#the reader

[dontcxckitup]

Ralph Fiennes The Reader

[pollkien]

The Reader: well honestly anyone who willingly subjects themselves to these books must either be very pathetic, neurodivergent, or possibly both. The reader is a strange creature who weeps over fictional elves and becomes a monarchist for 632 minutes solely when Aragorn, Son of Arathorn is on screen. They may write fanfiction of sad wet hobbits “jorking it”, draw dark lords “exploring eachother’s bodies”, or even do something else which puts them through unbearable emotional anguish just so someone else may feel even a modicum of what they experience. Truly a magnificent being. Legends say that to this day, they are still crying over Maedhros the Tall.

River woman (visual by me of course): uhhhhhh… Goldberry’s mum… yeah. Wet… her name is river woman. So. Yes

[ralphjustthebest]

Emotional damage mode on

[arsenic-aftertaste]

[lasmarginatura-archive]

“I, I thought, am not capable of loving anyone like that […], all I know is how to get along with books.” — The Story of a New Name, Elena Ferrante

[madamrynodm]

HEY PYRE ENJOYERS WHERE YOU AT!? Redrew an old meme from years back as an offering to one of my favorite games

[hildeeveraert]

Nina Leen, The Reader, 1945

[anri-2]

A wonderful husband

He was the kind of beautiful young man who might no longer exist in this world—tolerant, strong, full of passion. Your beloved. You could proudly say this to any stranger, though most would dismiss such a man as fictional and you as delusional. But it didn’t matter. Even after four years of marriage, Nanami still made your heart race as fiercely as it had in your first month together.

The sun cast its golden rays upon the earth, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. The wind blew against you, tousling your hair and ruining what had once been a neat style. The scent of nearby flowers filled the air—lined up like twins, swaying in an unseen dance. The rustling of leaves was barely audible beneath the wind’s whisper.

Lost in the joy of your long walk and his company, you hadn’t noticed the blisters forming on your feet. Laughter and lighthearted teasing had dulled the discomfort, and playful jabs at your husband kept you smiling, eager to fluster him. But the pain soon grew undeniable—sharp stings with each step, then a slight limp. At first, you ignored it, determined to savor the moment. Until it became impossible.

– Darling, you’re limping. - His voice, though rough with concern, was unmistakably tender.

- Ah... seems I’ve rubbed my feet raw. - You ran a hand through your wind-tangled hair, suddenly self-conscious.

You tried rising onto your toes to ease the pressure, but it was futile. Biting your lip, you gripped Kento’s shoulder like a lifeline.

- Worse than I thought, - you admitted with a wry smile.

Your eyes darted around for an empty bench, but luck wasn’t on your side. The nearest ones were occupied—either by chattering elders or boisterous teens. No one’s giving up their seat. You glanced at your husband, who was already scanning the area with that sharp gaze of his.

The wind played with his blond hair, disheveling it into something resembling a plague doctor’s hood. A laugh bubbled in your chest, and you pressed your lips together to stifle it. You were ready to hobble halfway across the park if needed—until the world tilted abruptly. Before you could process it, strong arms lifted you off the ground.

You opened your mouth to protest, to insist you could manage—but one stern look from him silenced you.

- Don’t even think about walking. I’m your husband. Let me take care of you.

Your cheeks burned. In that moment, you felt like you’d won the lottery—no, something far greater. This was the man who’d melted your heart years ago, still doing it with just a few words. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you let him carry you, his steps steady despite the whispers and odd glances from passersby.

You didn’t care. Kento Nanami wasn’t just beautiful—he was yours.

──────────────────────────────────

please NOT translate, copy, or pass it off as your own

[eiswolfzero]

Second WIP I'm not sure I'll continue, this one's a bit different in that I have some notes for it too

Characters: Desmond (The Reader), Ezio, Dezio was planned Summary: Desmond is the Reader and identifies himself like that. For some reason he gets thrown back in time to Ezio but doesn't believe it's real

Status: Unfinished

Notes:

Desmond’s skin feels hot to the touch as long as he glows

thinks he’s hallucinating

when Ezio tells him to stay where he is he “is used to being kept locked away”

Desmond is fine being pushed around, he has his calculations to do and everything else is just side stuff. and as a tool he may as well follow

he can't feel the air and Temperature around him (this changes) 

Also these tags by @cynical-cat towards my idea back then

Another node dwindled out after a bright flash of golden light, another catastrophic end for humanity. 

No matter. 

The Reader moved onto the next node, hoping that this one will make it farther than the one before. This one branched off directly from the node that had died just moments ago, sharing the same events until it didn't. 

The branch felt hesitant, as if not ready, and yet he knew he needed to see its contents. It bloomed beautifully under his touch, revealing its events, it's course. And humanity flourished for a moment before his eyes, the fight between two warring hidden groups seemingly unimportant. 

Between one blink of his golden eyes and the next the node lost its colors, humanity gone within the flash of light. Another path gone, another catastrophe he couldn't hope to stop.

He let the node fall from his hand and moved to the next, a whole new branch waiting for him. 

(What would he do once he saw what he was looking for?) 

(It didn't matter.)

Another node, another cataclysmic death of everyone.

Another. Here, Earth exploded. 

In the next, a plague, triggered on purpose. 

The next, an earthquake that hadn't been in any of the other nodes. It too died. 

The reader felt mild annoyance as he moved to another branch. For a brief moment he wondered how long he had been doing this (he knew, he had all the data, it was there for him to read). 

How many nodes had been useless from the start? (He knew the answer. ) 

How many more would there be? (An endless number, so many things that could go wrong. So many that were going wrong the moment he decided to look.) 

His fingers, glowing (burning, he may as well be still burning), gently touched the next. It lit up at it, as if taking in his light, and glowed brilliantly, the possibilities within blooming as they revealed themselves to him. 

They withered. 

One moment, life flourished before his eyes and the next it was gone, burned to ash. The sun. Again. 

He let the node fall away from him, the tiny branch disintegrating into nothing as if it too had burned. 

He moved to the next. 

He watches three more die before one node at the top of the artificial tree caught his attention. 

Where most nodes glowed a subdued golden, much like he did (he knew he shone brighter than any node, burning), or a faint blue, that one node glowed a vivid green. The branch it came from stopped its golden glow right at the trunk and faded to a nondescript grey. On its way to the node it slowly regained color, but it was the strange green rather than gold or blue. 

Curious, the Reader willed the tree to bend that branch closer to him. Usually the tree did this by itself, the more he worked his way through the nodes, the more grew at the top, only to slowly make their way towards him. 

But this, this he had to see immediately. 

The tree followed his command, bending the other nodes and branches out of the way before lowering the vivid green one before the Reader. 

He stared at it. 

Why was it different? What caused this particular color? 

He lifted his hand towards it, nonexistent breath halted at the suspense. The Grey around him pulsated a deep red before the Reader could touch the node. He halted in his movement, looking around him. 

There was only the endless Grey with its faint, fake horizon. 

He turned back to the node and held his hand underneath it, the tree dutifully lowering it into it. 

The moment the node came into contact with him made the entire Grey around him flash the disconcerting red again (it would have reminded him of a desynchronizing Animus). But the green from the node lightened up to an overwhelming green, then white. Bright enough to cause the Reader to close his eyes, wincing from the pain of having looked at it for just a moment. 

A ripple went through the Grey, through his body. He thought he heard someone scream and shout from far, far away. 

Then it became quiet, the light behind his eyelids only the one from himself, rather from the node. 

The Reader opened his eyes, white spots dancing in his vision. He blinked them away and stared at his hand. The node was gone.

He flexed his fingers, turning his hand around and back but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. 

Until he decided to look up. 

The tree was gone, as was the Grey. Instead he stood in a room, walls decorated beautifully around him, the feeling…cozy. The bed looked unmade, despite the sun hanging high through the window and-

He must be hallucinating. The Reader had hoped to leave these particular things behind. The Bleeding, the hallucinations and associated feelings but apparently even in the Grey he wasn't safe from it. 

Sighing, he waved his hand around, hoping to touch at least one of the nodes that must be in front of him somewhere. Maybe reading one would pull him out of this-

“Merda.” A voice murmured and followed with a sigh that conveyed someone being rather exhausted. 

Curious, the Reader turned and met eyes with Ezio. So it would be one of these hallucinations. He tilted his head to look Ezio over from head to toe, trying to determine which year it might be based on looks alone (there should be data for him to read. Where was it?). The answer however seemed unclear, as Ezio had partially undressed already in the safety of his home.

Strangely, he could feel Ezio's eyes on him as well. A rather deep hallucination then. 

Ezio took one, slow step towards him and spoke. “Are you one of them? One of those that came before?” 

The Reader met Ezio's eyes (it really did seem like Ezio was looking at him) and briefly turned to  look behind himself. But there was only a window with the sun streaming inside, so he turned back. 

Frustration had settled on Ezio's face in the short moment the Reader had looked away.

“You are visiting me now? Why all the riddles then? The keys, if you can do that?” Ezio's voice held authority, strength (he must have been Il Mentore for a while then). Ezio scoffed. “Do you not understand me? Have you visited to haunt me then?” 

The Reader blinked. The hallucination was realistic, compelling enough to make him want to reply (and why not? He was stuck in it for now by the looks of it). 

“I understand you,” the Reader said, his own voice feeling foreign. As if his throat hadn't been used in a while. He cleared it, the noise like ash rubbing against skin in his own ears.

“Then answer!” Ezio took another step but still remained safely away (safe from what? He wouldn't do anything). 

Another almost slow blink, not quite amused at the others frustration but still finding familiarity facing it. “No, I'm not one of the Isu. No, I'm not visiting, I'm…hallucinating, I suppose…,” he trailed off towards the end. His eyes started to wander around, taking in the details around him. Almost as if he could read them instead of data (there was none. Where was it?). 

The sound of another step drew the Reader's attention back to Ezio, confusion starting to seep into his demeanor more than anger. 

“Hallucinating? You think I am not real?”

“You're not. I've had these hallucinations before. Although, I admit, this one is one of the more elaborate ones. Nothing looks washed out or seems to fade in and out of view.” To make sure, he looked around again, only to face Ezio once more. Everything looked…stable. Every detail on the other’s outfit clear as day. 

Ezio stepped close enough to come stand before him, expression serious as he studied the Reader. 

The Reader in turn just stared back. He wondered why he was hallucinating having so much of Ezio's attention, when before it was just him being someone who watched things unfold. 

There was a tense silence until Ezio put his hand on the Reader's chest, pushing against it while meeting his eyes. 

The Readers eyes widened before Ezio suddenly pulled his hand away as if burned. “Ouch, you are not just glowing for show,” he hissed while offering a smug look. “But you felt that, correct?” 

[babyjinsu]

wow who shld this be for

[dontcxckitup]

Ralph Fiennes The Reader

[abba-snail]

A joke blaseball theory I had was that the reader was the monitor's older sibling who had gone to school for splorts psych (the psych is for psychic). Tarot spread is ink. They use their tentacles to do readings. That was about all I had

[stalking-winter]

Wyn?

@frozen-tomes

Quid vis, Toem?

[galleryofart]

La Liseuse (The Reader)

Artist: Robert James Gordon (England, 1845-1932)

Date: c. 1877

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney, Australia

[allthedesiredusernamesaretaken]

The Reader

Frédéric Forest