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alexanderlightweight · 1 year

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So for your Writing Wednesday, would it be possible to get a different meeting for Male where Magnus sees Alex for the first time as he 'deals' with an out of line Shadowhunter from a different area. All of Alec's Shadowhunters just cluck their tongues about poorly prepared outsiders (or something like that). I love reading all your stuff!

Ah I love seeing your kudos pictures and cookie!

Ahaha I kind of went off with this prompt because when I started writing i couldn’t stop

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Magnus barely manages to duck the blade that nearly gets his arm, his spell fading as he avoids adamas.

He spits out a curse and shoves the shadowhunter away from him.

And then the shadowhunter is down, a harsh yelp coming from his lips and an arrow from his shoulder. And Magnus watches as his attacker is being stepped on, a boot sharply pressing into his spine.

There is a new, aggressively dressed and nearly heavily armed group of shadowhunters.

The one stepping on Magnus’ would-be-murderer is an archer from the bow he wields and the arrow he launched. The red of its feathers match the ones in his quiver and Magnus watches as he looks down and grinds his heel into vertebrae.

Magnus’ attacker's face is pressed into the dirt, his cries of pain muffled by ichor soaked dirt as the archer pulls out his arrow.

The archer, a nephilim commander by the respect he’s shown, scoffs and wipes the bloodied arrowhead on the downed shadowhunters back.

Magnus has seen shadowhunter punishments.

He’s been across and on the same battlefield as nephilim warriors enough times to recognize its brutal efficiency.

But he’s never had it directed or doled out on his behalf.

And there’s every likelihood that this is only a tactical choice, seeing as Magnus is the only one on sight who is capable of closing the rift.

But Magnus still finds himself charmed.

As Cat would say, the bar is lower than Edom for shadowhunters.

“Someone get this disappointment of a hunter off of my battlefield!” The shadowhunter says voice deep and low and it rings across the small strip of sand and mud that Magnus has been desperately protecting while trying to close a colossal rift.

Dark eyes glance to him and widen and Magnus and several shadowhunters watch in shock as he misses a step, his booted heel crushing the man’s hand.

Magnus’ hunter looks down in consternation before he rolls his eyes. “Useless.” He mutters like it’s the man’s fault for being shot and having his fingers and spine tap-danced on. “Track what Institute they came from and tell them to stay out of my territory unless I ask for help. Idiots can’t be trusted not to fire on obvious allies.”

He walks towards Magnus carefully, bow out but unnotched and blade inactive at his thigh.

“Alec Lightwood, acting Commander and Head of the New York Institute.” And he’s younger than Magnus thought, with a still-healing nick through his eyebrow and blood at his jaw.

To anyone else he might look terrifying, with his dark scowl and the nearly feral way he’s assessing his surroundings.

To Magnus, he looks terrifyingly brilliant, like a comet that you’ll miss if you blink.

“Magnus Bane,” Magnus doesn’t add his titles because any decent commander, acting or otherwise should know him by name.

Alec’s eyes widen a bit, he definitely knows of Magnus then, but he seems more relieved than horrified.

“So if my hunters keep them clear of you, you can close the rift?”

Magnus nods, sharp and serious because this commander — Alec, perhaps Alexander — did take down another shadowhunter on Magnus' behalf.

“Protect the High Warlock of Brooklyn at every cost.” Alexander says, turning to his teams. There is a heavy emphasis on Magnus’ title and two of his gathered seven teams break off to surround Magnus.

They don’t hesitate, putting their backs to Magnus like it’s a natural occurrence, to have a furious and magically explosive warlock at their backs.

“I’ve wasted quite a bit of magical power.” Magnus admits, and his voice is cold because it’s a weakness he doesn’t want to share. But passing out unconscious in a group of admittedly, not-yet-terrible shadowhunters is not something Magnus wants to risk.

It’s unspoken that Magnus wasted that power because he was protecting himself from the demons and shadowhunters, while also still helping the shadowhunters.

Instead of being able to focus on the rift.

“Mirai.” Alexander is ordering and a woman with tight curls and sharp brown eyes steps away from the circle around Magnus. “We’ll switch positions. I’ll direct from the rear—“ he turns to Magnhs and steps closer, his hand held out. “You can take what you need, just leave me alert enough to direct my people. They’re competent enough to protect us until the rift is closed.”

There was a hint of threat in his tone and the shadowhunter he called Mirai is saying something into her earpiece.

“Of course sir, I’ll keep everyone in line. If we fall, you’ll fall last.” And Mirai gives a perfunctory nod and then takes off to create a larger and more secure perimeter.

It’s the first time Magnus has been able to catch his breath since he portaled in and he takes a moment to just inhale and exhale.

A flask is being pressed to his hands and Magnus is about to use magic to check it for poison when it’s taken back and he watches as Alexander unscrews it and sips, several deep gulps and Magnus can see the shine of water against his lips.

Magnus is suddenly a man dying of thirst.

He takes the flask when it’s passed over this time and doesn’t have to use any magic, just drinks the surprisingly cool water and feels it soothe his throat.

He finishes it and when he hands it back, he watches Alexander screw the lid back on and toss it to one of his hunters.

Alec holds out a large, calloused hand and Magnus takes it.

It’s dusty and dry and Magnus never wants to let go.

“Let me fall if I start to waver.” Alexander tells him as he stands next to Magnus, covering his back and side as best he can. “I won’t get a concussion with ground this soft and my hunters won’t break the perimeter to ease my muscles. Better to concentrate on the rift and any stragglers.”

Magnus laughs, a sharp bold thing that breaks across the screams of demons and the swears of shadowhunters.

“I’d have to let you go, for you to fall.” Magnus quips as he tightens his grip on Alexander's hand. And Magnus smiles, a soft thing that’s not fit for a battlefield but that spreads softly across his mouth. “And I don’t think I’m inclined to that.”

#shadowhunters #magnus bane #malec #alec lightwood #immortal husbands #writing wednesdays #writing wednesday #prompt fill #prompt fic #lumine writes #my fics #my fanfics #my ficlets #shadowhunters au

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russilton · 1 year

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BODY LANGUAGE ANALYSIS BODY LANGUAGE ANALYSIS BODY LANGUAGE ANALYSIS BODY LANGUAGE ANALYSIS BODY LANGUAGE ANALYSIS BODY LANGUAGE ANA-

ALRIGHTY HERE WE FUCKIN GO-

So this is about the Silverstone ‘23 hug, my beloved, my hyperfocus for the past week while I poked around and wrote this, and also because I say this every time but you can see a visual development jump in how George used to approach Lewis, how hes matured, and how much more at home he feels in Lewis’s space- I’m going off already…

Get ready for far more photos than anyone needs of this, in so many angles because…I have an archival hoarding problem! We know this!

Hug Video, for anyone who hasn’t seen it yet

So, unsurprisingly, I want to start by talking about what happens before George and Lewis even touch, because I never know quite how to launch into curated insanity (fun fact I wrote the second half before the first because I hate writing intros, you will probably be able to tell)

Silverstone marks the first time I’ve ever seen George deliberately wait for Lewis, especially when he doesn’t beeline for Lewis as his main focus. It’s good of George to congratulate Lando but I personally find it pretty distinct to how he goes to Lewis. Lando is a quick companionable slap and move on, they’ve been trying to get on a little better recently I think and it shows. But its an entirely different vibe than when he goes for Lewis, who he slows down for and requests the full focus of, by waiting and tapping at his back.

George has a thing for tap tapping Lewis for his attention, its a bit like watching a cat paw at someone to be noticed. I remember George doing it when he and Lewis climbed the fence after Brazil and Lewis was still waving to the crowd when George stole a phone off a merc staff member and began going tap tap slap tap on lewis’ shoulder so he’d focus in on George again. It’s oddly adorable to watch him become at ease with going ‘hey hey Lewis Lewis hey look at me’

This one (I couldn’t find a gif at this second of the slap slap tap but I have no doubt it exists. If it doesn’t,… ill make it exist), George has gone from a guy who would hover awkwardly to see if Lewis would even glance his way, to someone perfectly comfortable demanding his attention. And that’s what I was so fond of seeing at Silverstone, George getting right into Lewis’ space, patting his lower back (rather than shoulder or arm) and essentially going ‘hey! Hug?’

Which Lewis then grants immediatly, grabbing Georges hand and falling into a position that must be becoming muscle memory the amount of times they’ve done it

I MEAN LOOK AT THIS, Left is Hungary 2022, Right is Silverstone 2023. In Hungary they double podiumed (L P2- G P3), and yet the only difference between it and Silverstone is that now George tucks into Lewis even closer.

Maybe it’s something only I notice, but George ducks his head a little more every time they hug, almost like he’s trying to get closer and closer to tucking himself inside Lewis’ suit entirely. He always angles it like he’s going for the weirdest kiss, fitting his head up next to Lewis’. George is 6’2 or so, to Lewis’ 5’9 and yet every time George is the one trying to crunch himself into Lewis’ space, get their heads as close as he can with the HANS device and thick crash foam helmets obscuring the way. They always seem like they’re millimetres from clunking their heads off one another the way George always goes for it.

For a guy who likes to strut with all the confidence in the world and drive like it too, George always seems to ache for those tangible reminders that Lewis cares about him, be it his praise or this, wrapping a clingy arm around Lewis’ neck and making it feel as all encompassing as he can before he’s straightening up and acting like nothing has happened… usually only for the pair of them to post 4 different angles of photos of them together as soon as the race weekend ends….

(Gif courtesy of @princemick , posted with permission because, ‘I’m not putting that on my blog Markus’, thank you Kyle, sorry I made you scroll into one of the middle of my rambles to find your own name)

I feel something we also glossed over in the original fervour and shouting is that they never let go of one another’s hands during the entire movement, Lewis’ fingers remains clenched tight around George’s as they pull one another in. I watched this gif on loop, you can’t really tell who begins the whole movement, they meet one another rather than George pulling Lewis to him or vice versa. But the whole time their hands are pressed into one another’s ribs, a block of hooked contact between them. It’s not quite as desperate as say, Brazil or Australia, where George threw himself wholly into Lewis and earned a proper two armed bear hug, but its not a situation that asks for it, even in its above tenderness its a warm ‘well done, good job, even if its not me I’m glad its one of us, no hard feelings’ hug.

Hard feelings George would be somewhat entitled to have! It’s his home race, he wants that podium as much as Lewis did, if not more, but he himself said after that if not for the safety car, NEITHER of them would have gotten that step, they couldn’t clear the McLarens and well, Max might as well be considered an automatic first. So at least its one of them up there, one Mercedes. It’s not Merc’s fault the safety car came out, and Lewis has experienced plenty of his own disastrous safety car luck last year, it’s just unfortunately the way George’s luck fell… But George still seeks Lewis out for a moment of comfort, a congrats for getting points for the team, before he returns to the garage to lick his wounds.

It’s a big but gradual shift in their partnership, the way they’re not just coming to one another when they are BOTH happy, but in other moments too, for comfort and congratulations right after the race ends and before anything else. Last year if they weren’t both on the podium or side by side, they tended to go their separate ways and roll into separate routines. Even at Georges first podium in Aus 22 Lewis didn’t haul him in for a hug until they were both in the TV pen (and I’ve gone over how emotional that moment makes me before lol). But this year I’ve seen so much more how they just… hang around one another. After qualifying or sprints they show up side by side weighing in together, talking before helmets even come free, simple little moments of being relaxed in the others space, George knowing Lewis wont rebuff him.

Casual intimacy is a rare thing with Lewis, I honestly never saw much of it with ANYONE other than Valtteri and Seb and his team. Lewis is touchy, he’ll congratulate anyone, but then he seems to prefer to drift into his own quiet area, doing things alone and focused on himself. With the exception of people he’s really fond of, and I truly think George is entering that little group, tentatively. He’s doing what Val used to, sliding easily up to Lewis, patting him casually, knowing Lewis wont jump and back away, but will allow him in instead. It’s not a hopeful guess anymore, George expects Lewis to let him in because Lewis has initiated it over and over.

Lewis doesn’t have to do this honestly, he has been subject to multiple teammates who he didn’t get along with from the second they stepped into the paddock each week, hes seen and outlasted hundreds of drivers he barely spoke to. He’s beholden to nothing. But George he allows close now, likely because as he’s said so often these days, hes trying. He’s trying to be the best teammate he can be, someone who doesn’t force George to deal with the ice he turned on Valtteri at times, someone who’s trying to trust from the get go, and George returns that trust with physical contact and adoration in ample supply.

It’s good for both of them honestly, and each week I post their hugs and get a cacophony of tags going ‘see they get on!’ As if its up for debate anymore. Sure they have their rough and snippy moments, their radios are never perfect, but they’re human beings, and I really think anyone under the assumption these two aren’t deeply fond of one another is wilfully ignoring ample evidence to the contrary and just, what they both want?

They both want to be seen as friends, they both want people to know they like one another, and they go out of their way to show it. I mean God damn you don’t take side by side half nude ice baths with a guy you hate, and you certainly don’t post an artful depth of field photo of you tucking your head into his fuckin neck, do you.

There you go, my long, insane, only slightly winding and off topic ramble about boys, body language, and big soft hugs. Anyone who read to the end of this- why.

#Rosie for someone who doesn’t ship you sure love encouraging me to go nuts about this shit #asks #Rosie’s tag #gewis #mark rambles #mark talks britcedes #mark talks body language #i feel a bit like an idiot posting this #i know this kinda stuff is silly but I guess i ramble a lot and instead of inundating friends I’ve got it all out #britcedes #4463

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claraheaux · 10 months

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It seems that black (usually male) mainstream filmmakers seem physically incapable of representing darkskinned women in a feminine, positive light.

My roommate has been delving more into black art and film and while I try to ignore it, it's 2023, the cat has been out of the bag. It's impossible. A biracial woman is the main protaganist/love interest in almost every. Single. Iteration. Just saw Spike Lee’s the Black KKKlansmen, and there’s Laura Harrier in a 4C Afro wig. Don’t worry, though, there’s a dark skinned best friend who loudly interrupts the stale, forced chemistry between the two protagonists-I think she gets about 5 minutes of screentime in total. If we manage to be under the age of 60 we’re the overprotective sidekick that the male (same skin shade as the sidekick, too) protaganist inevitably shoos off screen, then her feminine foil apologizes on her behalf. I've seen this same scene play out in black films wayyy too many times.

To be clear, Laura Harrier is a lovely actress-I’m not going to dog upcoming black actresses for taking roles that aren’t explicitly meant for darkskinned women (cough-Zoe Saldana)-a job is a job. It’s not their fault that black creators seem to have such a difficult time seeing us outside of these narrow tropes. Zendaya has gone above and beyond to keep the stage clear for us by taking white and biracial roles.

I’ve seen a lot more representation as of recently. I don’t really think I rely on the media for those things anymore, but it’s still a nice treat. It is little embarrassing for them that I’m seeing myself more in the goddamned Sonic movie. The SONIC movie. Oh, and the Great fucking Comet of 1812?! OH, and the same actress who plays Natasha in that being in the Gilded Age. You know who's involved with the Gilded Age? Julian Fellowes, the screenwriter for Downton Abbey, which, if you've ever seen it, is the pastiest show ever. Our own community is getting outdone in terms of darkskinned female representation by a 74 year old British man, a movie based on a Japanese video game, hell, Shakespeare, and a musical based on a 19th century Russian novel. As someone who's into period dramas, I never expected these genres to represent me diversely, if at all. And yes, there's a lot of flaws in some of these representations; but guess what? They're actually trying.

And before you get on me about rEsPECTaBiLITY PoLitics and EnfORcING gENder RoLes: I have no issue with characters that aren't presented as traditionally feminine, loud, or that act 'hood'. Women like that are staples, I love those girls to death. But don't gaslight darkskinned women for being tired of that being ALL there is for us, and act like we're the ultimate traitors when we finally give up and look elsewhere.

#colorism #misogynoir #history #the gilded age #bw #discourse

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rozalie-e · 2 months

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Nahhhh they should’ve let me write mv. I would’ve cooked so harddd

I have an idea for a rewrite but brooooo I dunno. I might end up writing it one day who knows :p

(You can use ms design w credit :3 I think she’s a pretty gal)

Yapping abt my ideas

| v

Okay so, in the book there is no true consistency which I kind of like because Mapleshade is the protag and narrator, but like. She doesn’t even stay true to herself. And it’s not even in an “I’ve grown way” she didn’t change at all until suddenly she’s just like “oh I’m in hell? Sick I’ll take revenge on everyone ):3” what. Bro no.

My laid out ideas (that might change but this is just what I have)

The only character “growth” she has is she goes from kind, misguided mother who is spoiled by the clan and thinks she is next in line leader & starclan loves her every step, into an enraged, obsessively starclan devoted psycho who believes starclan is guiding her to murder

The kits are actually there, but by the time they do truly appear (begging her not to kill these cats) she isn’t listening. She can’t truly hear or see them correctly and instead thinks their pleas to stop are pleas to only go harder.

Mapleshade and Ad were together, that’s clear, at first Ad’s relationship with Rs isnt but at the scene where she is exiled it is. And that only makes it worse because she knows for sure they are together, and she can already see a slight roundness in Rs’ belly.

The whole thing lasts for ~a month? Maybe a bit less. The first few days, she’s trying to recover, trying to process everything but she can’t wrap her head around it. Questioning her loyalty to starclan, if they are loyal to her. Then, one of her kits (lk)takes pity and tries to subtly guide her to take care of herself. Guides a young apprentice to bring her some herbs to gain her strength. But she isn’t well and takes this as a sign starclan is still with her, and will approve of her next decision.

The kits one by one appear to her, begging her to stop. She thinks they are telling her to keep going, her devotion to starclan warping everything around her until she believes she herself is a holy thing, guided by her kits to do what’s right. Until finally, she is struck down.

She never went for apple dusk, after rs gives her a smug look at her second exile she believes the cat is trying to steal her lover, trying to replace her. Her world is melted, the rain on her fur makes her glow and every claw she lays over Perchpaw as holy as starclan as she holds him down. The final act, she uses him as ransom, waiting for rs to come closer but apple dusk does instead. She attempts to get rs anyways, but appledusk blocks her and in turn her attacks to. They both cut each other, apple dusks injury being too deep he struggles for a bit with his lover and apprentice by his side while mapleshades was only a slight nick on her nose.

Mapleshade is stunned. Her world view crashing around her, she just killed the love of her life. Her angel paws tainted, and her final kit screaming incomprehensibly at her with words between “mama what have you done” and “good job mama :)” all of it slurring together. The world begins to fade as the weight on her is lifted, she glances over to find perchpaw crying beside her, her blood on his jaws. She stumbles back, running away from her sins and finds herself in a barn.

A cat she’s seen earlier, barely talked to, comes by, trying to speak to her but she doesn’t care and tries to hide from starclans gaze. The cat stops trying, shaking his head before leaving her alone. She feels so light, as if she were about to join her kits up in starclan. Her hopes rise, maybe they will forgive her, it was one sin against three good deeds. Surely, when she passes she will be the most beloved warrior and mother in starclan-

now Mapleshade is lying on a dry, hard ground. Dead grass surrounds her and pain is all around her. Her neck hurts to move, yet she glances around anyways. Her left eye stings, and the nick on her nose feels like thorns digging in deep. This isn’t starclan. Mapleshade frantically moves, the pain in her neck only getting worse and when she tries to check why with a paw the stinging of an injury greets her. Starclan was with her all this time, they loved her, and now over one mistake they cast her away. Who will care for her poor kits? Who will care for her? She needs to get there. She must atone for her sins.

Rambling of my ideas :3 pls don’t steal! Will write it out maybe soon. Hopefully. I need to truly get things together in place tho.

#rose’s art #wc #art #cat #rose yappin #mapleshade #mapleshade wc #appledusk #reedshine #petalkit #larchkit #patchkit #perchpaw #mapleshades vengeance #mv #maow. Guys I think I rambled a little bit. Mb

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ryansjane · 2 years

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Things I love and appreciate about Not Me a year later:

(All of this is based on the 50 or so shows I’ve watched)

1. The first show I watched not to use the whole husband/wife thing. I hate it so much and I’m glad they didn’t. It’s very heteronormative and doesn’t deserve a place in our community.

2. One of the first BLs not to have the main couple get married in the end (and now Gap too)

3. Not Me had more than one female character and with different personalities too! and Lookjun (my love) wasn’t the scorn woman. It’s so fucking annoying how female characters are treated in shows. They’re bitchy, mean, don’t take no for an answer, the obstacle in the main queer relationship etc

4. The cinematography was EVERYTHING. The sun during the rooftop kissing scene was a paid actor! The sun did what it needed to do!

5. Not Me was the first BL (or one of the first) where the “bottom” didn’t have to be meek and shy while the “top” heavily pursued them to the point where it can get uncomfortable. And after they had sex they genuinely seemed to still like each other, still want to be around each other, and couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. BLs often make the “bottom” act embarrassed and try to push the “top” away from them after they had sex for the first time. The “bottom” must be pursued and persuade before, during and after they have sex. “Bottoms” want to fuck too, come on now! They almost never show the two characters desire each other. It’s like a cat and mouse game that never ends but not in a good way. The one-sidedness of a lot of couples doesn’t seem consensual.

6. You can tell Not Me was filmed by a woman. If a man (definitely a straight man) directed the show it would be A LOT different. Only a woman could film the actors the way she did. The care she took with the camera work and to really show the movements of their hands like when Sean was checking to see if White was sleeping. The lingering, the slowness, the softness was the female gaze. The close up on their faces as they cry and allowing male characters to be “soft” was the female gaze. The entire van scene was the female gaze. I knew Not Me was either written or directed by a woman from the first episode when White is in bed with his girlfriend and the camera isn’t zooming in on her chest as she’s sleeping. It used to only be a western thing but I’m noticing it more and more in certain kdramas.

7. Not homophobic which is laughable. Imagine an LGBT+ show being homophobic but I’ve seen them, but not with Not Me.

a post about loving not me??? this is gonna be a good day <3 I couldn't agree more about everything, not me is the female gaze personified 😌 just one thing, though, about the whole husband/wife thing. I used to HATE it just like you before I understood the cultural difference behind it. I'm not saying it doesn't come from thailand's heteronormative society, but it is something that is ingrained in the thai language, as "puahmia" (husbandwife) is an alternative word for "couple" in thai, meaning that the queer couples who use those terms actually just want to normalize being a couple out in society. where my issue lies more is when the term "wife" is represented as something to be ashamed of in thai dramas. you often see a character fighting this label of "wife" bc of sexism & being seen as the more feminine one is insulting to him. that's why I liked when in the eclipse ayan was happy to be called the wife, I actually thought it was cute. so yeah to conclude I've yet to see an irl thai queer couple complain about the husband/wife thing so idk if we should be fighting their issues for them. but apart from that this was a great ask that highlighted a lot of the points that make not me absolutely superior in every way 😌

xxx

#answers #not me #not me the series

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redlettermediathings · 3 months

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youtube

It finally happened! The day that we received a package from Breen was the best day since the pandemic started. The slim package that arrived in our mailbox was like a little slice of heaven sent to us from above. A simple mailer that held the truth of which we sought. Cinema. Kino. Joy. I looked at the package, my brow sweating with anticipation. I pursed my lips as I often do in the delicious moments before sipping an ice cold beer. This was just as good. Maybe better. The mailer was that of a simple man. It wasn’t a fancy mailer. It wasn’t padded nor did it have a design on it. In fact, the mailer the DVD arrived in was a cut up cereal box held together with duct tape. I smiled and whispered to myself, “That’s the cup of a carpenter…”. It was here. We received the new Neil Breen film. Was this a Blu-ray? No. This was a DVD-R burned on a computer. I smelled the disc and the jewel case. It smelled like 2003. I cried at the beauty of the whole embarrassing ordeal. It was like a hug from an old friend who had long since passed. A friend you never wanted to see again or allow to hug you. In my hand I held the new Neil Breen film. I couldn’t wait to show the guys! I called Colin from Canada and told him to run to RLM HQ right quick to watch the film with us. He said, “oh, I’ve already seen it. It’s terrible.” And I called him a poutine-slurping, caesar-sipping canuck fuck and told him to get down here to Wisconsin right quick. He responded by saying, “I’ve got work and I’m watching my elderly neighbors diabetic cats and…” I just cut him off. I said, “Look you fucking prick, I have it. Let’s watch it!" So he did come down, albeit unwillingly. What are Neil Breen films? They are moopies made by a man who is the weirdest man to ever live. He’s the perfect oblivious filmmaker. Never getting better or evolving, only getting worse and more lazy and more old and more grandpa jeans. Neil Breen’s films are always about a loner man that has special skills or knowledge above all other humans. There is often a babe involved in his films, although the sexuality is awkwardly placed and seems forced. The women usually look incredibly uncomfortable at the notion of being in love or even attracted to Neil Breen. Likewise, any romance on his part seems obligatory. I guess the thought is that a movie needs “romance” so he must add “romance” But he’s no James Bond! Since this was Breen, we assumed this was worthy of a Best of the Worst™ Spotlight™ episode. It couldn’t simply be lumped into a regular three movie episode. Boy, were we fucking wrong. This pile of trash couldn’t have been more disappointing. Breen has gone too far this time with the green screens! Who does he think he is!?! Peter Jackson? George Lucas? James Cameron?!? I mean, sure you can use a green screen sometimes… if you’re making a fucking Avengers movie!!! But come on! Literally every background, outdoor location, and room is a stock image. A flat shot without movement. I can say that at the very least in some shots he created a foreground mask to make characters integrated into the frame by putting them behind objects, but really? While the story sucks, the acting is bad, it’s boring and shitty, it’s still a Neil Breen film and we have to love it as if it was our own cross-eyed inbred baby with no limbs. Anyways, while I have you here, I own a timeshare in the Cayman Islands. It’s in a nice part of town, but it’s basically a 1.6 million dollar shack. One of the owners killed himself recently and now I’m stuck with paying his part due to a legal snafu. I don’t quite understand it, but my lawyer Phillip Gorlon (no relation) tells me it’ll cost me more in legal fees to get out of this timeshare than to just keep it. I tells him that I’m strapped for cash at the moment, what with the cost of eggs, covid tests, etc… so my question to you is: Do you think Neil Breen might want to shoot his next film in the Cayman Islands?

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dark-ambition · 9 months

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aye I totally get being nervous about a portrayal of a character in a show turning out differently from how you've been rping them, seen it before in other communities too. But just because the character in the show is different from yours doesn't mean YOUR doing a bad job at the character you're just going with the vibe you initially got! I think he may have the dial turned to be a lil silly and a tad more comedic then how you've done em but I also PERSONALLY think they're building him up to turn him into something BIGGER then just a comedic character. BUT that's just the vibe I've been getting from following the show/community etc. You got more balls then me playing a character from a show! I never could bring myself to do a canon character cuz I'm always AFRAID of fucking it up or something like that so either way kudos to you! Honestly all I can say it lets wait and see and enjoy what we can when it rolls out! No need to work ourselves up over stuff that ain't even in our hands yet ^^.

((Oh I certainly hope they’re planning on building Sir Pentious up to be a bigger character at some point, for certain. Make no mistake, I’m not strictly upset about the fact that my interpretation is different from the show’s, I knew going in he was going to be sillier and more comedic from the offset, I’m just hoping that the show won’t make his character the butt of the joke with every joke and don’t give him any character beyond being goofy for the sake of making him someone to laugh at. I want this man to be a character, not a butt monkey that just is there for the sake of being made fun of.

If he’s goofy because that’s just who he is? Sure, I’m all for that, applaud it even. But if they make him act goofy just to be able to point at him to laugh at him, making him goofy just to cringe at him, that is when I’ll have problems, because I want to see this wet cat of a bastard snake have some time to shine and show off what he’s got. My interpretation was always gonna be different from the offset, and I’ve accepted that even if it was initially jarring to see that difference on screen, it’s more the idea of what is to come with the show and the potential of what they’re gonna do with him and how they write him as a comedic character that’s got me right now, if that makes any sense.

But you have a very fair point about getting worked up over stuff that isn’t even out yet, so I’ll try and take it easy and not psych myself out too much. Thank you.))

#mun post #ooc post #((but once again thank you so much it means a lot to me to know you like my portrayal))

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ask-de-writer · 2 years

Text

SEE STORY (Part 5 of 5) A tale from the World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

See Story

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

Cover art by @wind-the-mama-cat

14372 words

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of Fan Activity, fiction, art, cosplay, music or anything else is ACTIVELY encouraged!

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Sea is a colony assumed lost somewhat over a thousand years before this tale opens. They were sent on a one way trip, not knowing that there was no land at all on the whole world of Sea. Thus, aside from humans, NO CREATURE OF SEA IS IN ANY WAY ITS NAMESAKE. They were simply named for a superficial resemblance to some Earthly creature by the early colonists.

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New to SEE STORY? Read from the beginning HERE.

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“Oh, look! She has Strong Skins and Wing Rays and Orcas! Buy me one, please Daddy!”

“Look, Kara, this girl has a model of a fishing smack, just like the one Mother uses. Would you like it?”

It was not long before every one was sold.

A few sailors of the Grandalor wandered by, speaking loudly, “Make lots of toys, Longin! They’re all that you’ll have next Gathering. We pulled your best waters right out from under you in the Council Meeting. Didn’t give squat for ‘em either.” They linked arms and walked away, laughing.

Kurin came running up to Cat, in tears. “Did they really take away our waters, Cat?”

Cat gathered the child into her arms and held her. “Calm yourself, Little Fish … That’s it.” She petted Kurin’s hair gently. “They think that they got our waters, Kurin. That is not the same as getting our waters. Where was the crab reef?”

Kurin wrinkled her brow in thought. “We sailed south for most of the night with a good wind and all sail …” Her eyes lit up. “It was in the buffer space between the Gula’s fishing waters and the Dolthin’s … They didn’t get it at all!” She clapped her hands in glee.

“I know that you,” here Cat, smiling, gently touched Kurin’s nose, “can keep a secret, so I will tell you. We tricked them out of a whole fishing water of better reefs. This is the most important thing to remember, though. If they had not tried to cheat us we could not have turned the tables on them. Always deal honestly, but never stupidly.”

The bazaar continued for days. Everyone chaffered and bargained for the best deals that they could get.

A small knot of sailors and officers had gathered a little way from the Longin’s booth, as they had for the last several days. The people changed, but the group remained. They were all there for the same reason. The Longin’s Lady Luck could most often be seen there, though this Gathering, there was no telling where she might turn up. Many were simply curious. Others were thinking of courting her.

“See her, there back of the Longin booth?” pointed Mara, the new First Mate of the Fauline. “That’s her with the white hair, like fresh foam.”

“She’s the Longin’s Luck? What a beauty!” said Torinsin, of the Gula’s rope walk. “I heard that she’s blind and helpless, though … Dragons! Look, she just dragged that whole tub of lobsters up front by herself. Don’t look helpless to me.”

“Lots of us been watching her. She don’t act blind. I wonder what the Grandalor’s up to this time. Spreading lies like that?” speculated Morin, of the Grython, stroking his chin. “Our Captain said that she would be welcome aboard.”

“Maybe they want to get her for themselves!” Mara put in. “Maybe I should ask some of the Fauline’s crew to meet her. Seems from what I’ve seen she’d be an asset to any crew.”

“I did hear that she’s marrying, gonna leave the Longin this year,” said Morin.

“That’s what’s up, for sure, then,” said old Ganther, the Dolthin’ Master Boatwright. “Grandalor is trying to grab the Longin’s Luck for themselves, and cut us all out. Just like them.”

“Is she still available? We have some good young men on the Gula that might do,” said Torinsin, eagerly.

“We all do! I talked to Captain Mord already. She’s bespoke,” said the Captain of the Grinna.

“What! What ship’s got her? Who’s the lucky guy?” asked Torinsin, only slightly downcast, but still eager for gossip.

“They’re keeping it under their watch-caps until the night of the full moons,” said Forin, Grinna’s First Mate, stroking her hair and smiling a little at Torinsin’s expression.

“Has anybody thought to ask her direct?” asked Ganther, cutting to the heart of the matter. “She’s easy to find, now. First time in nineteen - twenty Gatherings that anybody’s seen her much. Now, she’s all over the place.”

“I am, aren’t I?” said a cheerful voice, like splashing, flowing water.

The whole group jumped as if shocked by a Jolting Ray, and turned to see Cat, only a few feet away.

“So, tell us, who is it to be? What ship’s getting you?” asked Torinsin, eagerly.

“You all could have come to the Longin and courted me. Nobody did. I’m afraid that she’s right,” said Cat cheerfully, pointing to Forin. “Come and see on the Weddings Night.”

“Did anybody ever tell you that you are cruel?” said Torinsin with a cheerful grin.

“One or two … hundred … so far,” replied Cat. Then singling out Forin, she added, “Come, take me to your booth. You have some truly beautiful cloth that I would like to get. What do you call those woven-in pictures? ”

“I believe that you mean our brocade …” The two wandered off in the direction of the Grinna’s booth, chatting cheerfully.

The Longin finally ran out of shellfish. By the night of the Full Moons, the Longin had sold everything that they had brought and were preparing to strike their booth. Sold out or not, the other booths were being struck, too. The Gathering market was over and the space was needed.

As they were packing away empty tubs and lace spools, fabric bolt cores, and their awning, Cat noticed that Kurin was crying quietly. Packing could wait a few minutes.

“Little Fish, why do you weep?”

“‘Cause tonight you’re going to marry somebody from off of the Longin, and I won’t see you anymore.”

“Kurin, Kurin Behar, come here,” and she wrapped her strong arms about the child. “Come with us to the Weddings tonight and see my husband and love. If you do, I will give you a present that you will always have to remember me by. Besides, you may indeed see me from time to time.”

Kurin seized on that last. “You mean it? I’ll see you again, sometimes? Promise?”

The Captains of the many ships of the Gathering Fleet were now escorting their young men and women of marriageable age to the rafts that had been the marketplace. Most of those were going to meet people that they had been courting for at least several Gatherings. Some were friends from childhood. Only a few ships arranged marriages for advantage, without concern for the feelings of their young women and men.

Grandalor was such a ship, and as their marriage gigs rowed past the Longin on their way to the wedding barges, some of their women were openly sad. There were a few among them, however, who rejoiced that they were leaving so oppressive a Captain as Barad. Few of the young men looked happy at all. Their marriages were bringing, not happiness for themselves, but skilled women for the Grandalor; cooks, weavers, ropers, sail-lofters, and all those other skills needed to maintain life on the Sea.

The Longin’s young folk felt sorry for the Grandalor’s, but they climbed cheerfully into their own gigs, going to meet those folk that they had chosen, and who had chosen them as well. Cat was among their number, pulling an oar with a will. Those who wished to watch the marriages followed in other boats, Kurin among them.

Everyone on the Wedding rafts were divided into four groups, to the north the brides, to the south the grooms, to the east, the Captains and officers and to the west those who came to watch and wish well. That last group was by far the largest.

There was little room left on the rafts. A cheerful buzz of conversation drowned almost all else. Everyone knew that the Lady of the Longin’s Luck was due to marry, but to whom? What ship would be lucky enough to have her? It was clear that the Grandalor’s lies about Cat had been dispelled by all that people had seen her doing during the market.

The order of the ships was called. This was the order in which the ships would bring forth their grooms to meet their brides. The Longin was to be the last, by her own choice. Many felt that the suspense was deliberate.

Night had fallen to star filled darkness and the Wedding Rafts were lit with lanterns. Shortly after full dark, the eastern horizon began to glow. Soon the limb of large Wohan appeared over the horizon. Carsis followed and a few minutes later, little Dorac. All three continued to rise together until, for a moment, all three moons sat, just touching the horizon. Their light raced across water gone flat as glass, like three shafts of brilliance, converging on the Wedding Rafts.

There was a quiet that fell on all the watchers. A woman could be heard telling her children quietly, “Remember this moment. It will not happen again in your lifetime. The Dragon’s Moons only rise once in a thousand Gatherings.”

The ceremonies began. Sarfin, Captain of the Dorton called forth the Dorton’s grooms. Their brides were called and, rejoicing, went to their loves. When the roll was complete, the Dorton’s Ceremony of Marriage was spoken and the brides signed the Ship’s Articles as new crew-members. Each ship had its own version of the ceremony. Each Marriage from each ship took another bite of time. It was growing late.

Finally, Mord of the Longin called the last of the grooms forth, and besides the brides for them, there was one more, still uncalled. Cat would be left standing alone when the last of the Longin’s grooms had his wife. Everyone could count, and the raft was absolutely buzzing as people figured this out.

The last bride went to the last groom, and Cat stood alone, dressed in a lovely brocade of white with black leaping Orcas. Captain Mord came to her and said quietly, “Where is your groom?”

“He is here. Marry my friends, and then you will see.”

Shrugging, Captain Mord went back to the grooms and new brides of the Longin and began the Ceremonies of Marriage. Cat went to the spectators.

“Kurin! Kurin! Oh, there you are, Little Fish. I promised you a present on my wedding night, and you shall have it. Come with me.”

Trustingly, Kurin put her hand into Cat’s and followed her across the raft. The Longin’s Ceremony was just done. Captain Barad brayed, “I don’t see your groom!” His voice was cut off by the flat smack of open hand to cheek.

Mord withdrew his stinging hand and said poisonously, “MECAT, my sister in all but blood, has said that he is here. I believe her.” Turning to Cat, he said, “All of the marriages of this night but one are done. What do you want me to do?”

“State for all my name, ship and crew. My husband will make himself known.”

Turning to all the watchers, Captain Mord called out, “Cat, my sister in all but blood … Her name in full, dictated by Custom and Law is Mecat … Of the Longin her whole life, Our Gift from the Sea … Of no crew because of the Dragon’s name you bear … Who have you chosen and who has chosen you?”

All about the raft, a dozen huge fifteen-ton Orca whales jumped at once, rising clear out of the water and falling back with a huge report and splashing of sea water.

“Stand just here, little one,” Cat whispered to Kurin. “I will be back in a moment with your gift. Trust me, you will come to no harm.”

Raising her arms, Cat cried out in a voice like storm waves toppled by the wind, “Iren! Dark Iren! Come forth and claim your bride!” The ocean in front of her boiled and rushed aside as a huge Sea Dragon reared his head high in front of her.

The creature was covered with large black scales the size of a man’s hand. Spines ran down his back and frills adorned his head. There were large tendrils about the fanged mouth. Big dark, intelligent eyes gleamed from deep set sockets. Orcas rose with him to the surface.

Cat dove joyfully into the water and was gone. A minute passed and then two. A well-meaning woman, one of the Longin’s new brides, tried to lead Kurin away.

“Come, Dear. She is gone. As long as she has been under, she must be drowned.”

Kurin confidently shook off the kindly hand. “She told me to wait. This is a short dive for Cat. I’ve seen her do five minutes before.” Mystified by Kurin’s response, the woman waited with her.

The water swirled, and a second Sea Dragon rose up. This Dragon was pale, like new sea-foam, but scaled spined and frilled like the other. It had eight foot jaws, with two-foot fangs and eyes that were completely blank. It was blind. The monster head thrust toward Kurin, who refused to run. The woman fled in terror. Powerful tendrils about the Dragon’s mouth grabbed Kurin, and hugged her. Kurin, with a squeal of delight, tried to hug the massive snout.

“Oh, Cat! You’re back, just like you said.”

Blind Mecat, the Great Sea Dragon gently put the child down. “I have your gift, Kurin. Just stand for a moment.” The enormous jaws opened and a breath like fog came out and enveloped the child. As the breeze blew it away, everyone looked in amazement. Kurin’s hair, once dark, was now the color of new sea-foam.

~THE END~

<==Previous

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Return to World of Sea

#SEE STORY #Part 5 of 5 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

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foreverrunningfree · 1 year

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@czigonas wanted to see me answer those artist questions and I did them all so it’ll be under the cut

1. Art programs you have but don’t use?

As of rn I cannot draw on my laptop/tablet so technically paint tool SAI and photoshop(idk what version). But I guess I hadn’t used photoshop for /years/ back before my drawing hiatus. Sorry but SAI is so much nicer to look at and to use, for me personally.

2. Is it easier to draw someone facing left,right, or forward?

I flip flop my canvas a ton to a) look at it for wonkiness and b) to get specific lines in a direction that feels good, but the actual act of drawing I typically like to have them looking left cause most the the lines flow from top right to bottom left which is nicer to do since I use my right hand to draw even tho I am ambidextrous.

3. What ideas come from when you were little?

This question confuses me on what it’s actually asking soooo? When I was like 12 I had to write a story for school so I did a story about a plane crash in which the survivor came face to face to a rat/bat/cat/dog creature thing? I’ve always wanted to redraw the creature, idk if I have the original drawing I did and I don’t feel up to digging to see if I kept it during all my moves.

4. Fave character/subject that’s a bitch to draw?

My favorite animal color patterns aka brindle, merle ,roan, spots/stripes. So time consuming. In terms of shape, human faces for sure.

5. Estimate of how much of your art you post online vs. the art you keep for yourself?

Before hiatus, probably 90% /shared/. Currently, probably 75% /posted/cause I can’t post the porn to tumblr lmaoooo but I have shared them with like half a dozen friends.

6. Anything that might inspire you subconsciously?

I’m sure there’s a ton but if it’s subconsciously then how would I consciously know?🤔 ok serious answer, probably every single 2D animated movie or show I’ve ever seen, and all the various artists I follow. I mean, there’s parts of my style I can pinpoint you to what it’s inspired by.

7. A medium of art you don’t work in but appreciate?

I’ve never /seriously/ tried oil paint, acrylic paint, or pastels but that shit always looks so good. Also watercolor even though i have tried and enjoyed using watercolors but I am far far faaarrr from being proficient in them. Non drawing wise, I fucking love dioramas, especially those that are then filled in(?) with acrylic(?). I watch a lot of those videos on YouTube.

8. What’s an old project idea you’ve lost interest in?

Most of my old animal ocs I had in the same universe in my mind and had a comic planned that I never got around to. I still love and wanna revisit those ocs. But also my dragon age ocs who I’ve SERIOUSLY BEEN CONSIDERING drawing in @soaps-hoe-141 universe 👀

9. What are your file name conventions?

Before hiatus/ on my laptop, subject or character and whatever was happening in the pic. Now using procreate on my iPad? I don’t think I’ve named a single one lol.

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw?

Nothing, no clothes, nude, nakedness please and thank you. lol but I guess I do sorta enjoy figuring out clothing in general, folds and shit, getting that practice in. Like how it hangs and creases in poses since I’m not used to drawing it.

11. Do you listen to anything while drawing?

I don’t usually listen to /only/ music while drawing, I much prefer having a favorite movie playing in the background and/or a show I enjoy rewatching/am actively watching. I also watch a lot of gamer YouTubers I put on as background noise/short watch breaks that their voice is just soothing to me even if I’m not /watching/.

12. Easiest part of the body to draw?

I’m not sure… maybe boobs/pecs for humanoids. General body shape for animals?

13. A creator you admire but whose work isn’t your thing?

Honestly can’t think of a single one. I mean, plenty of artists do work(or with a medium) that I can’t or don’t want to do/use personally but I read the question of “isn’t your thing” as “subject you don’t enjoy”. If that’s correct, then idk what to tell you. I don’t follow or remember people who majority does things I can’t enjoy on some level.

14. Any fave motifs?

Quite a lot of religious imagery I guess ex. Circles around a persons head. Less serious answer is drawing characters in meme formats lol

15. Where do you draw?

Please don’t tell any physical therapists I live like this… on my back on my couch with my head on the arm rest while holding my iPad propped up on my chest like 8 inches away from my face lmao

16. Something you are good at but don’t really have fun doing?

Idk???? I do shit for my own enjoyment so I’m not sure? Maybe perhaps backgrounds? Like I could do something decent if i wanted to but I’m not into it so I usually just don’t?

17. Do you eat or drink while drawing?

I take breaks… but while actively drawing? I often drink aka let the horny demons out while I enjoy whiskey lol.

18. An estimate of how much art supplies you’ve broken?

Broken broken? Next to fucking none? some charcoal sticks but otherwise…. None… I majority do digital art so really nothing to break there lol

19. Fave inanimate objects to draw?

Idk? I like doing life charcoal drawings? Of whatever, but particularly statues if that counts? I usually have living beings as my subjects.

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy?

Ok, I hate this question, cause we are all good at different things. Maybe it’s just most of those I follow have different strengths than me???? But I guess if I had to pick, recreating from life(or picture) is a lot easier for me than some others(like making it life like/very accurate).

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways?

Yooo, anything I’ve reblogged honestly. Love everyone.

22. What physical exercises do you do before drawing?

Absolutely none, again don’t let the pros know cause damn. But I will do stretches or take breaks as needed.

23. Do you use different layer modes?

Absolutely. Mostly for lighting and shading but yes, if I’m doing digital imma take advantage of it.

24. Do your references include stock images?

Yes? I don’t really understand what it’s asking?

25. Something your art has been compared to that you were not inspired by?

Idk? I don’t usually get feedback of that sort.

26. What’s a piece that’s viewed a wildly different interpretation from what you intended?

Again idk? I guess my shit is straight forward?

27. Do you warm up before getting to the good stuff?

Almost never, again don’t let the pros know lol I do sometimes jump between pieces or start a new sketch before going to something farther along.

28. Any art events you have participated in, like zines?

Nope, wanted to and have tried before but I tend to NOT do something if I feel pressured to do it.

29. Media you love but doesn’t inspire you artistically?

Again I feel like this is a weird question or maybe it’s just my understanding of it but I can feel inspiration from all sort of artist shit even if it’s something I’ll never do(ex making a crochet animal or dioramas). I guess I can feel inspired to create from other creators even if it’s not direct inspiration/subject/medium.

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated?

Underrated as in no one has seen aside from a few people irl would be my colored pencil pieces I did during afternoon naps when I worked at a daycare a few years ago.

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kanonavi · 1 year

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A Faulty Product, Marked for Disposal

Originally drafted 2/23/2023, Revised 5/5/2023

The first of the stories I wrote for my fiction workshop, which I then revised for the final. I’d still very much call this a draft though, so please bear that in mind lol

~~~

When Rhosyn first saw the boy, she could have sworn she was seeing a ghost out in broad daylight. Porcelain skin and snow white hair were nearly blinding in the sunlight, and the way he stood motionless outside the neighboring bakery made his appearance resemble a trick of the light rather than a living being. That was until Rhosyn tried to step closer, and eyes pale grey like overcast skies whipped towards her. Then in a blink, he had disappeared down an alleyway.

“Ah yes, that wouldn’t be the first time.” The baker says the following day, when Rhosyn delivers her coffee along with a question about the strange figure, “He showed up last week, and I’ve caught him gawking at my window display almost every day since. At this rate, I’m going to call in the guard to get him off my property for good. He’s going to start scaring away my customers.”

Rhosyn offers a smile and a platitude in return, even as the idea of having the village guard called on a child turns her stomach. The town is blessedly small enough that in her few centuries of life, she’s never seen a child made a street urchin like the ones hidden away in the underbelly of the Capital. A few orphans have been made in the aftermath of illness or some other tragedy, but each of them were swiftly taken under the wings of another family and raised as if they were their own.

Elven pride isn’t something that Rhosyn is immune to, nor is the protectiveness one feels for the place in which they were born and raised. Yet, she simply cannot fathom the idea that a child, even one so clearly foreign to their little community, would not be treated with sympathy.

She sees him again the very next day, when she steps outside in the morning to set up the signboard with the day’s specials. The boy is so enraptured with the bakery window that he doesn’t even notice her, and Rhosyn takes the opportunity to study his expression. Even partially obscured by his grown-out bangs, the longing there is so obvious that she feels a pang of sympathy all over again.

“Hey, kid,” She calls over to him, and the boy practically jumps out of his skin. Violet eyes turn towards her, and though she had made no move to step closer, he shuffles a few steps away from her.

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop looking,” Before she can say anything else, the boy speaks in a rush, so softly she can barely hear. Rhosyn opens her mouth to object, to tell him that it’s alright, but then he’s gone again before she can get the words out.

Poor thing must have gotten an earful already if he’s acting like this… Frustration boils in her chest as she again thinks of her neighbor treating a person who’s clearly so hungry with such scorn. This cannot stand, not in Rhosyn’s good conscience, so instead of going back into the café, she follows the boy down the alleyway.

As she slips between the buildings, there’s no sign of the boy himself. He must have taken off running as soon as he was out of sight. A person isn’t a stray cat, however. They’re bound to leave behind signs of life one way or another, and Rhosyn finds that very sign right at the edge of the village’s little shopping district.

Right out back of the butcher’s shop, she finds an open and abandoned crate tipped onto its side, with a burlap sack draped over the top as if in an attempt to hide the opening. Inside the crate, more sacks are piled up as if to form a bed. It would be an easy fit for that boy, small as he was, and the rancid smell of discarded meat from the shop is powerful enough to deter most people from poking around back here. That would explain some of the off-color stains on the otherwise white clothes that the boy wore.

Rhosyn decides to retreat from the back alley before the stench of blood and gristle makes her vomit, and right then and there she vows to do whatever she can to get that boy off the streets. That determination follows her throughout the day, as just about every customer that comes in has some sort of comment about the “intense look” in her eyes, and she’s barely able to hide her true anticipation with the awkward laughs and excuses that she gives in reply.

The evening can’t come soon enough, and once her final customers leave, Rhosyn is right on their heels to turn the sign on the door over to ‘CLOSED’. Then she gets right to work preparing a small basket with a serving-sized pot of the day’s soup and a sandwich. This kind of delivery isn’t anything new, it’s just the first time she’s made it to an empty crate rather than a home with an appreciative occupant. She can only hope that her guess was correct, and that the boy will find her gift.

What she certainly doesn’t expect is to find the basket at her doorstep the next morning, emptied of its contents and with the cloth that had covered it folded neatly inside. The gratitude in the gesture is so clear that it easily brings a smile to her face. Maybe this mission won’t actually be as difficult as she’d anticipated.

The return of the basket also marks the establishment of a routine, in which Rhosyn makes evening deliveries to the little shelter and finds her basket returned in the morning. A few days later, the baker is thanking the stars over her coffee that the little “rascal” had stopped haunting her establishment, and Rhosyn has to bite back a snide comment about it not being through any effort on her part to improve the situation.

The boy’s absence from the baker’s window does present a bit of a problem, however, since Rhosyn no longer has any idea where to find him. The back alley is always devoid of life whenever she makes her deliveries, so he must have figured out when she comes by in order to avoid her. Several times, she considers making her delivery at an irregular time to see if she could catch him, but each time she decides that doing so would be more likely to scare him away then actually bring about any progress.

It’s an issue that Rhosyn continues to puzzle over for the next few days, until one morning it suddenly solves itself when she opens her front door and is greeted with a yelp of shock.

“I’m sorry!” The boy flinches back apologizes before she’s even said anything, hands held up defensively in front of his face as if his mere presence is enough to make her lash out.

“Why are you apologizing, kid? You’re the one doing me a favor here.” Rhosyn says, as she notices her basket clutched tightly in one of the boy’s hands. Burnt orange eyes blink open and the boy looks up at her in confusion as she gently pulls the basket out of his hold, “Thank you, by the way, for returning this.”

“I just didn’t want to get caught.” He replies, arms wrapping tight around himself as he lowers his gaze, “I understand that I’m an eyesore, and I’ve already troubled you enough.”

All over again, Rhosyn feels a flash of anger that almost makes her nauseous as she realizes just how much of an impact the scorn of her neighbors has had on this boy. There’s simply no excuse for it. “You haven’t troubled anyone.” She tells him, completely no-nonsense, “Now, would you like to come in for some breakfast?”

“I couldn’t possibly… I don’t even really need to eat that much, you don’t need to worry yourself over me…” The boy stammers, but his momentum peters out at the sound of Rhosyn’s sigh as she steps aside and motions for him to step into the café.

“Don’t lie to me, kid. I understand what hunger looks like.” She says, and apparently her tired expression alone is enough to cow the boy into accepting her invitation, as he lowers his eyes to the ground and slips past her through the open door.

Rhosyn directs the boy to sit at the counter while she goes into the kitchen to prepare his food. A few slices of fresh bread go onto a plate with a small bowl of whipped butter, and a larger bowl is filled with the day’s soup that she’d finished only half an hour ago. It’s hardly more glamorous than what she usually offers, but the fact that it’s not simply leftovers makes her feel quite a bit better about it.

The feeling compounds when she sets the food down in front of the boy and watches his face light up in delight. So brightly in fact, that Rhosyn catches the color of his eyes changing right before her, from a soft lavender to a dandelion yellow.

“They really do change color…” She muses aloud, which causes the boy’s head to jerk up from where he’d been focused on spreading butter onto a slice of bread. Now that she’s looking for it, she can see new colors swirling within the yellow of his irises, especially with the way his eyes have widened, “Your eyes, I mean. I thought I was just seeing things before, what’s the deal with that?”

“Oh, that…” Distantly, he lifts a hand to touch his cheek, just below his eye, “It’s just the way that I was made, that’s all. Supposedly the color of my eyes reflects my emotional state, it’s the same for all the others. Call it a gimmick, if you will.”

Made? The others? A gimmick? Suddenly, Rhosyn is struck with the feeling that she’s stumbled into something out of her depth, but she has to persist. It’s all for the sake of good will, “I’m not sure I really get any of that, I’m going to be honest.” She admits with a short chuckle, “But tell me kid, what’s your name, where are you from? Not from anywhere around here, I’m guessing.”

The question seems to catch the boy off guard, as he fully freezes with his buttered bread lifted halfway to his mouth. Then the situation gets even stranger when he gets up from his seat altogether and offers her some kind of salute, as if he’s a tiny soldier.

“Color Guard Unit 500, servant to none. Name: None.” He says, in complete monotone, like that string of words had been branded so deeply into his mind that he could say them automatically. Rhosyn’s shock must have shown on her face, since once his greeting is done the boy sheepishly adds, “That is who I am.”

“Oookay…” As the child climbs back onto his stool and properly digs into his meal, Rhosyn tries her best to process what she’d just heard. Most of it was complete nonsense, as she’s never heard of anything like a “Color Guard”, even in the Capital, so she ultimately decides to disregard that part entirely.

What’s more comprehensible, but also more worrying, is the talk of servants. The use of child servants is one of the worst-kept secrets of the Capital’s ruling class, and it would certainly explain this boy’s well-spoken and polite manner. “Kid, just give it to me straight, none of that weird introduction business.” She eventually says, “Did you escape from the Capital?”

“The Capital?” He responds, tilting his head inquisitively, “No, I didn’t come from there. I’m from another world, and was discarded here. When I picked a direction and started walking, this was the first sign of civilization that I found.”

“Right…” By now Rhosyn can feel a headache coming on, so she starts preparing herself a cup of coffee in the feeble hope that being more awake will somehow help her understand any of this better, “So you were “made” in another world, and then “discarded” here. Are those your words, or your parents’ words?”

“I have no parents.” The boy replies easily, “The technicians and instructors made it quite clear that we were never to view them that way. Though they’re the ones who said in no uncertain terms that I was to be discarded. I am a faulty product, unfit to be sold.”

“How can you stand being aware of that? Does it not tear you up inside??” Although this child is clearly not the human that Rhosyn once assumed he was, to hear any person speak of themself in such a dehumanizing way is still unbelievable to hear. Still, the boy is unfazed.

“It is simply the reality of things. My apologies, but I cannot say I understand what warrants getting this upset.” Whoever those technician people were had clearly gotten deep into this boy’s head, if his nonchalance about this entire subject says anything at all.

There’s still so much that Rhosyn simply doesn’t understand, especially the concern of what this boy even is, but in the here and now she feels like it doesn’t really matter. He’d won her sympathy weeks ago, when she first saw the scorn that he was being treated with by her neighbors, but now she knows that the scorn he’s faced runs far deeper than that ever could. It’s a wrong that she is going to right, no matter what.

“Here kid, I’ll tell you what. Let’s start over.” She reaches her hand across the counter, offering it to the boy, “My name is Rhosyn Reese. It’s nice to meet you.”

Eyes now tinged with lavender once again, the boy looks between her hand and face a couple of times before reaching out to take it, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Reese. I’m sorry that I don’t have a name to give you in return.”

“Just call me Rhosyn. We don’t do formality here.” She tells him, “Now, would you like a name? It would be nicer than me having to keep calling you “kid” all the time.”

“Would I like a name?” He echoes, “I suppose a name would be nice… but I can’t choose a name for myself.”

Rhosyn suspects that it has to do with the whole servant thing that this boy was set up for, and though she’s tempted to ask about it she’d rather not get lost in the weeds again. “Alright, I’ll try to think of some. But if you don’t actually like it, you need to tell me. Got it?”

Although he still looks doubtful, the boy nods, and Rhosyn starts picking her brain for names. None of the common ones that come to mind just don’t seem to fit, and many of them already belong to people that she knows. Choosing names might not be her forte, she realizes belatedly, but then out of the depths of her mind comes a name from a little bit closer to home that might just be perfect.

“How about Carwyn?” She asks. The boy tilts his head again as he thinks it over, and Rhosyn closely watches for any sign of dissatisfaction that he might try to hide. But to her delight, she watches as he actually smiles for the first time.

“I think I like that name. Carwyn…” The boy repeats it, and though it sounds a bit different in his foreign accent it makes him smile even wider, “Yes, I love it!”

“I’m glad. That name is actually what my parents would have called me if I were a boy. A bit cheesy, I know, but I’ve always liked it.” Rhosyn admits, “But with that out of the way… Carwyn, would you like to stay here? This village is small, I can’t say we have a lot to offer, but it’s better than wandering the countryside feeling like you’ve been discarded.”

I want to show you that you’re allowed to be a person, rather than a servant or a product, if only you’ll let me.

Carwyn blinks up at her, golden eyes innocent as anything, with an expression so placid that for a moment Rhosyn is scared that he’ll just reject her on principle, as if he was programmed against it. But then that smile of his returns and he nods his head, “Thank you, Rhosyn. I think that I’ll accept your offer.”

A year later, Carwyn is nearly unrecognizable from the boy that Rhosyn had taken in all those months ago. Not because his appearance had changed in any way, “Chances are I’ll look like this forever,” he’d explained to her at one point when she’d asked about his youthful appearance. Rather, in the past year Carwyn’s confidence had blossomed, leaving the nervous, apologetic person that he used to be as a relic of the past.

Once he was pulled off the streets, he’d endeared himself to the rest of the village easily, with his gentle, polite manner. Even the baker who once spoke so harshly of the young man ended up coming around after receiving an apology for the trouble that he’d caused. It was an apology that Rhosyn believed was soundly undeserved, but Carwyn had insisted on offering it as a sign of good faith.

It certainly took time for Carwyn to get used to the idea that people wouldn’t despise him on sight, a preconception that Rhosyn worked very hard to dispel, but she was proud of the fact that he seemed to put just as much effort into trying to grow.

When the first year passed them by, Rhosyn had always known that it would be an excuse for celebration, and it was remarkably easy to convince just about everyone in the village to pack themselves into her little café for the surprise party that she’d planned. Carwyn had been incredibly embarrassed by the whole thing, insisting that it was way too much of a fuss for his sake, but just about every person in the room had brushed his words off as nonsense.

After that, he’d been swept away by the crowd, everyone wanting their turn to wish him well or pass him gifts that they’d prepared. Rhosyn had left him to the whims of their friends and neighbors, she could offer up her own gift later on, but after some time preparing drinks for anyone who wanders over to the counter, she notices someone standing off to the side on their own.

The man was a childhood friend of hers, who had been studying in the Capital until just a few weeks ago. He was always the reclusive sort, and Rhosyn had invited him not only as a means for him to get to know Carwyn, but as a way to get him to be social at all. But the plan seems to be backfiring, based on the way he’s lingering on the party’s fringes and warily eyeing the crowd.

“Is the ruckus too much for your fragile constitution, or what?” Rhosyn teases as she sidles up to her friend, but the man only gives her a dry look before his gaze turns back to the crowd, still bunched around Carwyn in the café’s center.

“You know how I feel about large gatherings, Rhos.” He replies, his brows furrowing the longer he watches the group, “But it’s not really that… I’m curious, if it’s not rude of me to ask, do you really know what your new friend actually is?”

“Do I know what he is?” Rhosyn echoes, one of her brows rising in confusion, “That’s kind of a weird question, but if you’re asking if he’s human, he’s definitely not.”

“That much is rather obvious, based on his eyes.” Her friend says, before shaking his head, “Maybe I’m just overthinking this, but there were some rumors circulating in the Capital a while ago. I’d forgotten about them, but seeing Carwyn brought them to mind.”

“What were the rumors?” Rhosyn asks. Any mention of the Capital is enough to put anyone on edge, with the near-tyrannical direction that their world’s Head God had taken in the past century or so. Rumors are simply rumors, and her friend has surely never been close enough to the top to hear anything of substance, but the curiosity is already eating away at her.

“Apparently the Knights were ordered to search for some kind of “False God” that had appeared in this world.” Of all things that her friend could have said, Rhosyn definitely wasn’t expecting that, “I’m not saying that it could be him, but… he definitely doesn’t seem like someone from this world to me. I know that the Capital hardly seems to remember our little hamlet even exists, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried for you, Rhos.”

Naturally, all Rhosyn could think back to in that moment were the various scraps of information Carwyn had offered her over the past year, particularly the bit about being sent here from another world. The word “God” had never left his lips, but if the Capital was truly looking for interlopers… they’ve never been known for being very discriminant in their searches.

“I can’t just abandon him.” Despite the very real fear that had burrowed its way into her heart, Rhosyn doesn’t hesitate with her response, “He’s like a brother to me now, I’m not about to turn him away to save my own skin. If the Capital wants to come for him, let them come.”

“Why did I know you would say something foolish like that?” Shaking his head, her friend heaves a sigh, “I’m not here to tell you what to do, I just thought I’d let you know.”

They let the subject drop after that, and after a while Rhosyn manages to get her friend to join the party, letting her take her place back at the bar. Everything seems to go smoothly, as she later spots him chatting amicably with Carwyn. Perhaps everything would be fine. She certainly wanted to hope that they would be.

It’s only once the partygoers have all filtered out that Carwyn finally makes his way back over to her, where he slumps onto one of the barstools with what might be the heaviest sigh Rhosyn has ever heard from him.

“It’s tough being so popular, huh?” She asks, her lips quirked up into a teasing smirk, and she has to stop herself from laughing at the dead-tired look that Carwyn gives her.

“It’s not that, truly. People are so kind, it’s just so much to handle…” He explains, clearly disgruntled by her attempt to tease, “I’ve never had so many people all trying to talk to me at once before.”

“I get it, I really do.” Rhosyn replies, allowing herself a short laugh at his expense, “But do you think you have the energy for one more? It’s not much, but I’ve prepared a little gift of my own for you.”

“I think we both know that you’re different, Rhosyn.” Carwyn says with a warm smile, sitting up a little straighter as if he somehow needs to look more proper in order to receive her gift, “It doesn’t matter if you don’t think it’s that much, the fact that anyone has done anything for me at all today is far more than enough.”

“Alright then, I’m not expecting any kind of disappointment.” Rhosyn jokes. But instead of pulling out any kinds of packages from her person, she simply leans forward and rests her elbows on the countertop, “So you’ve been here for a year now, Carwyn, and I’m being honest when I say that I can hardly imagine life without you anymore. I’ve been alive for a while now, so that’s nothing to sneeze at. But to cut to the chase here, I’ve considered you my family for a while now, so I wanted to offer you my family name. To make all those jokes people make about you being my little brother official.”

For several moments, Carwyn just stares at her with his mouth hanging slack in shock, and then in a matter of seconds his hands have flown up to cover his mouth as tears gather in his eyes. Even without the color of his eyes (a gold so brilliant that it nearly glows) giving him away, Rhosyn couldn’t have mistaken the joy on his face for anything else. It’s in seeing that expression that she knows she’s made the right choice.

“Rhosyn, I… It would be an honor! I’m sorry for crying, I just… I never thought that anyone would ever actually consider me to be their family.” Carwyn stammers out, and Rhosyn nearly rolls her eyes as he starts apologizing to her, of all things.

“Don’t apologize, you sap. Here, hold on.” Looping around to the other side of the counter, Rhosyn wipes away Carwyn’s tears before pulling him into a hug, “I don’t know how much of an “honor” this really is, but I’m glad you’re happy. Plus, Carwyn Reese has a nice ring to it too, don’t you think?”

From the way that he started to cry even harder in her arms, Rhosyn liked to think that he agreed with her.

If only times could have stayed as good as that forever.

The morning that turned Rhosyn’s life upside down was like any other, getting cleaned and dressed while Carwyn slept in in the opposite bedroom. The shutters of the café were raised, and she stepped outside with the signboard, only for her peaceful routine to be shattered by a commotion from up the street.

Curiosity coaxes her to follow the noise to its source, only to find a group of her friends and neighbors gathered around a small group of soldiers. Each one is clad head to foot in white and gold, the colors of their God. Knights from the Capital, there’s no mistaking them.

“Our Lord’s patience runs thin!” One of the men, the one with the longest plume extending from the top of his helmet announces as Rhosyn joins the very back of the crowd, “Reveal the False God harbored within this township, or we will exercise our right to search private property in order to unearth it!”

In front of her, several of the elves look at each other in confusion. There’s no God being harbored within their village. At least, in their minds. Meanwhile, Rhosyn’s eyes widen when she hears those words. The conversation with her scholar friend from two years ago floats back to her mind, of the Capital’s search for a False God and his suspicions towards her younger brother, which had later been confirmed by the young man himself.

“I’ve begun to suspect that I was abandoned here so that I would be killed.” Carwyn had confessed to her one night a little over a year ago while they were preparing the next day’s pastries, as casually as if he was commenting on the weather, “An immortal being with the capacity to be called a God is difficult to create, but even more difficult to kill. They may not have had the means to put me out of their own misery.”

“After all, they never expected anything less than perfection.”

“You, there!” Rhosyn is jerked back to reality by a shout, and her head snaps up to meet the gaze of the long-plumed man, “Do you know something about the False God??”

For a moment, fear pulses through Rhosyn’s chest as the crowd in front of her parts and the knight begins to stride towards her, but then she recalls the way that they’d spoken about Carwyn, about her brother, and that fear coalesces into pure rage.

“There are no False Gods in this village, Sir.” Rhosyn snaps, her voice dripping with venom, “I have no idea where you Capital-types get off thinking that you can show up whenever you please and make these accusations, but I won’t hear of it–!”

“Rhosyn, stop.”

From behind comes a voice, clear and firm, and the crowd turns as one to see Carwyn approaching, violet eyes trained directly on the plumed knight as he announces, “I am the False God that you’re looking for.”

“Carwyn, you can’t do this!” Rhosyn protests, but as Carwyn reaches her side he shakes his head and offers a reassuring smile as if everything is alright. As if she can’t see the fear in his eyes.

“No Rhosyn, I must do this.” He whispers in return, before stepping past her to stand in front of the knight. He’s so painfully small next to the towering man, and Rhosyn thinks it a miracle that he’s able to hold this bold façade as well as he as. Especially when he lifts his arm in that salute that she hasn’t seen in over three years.

“Color Guard Unit 500, servant to none. Name: Carwyn.” In that mechanical drone, Rhosyn hears him discard her family’s name in what could only be an act of protection that nonetheless feels like a dagger being driven into her chest, “As I said, I am the False God that you seek. Do with me what you will, for I lack the power and ability to defend myself.”

“Three years of searching… for this?” The knight’s lips curl into a sneer of disgust as he stares down his nose at the petite God still staring up at him. Rhosyn can’t see the expression on Carwyn’s face, but as the knight roughly grabs his arm and yanks, forcing him to follow, she hears a soft noise of pain. That’s when she truly can’t stand to watch anymore.

“Unhand him, you bastard!” She shrieks, lunging forward and grabbing Carwyn’s other arm and yanking him free from the knight’s hold, pulling him tight against her chest, “How dare you treat him this way? What harm has he brought to anyone in this world??”

“Unhand the False God, foolish woman.” The knight growls as he turns back to fix Rhosyn with that glare that never seems to leave his face, “If you continue resisting, you will be arrested for treason.”

“I don’t give a damn about that! I—” Again, Rhosyn tries to protest, but this time she’s met with a pair of hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her away.

“Please, Rhos. Don’t ruin your life for me.” Carwyn says, his lips curved into a rueful smile, “These past few years that you’ve given me, they’ve been more than I ever could have hoped for. But they’re enough, Rhosyn. You’ve done enough.”

Tears begin to gather in Rhosyn’s eyes as she listens to his words, and they begin to fall as Carwyn leans closer to press his cheek to hers, tender as ever, even when she can see the hues of sorrow swirling in his eyes.

“Thank you, for everything.”

Those are the last words that Carwyn speaks to her before he pulls away completely and returns to the waiting knight, who had watched their exchange with his usual disgust. “She’s lucky that you’re wise enough to know your place.” He says, again seizing the small God’s arm, “If you keep that up, maybe she won’t suffer the consequences for harboring a False God for three years.”

With that emphasis, the plumed knight looks over his shoulder one last time, but Rhosyn doesn’t even notice the glance. She can’t bear to watch her family be taken away while the words “you’ve done enough” are still ringing in her ears.

It’s nowhere near enough.

Three years means nothing to a century of isolation and neglect.

Three centuries could pass and she would still be kept up at night wondering if she had done enough for him.

But that time is a luxury that Rhosyn would not be allowed, for the realm of the gods was never hers to touch.

~~~

If you’ve actually read this far, I can’t thank you enough! I just thought it would be neat to share what I’ve been spending my creative braincells on over the course of the semester, when I was simply too dead to write any fic lol

Since this is a revision, I’d like to take note of what I actually changed based on the feedback that I received. The scene around the middle, the celebration of Carwyn’s first year in the village was added whole-cloth in the second draft and meant to hit several birds with one stone. The main critiques I received for this piece were that there wasn’t enough time spent with Carwyn and Rhosyn to make their separation hit the right emotional mark, and that I should expand more on this world that I had constructed. That new scene basically sought to restore some of the context I had to trim to fit within the original 15-page limit.

The deadline under which I had to write this is what I think led to most of its issues, as this is quite literally the skeleton of an idea that I dug out of my brain chest from when I was in high school and dressed it up in a sunglasses and a feather boa before presenting it at workshop. I’m hoping that I can work with this world more in the fall and continue building on these ideas, because I unfortunately think more of the holes will show in the other story that I wrote. I simply haven’t been able to give names and faces to people who may or may not be important characters, since I simply don’t know who most of the important characters will be aside from these two and perhaps a couple more. But I’m excited to continue working in that direction, and for what this is, which is a start, I’m pretty happy with how far I’ve come as a writer since I came up with these characters and ideas in like, my freshman year of high school.

I’ll try to post the other story soon!

#navi writes originals #my ocs #carwyn reese #rhosyn reese #original fiction #everyone look at blorbo from my brain he's a real boy now!

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elleenvs3000f23 · 1 year

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Week 4: Art as an act of love - Why we interpret nature through art

When I think of interpreting art or the gift of beauty I think of a moment from two summers ago when I was working as a field biologist. The task of the day was an anuran survey. We were at the site after dark, listening for frogs and toads. I love frogs and toads, truly, but I wouldn’t personally call many many dozens of spring peepers calling beautiful (picture many many small angry cats yelling at each other). No, the beautiful thing was on the walk back when the whole forest lit up with fireflies; thousands of glowing bugs floating down the trail in a forest dense enough to block out most of the ambient light. It was like standing in a crystal clear night sky; my two co-workers and I silently agreed to turn off our headlamps and just stand there for a while.

I share that story because I think it captures how I feel beauty and art should be interpreted. I didn’t need to be told fireflies are beautiful, I didn’t need to understand the biochemistry that lets them light-up or why they seem to love this random wooded area behind a train station, but I never would have been there in that moment if I wasn’t a biologist with a miraculous stroke of luck. To be clear, please don’t go hiking through private property at night looking for fireflies, it's unsafe and you're more likely to just get lost and mosquito bitten half to death. My point is that I was in the right place at the right time and magic happened, and as interpreters, I think we can let nature speak for itself in the beauty department if we only get our guests there at the right place and time.

These moments are rare and lightning doesn’t reliably hit twice so we can also share these events through art and stories. You felt a little calmer when you read about the fireflies right? You have an image in your head about what I might have seen and really, that image could be just as beautiful as the one that lives in my head. I’ve talked about my friend the photographer on this blog before as well and I think that is another great way to share and interpret beauty. He has always had a talent for noticing little things, an a-symmetrical leaf, the pattern of plants in the grass, and he can highlight beauty in what he sees by taking a picture that lets others look through his eyes.

Now, I couldn’t talk about art and beauty on a nature interpretation blog without talking about my personal favorite comfort media: Ghibli movies. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, congrats you have plans tonight: find your comfiest blanket and look up Spirited Away on Netflix, you can thank me later. Spirited Away shares the story of a young girl who accidentally travels to the spirit realm where she ends up working at a bathhouse full of nature spirits. The movie personifies rivers, radishes and ducks and almost every other thing you could find in a forest and brings them into a colorful world where they can be cleansed and relaxed. It’s an interesting metaphor for how pollution affects the natural world. Metaphors and personification aside, the film also has beautiful imagery of nature, with calm grassy fields, wide lakes and mysterious mossy forests. You don’t even have to step outside to be moved by Miyazaki’s interpretation of nature and to understand the messages about our responsibilities in caring for it. It’s my favorite example of how interpretation of nature through art can simplify complicated ideas into a single work and communicate them without lecture.

At its core, art is an act of love - it takes time and labor to create and can wordlessly communicate the artist's belief that something is special, and therefore worth appreciating, protecting and thinking about. I suppose my thesis in this post is that art captures and shares moments that are special, so we can connect with nature on an emotional level and build a sense of value through finding the beauty in a place.

Images from Spirited Away (2003)

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regulusrab · 2 years

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Location: the Library of Number 12 Grimmauld Place Time: March 20th, about 10 days before the Black Ball. Status: Self Para. TLDR: “That time Tom Riddle came to ask Regulus for a favour and borrow his house elf but was super weird and creepy about it.”

There were some nights that Regulus just wanted to scream. It was a sensation that could build in his chest for weeks at a time. He daydreamed about climbing out onto the roof of 12 Grimmauld Place and unleashing every ounce of rage and fear that festered inside of him. He wanted to make the world quake at the sound of his voice. He never did it. He swallowed down the sensation instead, pressed the scream down until it was something hard and unflinching inside of him, a rock that could sit at the pit of his stomach.

Regulus feels vindicated. He has spent the last decade teaching himself to be cold, teaching himself to stay detatched. He has spent the last decade learning to lock parts of himself away in little boxes. Some people acted like that instinct was a problem, a symptom of some greater issues that were going on inside his mind and inside his chest. He wishes he could point and laugh in their faces now, because he’s probably been training just for this moment.

Tom Riddle is standing in the library.

Regulus doesn’t flinch at the sight of him. He locks away the boy who might, the boy who feels fear. From one side of the entryway to the other, Regulus shifts. The boy who steps into the room is a weaker one, a worshipful thing, a boy who worries about the opinions of society and pleasing his mother more than he worries about anything else. The book he had been reading in the sitting room down the hall is cradled against his own side.

“My lord,” He greets, because it seems the proper thing to do. “No one mentioned that we would have callers today. I do apologise for keeping you wating.”

“Oh, I haven’t been waiting long.” Riddle replies, in a slow drawl. He looks almost bored. Regulus has seen enough predators to know that bored is a very dangerous feeling for them to have. Bored beasts lash out, they bite and claw the second they smell fear in the air.

Regulus takes another step into the room, hesitant. The action is a preformative one. “I’m afraid my father isn’t home today. He had some business to attend to with my Uncle Cygnus.” He lets the words waver, preformative as well, as if he is scared to disappoint the man in front of him.

“It isn’t your father I came to see.” A statement, bland as well.

“My brother is also out for the day. Would you like me to try and fetch him for you?” The words of a boy who assumes himself too unremarkable to be wanted by a man such as Tom Riddle.

“Regulus.” The word is sharp, it commands attention. It sparks something like genuine fear in Regulus, because he doesn’t know why Tom is here, because it is an unexpected factor in his day, because he has been thrown off of his own axis. He has to force himself to look at the man, to coyly avoid his eyes, to play at something meek. He swallows around a lump in his own throat and nods his head.

“Kreacher.” He commands, his voice still slightly quivering, though it sounds more awed than scared. “Bring tea for the Minister. Now.”

Tom Riddle smiles, a dark and savage thing, and situates himself at one of the ornate chairs next to a table, now suddenly laid out with tea for too. “Very good, Regulus.”

So Regulus sits as well, stiff backed. He places his book on the table, off to the side. Riddle arches a brow and flips it so he can read the cover. “The Untold Histories of the Darkest Arts.” He reads, in the cold voice of his. “Some light afternoon reading?”

Regulus swallows, licks his lips, suddenly dry. “I’ve always had a particular interest in the origins of certain dark spells. My father recomended this book for me to study. To sate my curiosity in a controlled environment. I’ve never had the finest control––” A lie, “–– and my father would hate to see me hurt myself.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, isn’t that the saying?” Riddle sounds almost amused by it, the annecdote.

“But satisfaction brought it back.” Regulus finishes for him, and regrets it. It’s just a touch too snide, and he can feel the gentle brushing of Tom Riddle’s mind against his own. He thanks the gods for the fact that no member of the Black Family would let their children be raised without learning to protect their minds.

What did Riddle want to see? The truth. It was all that anybody wanted. Riddle wanted to find the faultlines in a boy that hadn’t done enough for the cause yet. Regulus had no mark, and had not begged for one. Regulus did not chase after power the way people imagined he should. Regulus will show him the truth, then. Enough of it that he won’t look any deeper. He shows Riddle flashes of want, bruising kisses and a mans chest pressed against his own. He shows Riddle flashes of anger, the way he hates his brother sometimes, the way he hates everyone sometimes. He shows Riddle his slowly simmering hunger for greatness, and his fear that he will never be good enough. He keeps his friends, and the Orpheus Society, carefully locked away.

Riddle quirks an eyebrow at him, amused smile on his face. “Tell me, Regulus Black. Are you satisfied?”

“Not by my reading, my lord.” He replies, and allows the shake to remain in his voice. He presses his own lips together, and glances down at his tea.

“The best people never are.” And then, as if he’s just had the thought. “I may be able to assist you with that. I’m something of an expert when it comes to dark magic. It’s always been a particular interest of mine too. I would be glad to tutor you in the subject, but I’m afraid I must ask you for a favour first.”

“A favour?”

Riddle reaches out, across the small table, and touches Regulus’s face. His fingers are ice cold. It is a struggle not to flinch away. Regulus keeps his mental sheilds strong, only letting those small glimpses out. “Yes, a favour. A test of your loyalty. I can see a lot of myself in you, Regulus Black, but you must prove that you can serve me well before I teach you any of my secrets. Would you like to do that for me?”

A favour. It must have been why Tom Riddle had come here in the first place. To ask for something. But this was all a pretense, to make it seem like he was doing something for Regulus in turn. It made his skin crawl, but he didn’t pull away. He looked Riddle in the eye instead. “Of course I would, my lord. Anything you wish is yours.”

Tom Riddle smiles. “Wonderful. It’s a simple thing, really. I need to borrow your house elf.”

And that was that. The question asked, the favour granted. Tom Riddle collected Kreacher the very next morning to do a dark and evil task, and Regulus will regret allowing it for the rest of his life.

#( self para )#( tom riddle )#this is a novel

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short-welsh-and-angry · 2 years

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A while ago I made this post stating that weird things are going down in my town. I’ve decided I will keep them under the tag “Nat getting into things she shouldn’t” and I will tag every related post as such, in case anyone sees these and is interested.

So a couple little updates.

Within the last two weeks, the dogs in town have been acting… off, to put it vaguely. There have been more instances of peoples dogs getting out and roaming around. There have also been dogs randomly appearing that no one has ever seen before, people post them on the community Facebook/NextDoor, and then the next day they’re gone. No word of an owner or anything. Animal control here is basically non existent so it’s not them.

The ones who are from around here have been unusually aggressive and territorial. One of my friends dogs - also a dog that I train - randomly went after both of us one night for walking into the same room as her. Her owner and I are the only two people she truly likes, so it stunned both of us to say the least. My German shepherd has been very crate-aggressive as of late. It’s been an issue that we were working on, but at the same time as the incident with my friends dog, mine went about 10 steps backwards in his training in regards to crate aggression. My husky, who is the nicest dog ever and loves everyone and everything, has been growling into the woods on our walks, very protective of the house, and leery of strangers. Anyone who knows her well knows that this is completely out of character for her. She’s the most carefree, happy dog ever, and only gets protective if I’m in trouble. A neighbors dog recently spent two days outside because there was no force on planet earth that could make him go inside. Again, incredibly out of character.

There’s been far more roadkill as well. On one hand, I know it’s the season for a lot of animals to start moving around and prepping for winter, but it’s never been this bad in recent years. Just outside of the main streets - again small town, literally only like a square mile and then it’s woods and farm land - into the outskirts, you can’t go corner to corner without finding at least 3-4 dead animals. Deer, cats, opossums, raccoons, birds, squirrels. It almost feels intentional, like they’re running out into the road on purpose.

Right before I sat down to write this, I had to close every single curtain in my house. Just sitting in the living room and I could feel eyes boring into me. Something was staring me down. I don’t know what, person or maybe just curious wild animal but it felt intense. The hair on my arms were standing on end and I felt like I was paralyzed for a second. My dogs hadn’t reacted at that point, but as I’m sitting here now typing this all out, my husky is making low noises at something in the living room. I’m hoping it’s just the friend of ours that walks her dog early in the morning, and not her finally seeing whatever was watching us in the living room.

#ranting with nat #Nat getting into things she shouldn’t #small town mysteries #small town #strange occurances

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illicitlimerence-writes · 2 years

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babies and bahrain | c. leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader word count: 4.4 words request: yes, by anons: "hii bestie can i get a fic where the reader and charles are guardians of their godchild and on the child calls them mommy and daddy for the first time? i love your writing btw I’ve been binge reading your fics." & "hii can i request a soft fluffy charles fic? i love your writing style 💕" & "hello! can we have a imagine with reader and charles with a long term relationship at bahrain gp 2022? 🥺" warnings: kids, fluff, angst, death(mentioned only), car crash (mentioned only), language (like one or two), hospitals. a/n: i am finally posting something. i've been hating everything i write lately, but hopefully it's only temporary because i want to work on something to celebrate when we (hopefully soon) hit 3k. literally can't believe i'm typing that. we're so close to three thousand, what the fuck. also, i have no idea how the legal system works, let's remember that this is all fiction, please.

my masterlist

the moment violet was born, you and charles fell in love with her. the first few months of her life you would visit the new parents every chance you could. caroline and nolan were close friends of charles, and they instantly welcomed you into their group when you and charles started dating. charles loved violet, he’d always get her every baby-related thing he saw wherever he went. dolls, princess onesies, toys, anything that reminded him of her.

you were the same, offering to babysit when your friends wanted some alone time, or wanted to go out for a date. often, the five of you would go out to kid-friendly spots.

‘violet needs to spend time with her favorite aunt and uncle’, charles would say. every chance he got, she was in his arms. caroline would always laugh, chastise him and tell him she would get used to being carried. 'good thing i have strong arms, then.' he'd reply, pressing his forehead against the baby's head.

it wasn't a surprise when you and charles were asked to be her godparents, but you were still over the moon when you arrived at their house and saw violet wearing a shirt that read ‘will you be my godparents?’. you and charles hugged the -then- six-month-old baby and her parents, promising to take care of her as much as you could.

the day everything changed, it started just like any other. you were in italy with charles, he had some duties at the ferrari museum in maranello, so you took the day to explore the city, seeing ferrari plastered on almost every wall. you entered a small shop and were instantly drawn to a plushie of a cat. violet loved cats. well, they didn’t have any pets, but everytime she saw one on tv she always yelled in delight. you picked it up and paid for it, walking to the museum to wait for charles.

you had a special badge around your neck, so security let you through without too much trouble. you sat on a bench outside, grabbing your phone to check if you had missed anything. you were scrolling mindlessly when you saw an unknown number calling. you recognized the area code as one in france. you frowned but picked up anyway.

you’d always wondered how you’d act in case of an emergency. you’d seen so many tv shows and movies where the characters ran through the hospital, some screaming, asking where their loved ones were, others in shock. you never thought, never hoped, to be in that position one day.

your heart was beating fast, pounding inside your chest as you held onto charles’ hand. he was almost running, following the signs until he reached a nurse station.

in shock. in case of an emergency, you were the one in shock. your eyes were glossy as you let charles guide you to the icu, you could hear him mumbling under his breath, but couldn’t understand what he was saying. you could see the automatic doors that led to the icu, you gripped charles’ hand before walking in, making him halt his steps.

he turned to look at you, he had small tears in the corners of his eyes. you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him down and hiding your face in his neck. the tears fell freely, you could feel his chest shaking as well.

“we have to go in,” charles said, still holding on to your waist. you nodded but didn’t let go of him. “we-we have to find out how they are, and-”

an unmistakable soft whimper made its way into your ears, charles paused mid-sentence and you both turned your heads to the side.

“violet!” charles said, you both ran to the woman who was carrying your goddaughter. ten-month-old violet’s eyes were wide open, you could see the terrified look on her face as she was in a completely unknown place with strangers. “is she okay?” he asked.

“she’s alright. she’s been checked by the pediatricians and everything seems fine,” she gave you a small smile, “i’m the social worker in charge of the case, who are you?” she asked.

“we’re violet’s godparents,” charles said, gripping your hand. your arms ached, longing to hold her in your safe embrace.

“w-why do they need a social worker?” you asked, placing your free hand on charles' arm. the social worker was about to speak when violet started crying. charles took a step, and violet leaned forward as well. charles took his goddaughter from the social worker's arms, and for the first time since you got that awful call, you let out a deep breath, knowing that violet was finally safe. you seemed to forget that there was someone else present, at that moment, all your focus was on violet, on the way she clung onto the both of you, her godparents, the only people she had left in the world now.

nolan and caroline didn’t have any direct family, but they had each other. and they had you and charles.

“can we see them?” you asked, violet was playing with your finger. “is- is caroline still in surgery?” the social worker didn’t know how to answer, she walked to the nurse station right outside the intensive care unit, where you’d heard they were keeping nolan. you followed her, your gaze flickering between violet, charles, and the social worker. the look on the latter’s face didn’t make you feel reassured.

“when can we see them?” charles asked again, a bit too loud than he intended, causing violet to flinch. charles handed her to you, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“only family is allowed in, and-”

“we’re family. we’re all the family they have,” charles interrupted.

you were told to wait, you sat on two uncomfortable chairs, holding violet in your arms. the social worker was standing in front of you.

“did you ever discuss what would happen with violet in case…” she started, you both froze.

“w-why are you saying that?” you asked, looking from her, to charles.

“the doctor is coming, he will fill you in on their condition, but… we need to know their wishes about violet’s future in case they don’t… you know,”

“we’ll take care of her,” charles said, without wasting a second, without any doubt. “that’s what we signed up for when we agreed to be her godparents. to take care and be there for her whenever,” he told her. then, he looked at you, you nodded your head, taking his hand in yours.

“we will take care of her, no matter what happens.”

the next few days went by in a blur. you felt so many emotions at the same time. grief, pain, fear, helplessness. you’d had to do so many things in just a few days. saying goodbye to your friends was probably the hardest. even though the doctors tried their best to save both of them, their injuries from the car crash were too much.

your full focus was on violet. you pushed aside your feelings and grief to focus on the little baby you’d now found yourself in charge of. you’d gotten in contact with a lawyer, who promised to help you as much as she could to get violet’s custody. you didn’t know if you were mentally prepared to take care of a child, but you weren’t alone. charles wanted this as much as you did, it was what you’d signed up for, as he said.

you’d recruited the rest of your friend group to look for a will or a document that stated their wishes for violet’s custody, but found nothing. you never talked about that topic, you were all way too young, you still had plenty of time you think about the future. or at least, you should’ve.

the second night after the funeral, violet was sleeping in the crib you’d bought a day before, next to your bed. you were lying on your side, your eyes were closed but you couldn’t sleep. you turned so your back was against the mattress, you looked up at the ceiling and sighed. you felt charles moving beside you, you turned your head to see him looking at you.

“did i wake you?” you whispered, he shook his head, giving you a small smile. you got closer to him, resting your head on his chest. you both stayed quiet, you could feel his fingers playing with your hair. “do you think we can do this?” you asked after a few seconds of silence.

“i don’t know,” he said, and even though it wasn’t the answer most people would’ve wanted, you felt comfort in knowing that he was just as nervous as you. “but i don’t want violet to go away, not when we can give her everything she needs,” he continued. “it will be difficult for all of us, but violet needs us,”

“of course. i want her with us as well, but are we ready for this change?”

“we have to be, there’s no turning back now. but hey, we’re in this together, okay? we got each other. it will take a little while to get used to a new routine, but we can do this, alright?” he said, grabbing your hand and lifting it up to his lips, pressing soft kisses to your knuckles. “we got this,” he nodded his head. you looked up at him, kissing his cheek.

a month passed, violet was still in your care whilst you were going through the adoption process. and now more than ever, you were sure that you were ready to give the little baby everything she might need. each day you spent with her you fell even more in love with her, you didn't know how it was possible, but she brightened up your day, she had taught you so much already.

of course, the first few weeks were messy, having to adjust to the presence of violet in your lives 24/7. there were nights when you thought you couldn't do it, nights when violet stayed up almost all night, crying uncontrollably, and you knew that the one thing she needed were her parents. you'd cry with her, sometimes.

one particular night, charles wasn't home, he'd traveled to paris, violet’s hometown and the place where all the legal process was taking place. you’d put violet down to sleep, since it was past her bedtime. you sat on a stool in the kitchen, replying to a text charles had sent. turns out, things were going to be a little more complicated than you had first thought. as you sent the text, you received a call from him.

"hi, love," you said, propping your phone against a napkin holder to see him better. he was sitting on a chair in his hotel room, you figured he must’ve made the call from his laptop, since you could see a mess of documents littering a wooden table.

“hey,” he sighed, you frowned.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, “didn’t get good news today?” you leaned your chin on your fist, your elbow propped on the kitchen island.

“no,” he shook his head, running his hands through his hair. you could see the dark circles under his eyes. “they said that- in order to adopt we-” he sighed before continuing, “at least one of us has to be twenty-eight years old, we have to be married- or prove that we’ve been together for a couple of years, and-” he rambled, you stopped him.

“hey, hey, slow down,” you said, watching as he shook his head in desperation. “charles, i know it looks like we might be in a gray area right now, but we have time. as long as violet can stay in our care, we have time to make sure every requirement is in order. we’re working with the best of the best, we’re all doing what we can. as long as we have violet’s custody, we’ll be okay,”

the morning of violet’s first birthday, you woke up extra early, wanting to surprise her. you went downstairs and started hanging decorations, balloons, colored strings, everything you’d bought a few days ago. once everything was finished, you checked her room to make sure she was still asleep, taking the baby monitor with you to the bathroom.

you’d always loved the luxury of taking long, warm showers, but now, with a kid under your care, you’d learned to shower in less than ten minutes. you did your hair in a comfortable way, and threw on some joggers and one of charles’ shirts, walking to violet’s room once you heard her moving around.

“good morning, princess!” you smiled, seeing violet standing up, holding herself up with her fists around the crib. “oh, you’re a big girl now, aren’t you?” you laughed as you approached her, running your hands through her hair, getting the curls away from her face. “you’re going to start walking any day now, miss,” she smiled, bending her knees in excitement, trying to jump as she giggled.

you held her in your arms, pressing soft kisses to the side of her head, to her cheek, her forehead. one of your arms was supporting her under her bum, you noticed that she was in desperate need of a diaper change, but you ignored that at that moment. your other hand was on her back, keeping her close to your chest. you’d installed black-out curtains in her room, to make sure she got as much sleep as possible in the mornings.

“happy first birthday, violet,” you whispered in her ear.

right then, with the little bit of sunlight peeking in through the curtains, for the first time, you felt like her mother. it wasn’t anything extraordinary, that was how you greeted her every morning, but that, you figured, was the beauty of motherhood. finding the special in the most simple and ordinary moments.

you looked up at the ceiling, feeling your eyes starting to burn as they filled with tears. maybe you didn’t have nolan and caroline anymore, but you had violet. and you promised to love her and protect her, raise and cherish her just as much as they would’ve done, had they had the chance.

violet lifted her arm, without measuring her strength, she moved it towards you, hitting you on your face. that brought you out of your thoughts. you laughed as you looked down at her, walking to the changing table you’d set up, you placed her down and changed her.

about thirty minutes later, you heard the front door opening and closing, you’d stayed upstairs with violet, waiting for charles to get there. he was in charge of setting up all of her presents, the ones you’d approved, and the ones charles secretly bought when you fell asleep that night a few weeks ago.

you were on the floor, playing with violet as you two heard the sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs. you looked at violet, who was still holding the bright yellow lego, but her eyes were now stuck to the opened door of her bedroom. you pulled out your phone, recording her curious face as her eyes widened in anticipation.

“who’s that?” you asked. you held back a laugh as charles finally appeared in her line of sight.

“where’s the birthday girl?” charles said, kneeling down, he spread his arms to the sides, watching as violet first started crawling her way to him, but then, she stopped. she kept her hands on the floor as she planted her feet on the floor. charles’ eyes widened, you’d told him that violet was standing up, but he hadn’t had the chance to see her.

instantly, you both leaned closer to her, your were both ready to step in and catch her if she couldn’t keep her balance. but, she stood up, she straightened her back as you and charles held your breaths, and then, she took her first steps, rushing to charles’ awaiting arms.

this all happened in a matter of seconds, but to you, it felt like the clock slowed down, like she was moving in slow motion.

her loud squeals brought you back to reality, you saw charles holding her against his chest, still kneeling on the floor.

“oh, you did so good, violet! that’s my big girl,” charles kissed her temple, “i missed you so much. i was gone for a week, and now you’re walking?” he continued talking to her, you stopped recording, placing your phone in the pocket of your sweatpants, kneeling next to your loves. “i thought she was just starting to stand up?” charles asked, you nodded.

“those were her first steps,” you said, voice a little groggy as you kept your eyes on violet, who was playing with charles’ hair, grabbing fistfuls and tugging lightly.

“first steps… first birthday…” charles counted, throwing an arm around your shoulders to pull you close to him. you leaned your head against his shoulder, and violet stopped what she was doing to look at you two.

she was still standing up, charles had a hand on her back to help her up. she looked back and forth from you two, the smiles on your faces were so wide that your cheeks were starting to hurt.

“da!” she said, dropping down to her bum, crawling away, leaving you both speechless.

“first word?” charles breathed, you frowned.

“is ‘da’ even a word?” you asked, mostly annoyed because it was a word that resembled ‘dad’.

“in baby language, i think it is,” he smiled smugly, you rolled your eyes as you turned to violet, picking her up.

“hey, baby. say ‘ma’,” you instructed, violet stayed quiet, then, she opened her mouth.

“da!” she repeated, you sighed, kissing her cheek before passing her off to charles. “da!” she said as she looked at charles.

“yeah, that’s her first word,” you laughed, admitting defeat.

six months later, you and violet slipped through the crowd of people, sneaking your way to the ferrari motorhome. it was the first race of the season, and you had to admit, you missed being there.

you’d been with charles for what felt like forever at that point, coming close to eight years. you’d met, fallen in love and started dating as teenagers, and you’d been there every step of his career. your relationship was one that the public had always been curious of, given that you were both extremely private and cautious with what you let the rest of the world see. when you stopped attending the races for almost half of the year last year, people had started wondering if you’d split up. but as you walked with violet in your arms, charles’ hand around your shoulders, that was a clear statement.

you were scared of attending a race with violet, but you were a family now, and you needed to support charles, you knew he needed you there. you were going to stay inside the ferrari hospitality the entire time, away from the cameras and public. you were inside charles’ room, playing with violet whilst he got ready.

violet was starting to speak a bit more, so most of your time was spent over-pronouncing easy words in hopes to get her to repeat them. she was a smart girl. after having her first birthday, first steps and first word all in the same day, you knew you had a little genius in your hands.

“the car goes fast,” you said, moving your lips slowly, watching violet’s eyes go from your lips to your eyes. she babbled, you smiled as you kissed her temple, repeating the sentence again. “the car goes fast,”

“hell yes it does,” charles said, walking in. he had his racing suit on, the zipper was down, though, and you could see his fireproof undershirt. he grabbed violet, who played with the velcro strap.

“don’t swear,” you patted his leg, standing from your spot on the couch. “you ready?” you asked, kissing his cheek. violet noticed, and she did the same, making charles laugh.

“i think so,” he nodded, “i’ve got my two girls here, i can do pretty much anything right now,” he pressed his lips against violet’s temple. “but-”

“charles, we need you for something,” there was a knock on the door, and charles sighed. he’d promised to spend as much time as he could with you, even though you’d promised him it was okay, that he still had to focus and prepare for the race, but he had missed having you there and wanted to stay there with you two.

“it’s okay,” you grabbed violet, who frowned, she’d only gotten a few minutes with charles, why was he leaving again so soon? “we’ll be right here,” you smiled, leaning in to kiss charles’ cheek, but he turned his head, meeting your lips with his.

“i will be right back, okay?” you nodded as he hugged you both. he walked out of the room without looking back, despite how much he wanted to stay.

violet whimpered, you looked down at her and chuckled.

“it’s okay, baby, he’ll be right back, okay?” you sat her down on the couch, “da will be right back,”

as it turned out, violet called both you and charles ‘da’. it was the one word she associated with the two of you. much to charles’ dismay.

“oh, love, it’s okay,” you cooed, noticing violet’s teary eyes. “it’s just for a little while, my love.” you grabbed her again, and started walking around the room, gently rocking her in your arms. she wasn’t a loud crier, but her tears were just as real. “oh, violet, don’t cry, you’re making me cry, too!” you chuckled, pulling her close to your chest.

a few minutes passed, you could still feel your shirt getting damp from her tears, when the door behind you was opened.

“what’s wrong?” charles asked, and violet struggled in your arms. you put her down and she ran to charles.

“dada!” you froze, your eyes went wide as you watched charles crouch and catch violet in his arms. “dada,” she repeated, her tiny arms on his neck.

“it’s- it’s okay, violet. i- dada’s here,” he said, letting out a shaky breath as his eyes met yours.

“charles-” you started, feeling your eyes burning.

“dada,” violet started, turning her head back, “mama!” she called for you. you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. you just stood there, with wide, teary eyes, as the child that you’d promised to love and raise as if she were your own, called for you. “mama, mama,”

charles was just as shocked as you were, but he snapped out of it first, walking to you once he noticed that you were still processing it.

“d-did she… did she…” you couldn’t finish your question, but charles was already nodding his head.

“dada. mama.” apparently those two words had become violet’s favorite ones. you let out a laugh, wrapping your hands around charles’ back, with violet stuck between your bodies.

“yes, violet. dada and mama are here.” charles said. you just breathed deeply.

violet didn’t know what was going on around her. she didn’t know why the people wearing red were standing up, clapping and yelling. she didn’t know why you were standing up as well, with your palms pressed together, covering your mouth. she didn’t know why you had tears in your eyes.

“dada won, violet!” she didn’t understand what that meant, but you were smiling, so she smiled as well. you picked her up in your arms, someone handed you a pair of headphones, you placed them on violet’s ears to protect her from the loud noises.

you’d promised to stay inside the ferrari motorhome, but you weren’t counting on charles getting the first win of the season, his first in a while, his first with his family there with him.

you were escorted to the podium ceremony, arriving just in time to see charles stepping out of the car. he jumped out of the car and ran to his crew, you were breathing fast, your cheeks hurting from smiling so hard, there were tears in your eyes as you watched charles.

“that’s dada,” you told violet, even though she probably couldn’t hear you with all the noise.

you waited a few minutes, for charles to finish getting weighed, before someone talking to him pointed in your direction.

he smiled as he ran to you, wrapping his arms around the two of you.

“that was amazing, my love.” you said, grabbing his face to direct his lips to yours. “i love you so much, you deserve this!” you smiled.

“dada! mama!” violet said, annoyed that you weren’t paying attention to her.

“sorry, violet. dada and mama are here. we love you, too,” charles gave you two one last hug before he had to be taken away for interviews.

violet was sleeping between you two, she was curled up on her side, resting her head on charles’ chest. you couldn’t blame her, that was how you loved to fall asleep, too. you couldn’t sleep, you still had that remaining rush of adrenaline running through your system, which made it hard for you to succumb to sleep. you turned to your side, leaning forward to kiss violet’s cheek softly, then charles’ lips. you left the bed, sliding open the door to the balcony.

you could hear people partying out there. you leaned your arms against the railing, thinking about how, if you didn’t have violet, you would probably be out there with them. but you wouldn’t change your little family for anything.

“what are you doing out here?” you heard charles’ sleepy voice, felt his arm around your waist.

“just thinking,”

“about?” he asked, kissing your shoulder. you smiled, turning your head to the side to look at him.

“how i wouldn’t change this for anything in the world,” you answered, biting your bottom lip. “i love you and i love violet, and i’m so lucky to call you both mine,” he didn’t answer, just turned you around so your back was against the railing, his hands on your waist.

“we should make it all official, then,” he said after a few seconds, you leaned back, tilting your head up to look at him. “marry me,”

“charles leclerc, after almost eight years of dating, this is how you’re proposing to me?” you raise an eyebrow, joking to avoid letting tears take over you.

“no,” he shook his head, a small smile on his face, “you deserve something much better. our child needs to be part of it, for starters,”

“of course,” you laughed. you placed your arms around his neck, fingers playing with his hair.

“will you, though?” he asked.

“what?”

“marry me?”

that was a question that you both knew the answer to.

“yes,”

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