle of preparation only recognized in the melancholy of his niece the diffidence of a bride. After the ceremony was performed a large party assembled at my father's, but it was agreed that Elizabeth and I should commence our journey by water, sleeping that night at Evian and continuing our voyage on the following day. The day was fair, the wind favourable; all smiled on our nuptial embarkation. Those were the last moments of my life during which I enjoyed the feeling of happiness. We passed rapidly along; the sun was hot, but we were sheltered from its rays by a kind of canopy while we enjoyed the beauty of the scene, sometimes on one side of the lake, where we saw Mont Saleve, the pleasant banks of Montalegre, and at a distance, surmounting all, the beautiful Mont Blanc and the assemblage of snowy mountains that in vain endeavour to emulate her; sometimes coasting the opposite banks, we saw the mighty Jura opposing its dark side to the ambition that would quit its native country, and an almost insurmountable barrier to the invader who should wish to enslave it. I took the hand of Elizabeth. "You are sorrowful, my love. Ah! If you knew what I have suffered and what I may yet endure, you would endeavour to let me taste the quiet and freedom from despair that this one day at least permits me to enjoy." "Be happy, my dear Victor," replied Elizabeth; "there is, I hope, nothing to distress you; and be assured that if a lively joy is not painted in my face, my heart is contented. Something whispers to me not to depend too much on the prospect that is opened before us, but I will not listen to such a sinister voice. Observe how fast we move along and how the clouds, which sometimes obscure and sometimes rise above the dome of Mont Blanc, render this scene of beauty still more interesting. Look also at the innumerable fish that are swimming in the clear waters, where we can distinguish every pebble that lies at the bottom. What a divine day! How happy and serene all nature appears!" Thus Elizabeth endeavoured to divert her thoughts and mine from all reflection upon melancholy subjects. But her temper was fluctuating; joy for a few instants shone in her eyes, but it continually gave place to distraction and reverie. The sun sank lower in the heavens; we passed the river Drance and observed its path through the chasms of the higher and the glens of the lower hills. The Alps here come closer to the lake, and we approached the amphitheatre of mountains which forms its eastern boundary. The spire of Evian shone under the woods that surrounded it and the range of mountain above mountain by which it was overhung. The wind, which had hitherto carried us along with amazing rapidity, sank at sunset to a light breeze; the soft air just ruffled the water and caused a pleasant motion among the trees as we approached the shore, from which it wafted the most delightful scent of flowers and hay. The sun sank beneath the horizon as we landed, and as I touched the shore I felt those cares and fears revive which soon were to clasp me and cling to me forever.

#Frankenstein

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