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#me: so anyways tragedy tragedy despair grief

guruguruguruguru · 5 months

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the longer i sit with it the more it really gets me how nobody ever really mentions obito and rin before obito's reveal in shippuden. kakashi vaguely mentions his old friends and i think other characters allude to the tragedy of kakashi's past but rin and obito themselves are lost to time. something about that is so fucking haunting and so gutting. you would think it would be a pretty big deal that two kids from the same class died within a year of each other, but the nine tails attack probably wiped so much clean that nobody could really carry the grief... still, when we see their class in flashbacks, we recognise almost everyone else, so... there's something really sad and hopeless about their absence...

there's a lot a LOT to say about it from a lot of different angles and i don't really feel like going into meta posting territory i just have big feelings about it you know? and to me i guess obito encapsulates a lot of the anger. for the people who get left behind and forgotten. and that can mean a lot of things

#two of my classmates died on separate occassions in short span of time in high school and i wont claim that grief because #i didnt know either of them well but i did feel a lot of anger and overwhelming hopelessness. that life keeps relentlessly going on #even when people get left behind #it feels so unfair and so painful... there are so many more aspects to it though as well #like people who are left behind in other ways due to circumstance or class or race or etc etc- often a combination of those factors #and obito as a kid reminds me a lot of a good friend i had when i was little who was late to class every day #because of those outside circumstances #and again someone in high school who i was late WITH every day. because ya #and i feel very big about that. and about rins death as something so fucking preventable #the tragedy also of baby teacher minato who was so so not ready to be in charge of anyone. but. that's something else #anyway i guess i just really feel a connection with that anger and despair #sorru was watching niji and felt fucking insane about it #obito and rin are like two sides of one thing. maybe of one person. of one concept #part of why i'm so so crazy about obito being trans is because i see him as also using rin's memory as a conduit for #his anger and grief about his own lost younger self. hence: baby obito is also a little girl #i think they are best friends. its so important. idk none of this is wider narrative meta #its just my feelings about them in particular #haunting dead girl and the ghost who has to carry on and can't rest

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sunflowerabyss · 5 months

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bestie i think pirate!remus would genuinely end me in the best way possible. like maybe a reader is disguised as a dude and is working on his ship OR they take the reader captive and remus is like love at first sight type thing?

up to you i love ur writing!!!

Seas of Redemption

Pairings: Pirate!Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

A/N: Oh em gee! I had so much fun writing this! Thank you so much for this awesome prompt! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Honestly I would be so down to write more pirate!Remus. (Anyway, this can be read as either older or younger Remus Lupin

Warnings: mentions of death, angst, fluff

________________________________

The salty breeze carried the scent of the sea as you sailed back to your coastal home, the ship cutting through the waves with a rhythmic dance. Weeks away had been spent gathering supplies for the impending winter, and anticipation filled your chest like the billowing sails above. The distant sight of your humble abode on the shoreline brought a surge of warmth to your heart, eager to reunite with your family after the long and arduous journey.

However, the moment you stepped over the threshold of your home, the air grew heavy with an unspoken darkness. What should have been a joyous homecoming transformed into a nightmare as your eyes fell upon the gruesome scene before you. The familiar rooms, once filled with the laughter and love of your family, were now stained with tragedy. Your entire family lay slaughtered, lifeless bodies scattered like discarded memories—a devastating tableau that crushed your heart with a grief beyond words.

"Mother? Father?" you called out, your voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and anguish. The silence that greeted you in response was haunting, each step through the home echoing with the weight of loss. Sobbing, you navigated through the rooms, discovering each lifeless form with a growing sense of horror. The vibrant tapestry of your family had been torn apart, leaving behind a desolate canvas of despair.

Stumbling out of your home, the salty sea breeze that had once felt invigorating now carried the bitter taste of sorrow. Seeking comfort and possibly an explanation, you found yourself at the doorsteps of your neighbor, Peter Pettigrew. Despite his oddities, he had always been kind, a familiar presence in the close-knit community. As you stood on his doorstep, tears streaming down your face, he met your gaze with a somber expression.

"I saw them, lass. Captain Remus and his crew," Peter confessed, the weight of the revelation evident in his tired eyes. "Said your father owed them money, and he never paid up." The words hit you like a cannonball, an explosion of anger and betrayal surging through your veins. The truth of the matter unfolded before you, and amidst the grief, a flame of vengeance ignited.

"You're telling me they killed my family over money?" you exclaimed, tears streaming down your face. Peter said nothing, eyes casting down to the floorboards of his home.

"Thank you, Peter," you whispered, your voice choked with both gratitude and determination. With a heavy heart, you turned away. Peter, however, called your name. You turned to look at him.

"I would lay low for a while. Remus he--he always comes back." You nodded once, walking out of his home.

Heedful of Peter's caution, you moved swiftly, a sense of urgency propelling each step. The weight of grief and the looming threat of Captain Remus's return hung heavy over your shoulders. Gathering the essentials became a solemn task, and gratitude filled your heart for your past self's foresight in stashing away money earned from odd jobs. It was a providential reserve that now fueled your escape, a lifeline in the unpredictable sea of danger that awaited.

As you entered your older brother's room, a solemn reverence enveloped you. The clothes you shed were not just garments; they were a symbolic shedding of the past, a poignant farewell to the life you once knew. Donning your brother's attire and severing your long locks with a decisive cut, you emerged transformed. An alias was born—Sterling. The reflection in the mirror seemed a stranger, a persona crafted out of necessity, veiling the woman beneath with the guise of a man.

Months unfolded like a blur as you navigated towns, existing on the fringe of society, always on the lookout for the shadow of Captain Remus and his relentless pursuit. The edges of existence became your refuge, and the nights were spent in silent contemplation beneath the canopy of stars. Each step taken with caution, each interaction tinged with the awareness of the danger that lurked in the shadows.

The coastal breeze whispered through the narrow alleyways of the town as you cautiously moved through the shadows, avoiding any unwanted attention. The flickering lanterns cast elongated shadows, creating a blanket of darkness and light in the quiet streets. Each step felt like an echo of your past life, now obscured by the cloak of Sterling.

In a dimly lit inn, you overheard snippets of conversation—rumors of Captain Remus's relentless pursuit and the escalating tensions among his crew. The news of his impending return spurred you into swift action, gathering your belongings and slipping away under the cover of night.

Fate, unpredictable as the sea, guided you through various towns, living on the fringes of society. The alias Sterling became your shield, a persona that allowed you to fade into the background. Each day brought a blend of anonymity and fear, and each night, the stars bore witness to your silent struggles and determination.

Months later, as you traversed a bustling town square, the collision with Captain Remus was both unexpected and inevitable. The impact sent a jolt through your disguised frame, and you steadied yourself before meeting his gaze. Taking a good look at the man who had wrought havoc upon your life, you couldn't help but despise the handsome features that masked the darkness within. Scars etched on his face told tales of battles, and his bright eyes, oblivious to the pain he had caused, glistened in the sunlight. Remus, his eyes sharp and piercing, regarded you with an air of indifference.

"Watch where you're going, lad," Remus chided, though his eyes lingered on you with curiosity. In your best "manly" voice, you grumbled an apology, attempting to divert attention from the woman beneath the façade of Sterling.

"What's your name?" he asked, nonchalantly.

"Sterling," you replied, your voice gruff, feigning indifference. Remus, seemingly unfazed, observed you for a moment before making an unexpected proposition.

"Say, Sterling, I'm looking for some help on my ship. I'll compensate. Won't be much, but you'll also have a place to stay and three meals a day."

The offer hung in the air, a precarious bridge leading into the heart of the storm. In that moment, the seed of your plan sprouted—a plan to gain trust, manipulate alliances, and exact revenge. "I could use the work," you grunted, accepting the proposition. Little did Remus know, beneath the guise of Sterling, a storm of vengeance brewed—a storm that would either consume you or reshape the destiny of those on the ship.

Accepting Remus's offer, you found yourself aboard his ship, an inconspicuous addition to the crew as Sterling. The wooden planks beneath your feet groaned in protest as the ship sliced through the moonlit waves, leaving a trail of phosphorescent ripples in its wake. The scent of salt and sea permeated the air, a constant reminder of the unpredictable journey that lay ahead.

Guided by Remus, you were shown to a drabby little room nestled at the bottom of the ship. Despite its humble appearance, he assured you of some privacy. "It's not much, I'm afraid, but it'll serve you well," he remarked before leaving you to settle in. As the door closed behind him, the dim light revealed a cramped space adorned with a simple bunk and a small porthole, offering a glimpse of the vast expanse beyond.

Alone in the confines of your quarters, you took a moment to breathe, your thoughts shrouded in the darkness of your hidden purpose. It was time to set the plan in motion, to weave the threads of manipulation and revenge that would ultimately lead to justice for your slaughtered family.

In the ensuing months on the ship, you observed Remus's multifaceted nature. His generosity extended not only to his crew but also to those they encountered on their seafaring exploits. Yet, beneath the veneer of kindness lurked a vengeful edge—a side of him that demanded retribution for debts owed and promises unkept. He was a complex and formidable man, earning the respect and fear of those who sailed under his flag.

However, in the disarray of piracy, a stark contrast emerged. While Remus ensured he received his due payment through various means, you noticed a peculiar absence—an absence of bloodshed in settling scores. Despite the ruthlessness attributed to pirates, you had yet to witness Remus taking a life, especially someone who owed him something. The dissonance between Peter's words and the reality unfolding before you sowed seeds of doubt, and questions began to fester in the recesses of your mind.

As the ship sailed through uncharted waters and treacherous tides, you grappled with the enigma that was Captain Remus Lupin. The dichotomy of his actions left you torn between the loyalty you had sworn to your family and the complexities of the man whose trust you sought to gain. The journey ahead, like the rolling waves beneath the ship, remained unpredictable, each passing day unveiling layers of truth and deception in the heart of piracy.

Despite your hesitance, you found yourself carrying out your plan. The moon hung high in the night sky, casting an ethereal glow over the ship's deck. The gentle creaking of the ship and the distant sound of waves provided a haunting backdrop as James Potter stood alone, lost in contemplation. You approached him, your footsteps muffled by the rhythm of the ocean.

With a sly smile playing on your lips, you interrupted the solitude that enveloped him. "James," you called softly, drawing his attention away from the vast expanse of the sea. His hazel eyes met yours, and you could see the glimmer of uncertainty within.

"Ever notice how Remus seems to lean towards Sirius in critical decisions?" you ventured, your tone a conspiratorial whisper that hung in the night air. "It's almost as if he trusts him more, values his judgment over yours."

James furrowed his brows, a subtle crease forming on his forehead. The words lingered in the air, planting a seed of doubt in his mind. "You think so?" he responded, his voice carrying a touch of uncertainty. It was a vulnerability that you seized upon, recognizing the opportunity to sow discontent.

Leaning closer, you continued, your words carefully chosen to accentuate James's growing feelings of inadequacy. "Remember the last mission? When Sirius suggested that risky maneuver, and Remus went along with it without questioning? It's like he has blind faith in Sirius's decisions, doesn't he?"

James's eyes darted away for a moment, memories of that particular mission playing in his mind. Doubt crept into his expression, a shadow of insecurity casting itself over his features. "I never really thought about it that way," he admitted, his voice laced with a hint of concern. With a gentle pat on his shoulder, you left James standing there, his thoughts swirling like the restless waves beneath the ship.

______________________

As the sun started to rise above the horizon, it casted a warm glow across the ship's deck, you found yourself stealing glances at Captain Remus. The way his attire clung to his every contour, the play of shadows on the weathered fabric—it was impossible not to appreciate the rugged allure he exuded. The ship's gentle sway seemed to accentuate the lines of his physique, and the golden hues of the fading sunlight danced in his tousled hair.

Unconsciously, your gaze lingered on the details—the intricate stitching on his well-worn coat, the glimpse of the compass tattoo peeking through the open neckline of his linen shirt. The sheathed cutlass at his side seemed like a part of him, a silent companion in his many adventures. A sense of admiration welled up within you, an involuntary response to the charisma that surrounded the Captain.

It was then that a sudden realization struck, jolting you out of your unintentional reverie. You weren't supposed to be captivated by Remus's rugged charm; you were Sterling, the alias you had crafted to infiltrate his crew and seek revenge. Reminding yourself of the bigger picture, of the vendetta that fueled your every move, became a struggle against the distracting pull of Remus's magnetic presence.

The longer you spent on the ship, the more challenging it became to maintain focus on your plan. The difficulty of reconciling your hidden identity with the growing fascination made every step of your strategic plan a battle against the tides of distraction. The very essence of the pirate's life, with its allure of freedom and daring exploits, became a potent force that tested the resolve of your carefully laid out intentions.

Yet, beneath the surface, the awareness of your true purpose persisted—a flame of determination that refused to be extinguished. The intricate dance of admiration and deception played out against the backdrop of the open sea, where every stolen glance and lingering thought carried the weight of a secret agenda. In the delicate balance between vulnerability and resolve, you navigated the uncharted waters of contradictory emotions, determined to stay the course of vengeance despite the enticing distractions that lay ahead.

____________________________________

A couple of weeks passed before you were able to get Sirius alone. You had instantly noticed James giving him the cold shoulder almost immediately.

The ship groaned and pitched as it battled against the tempestuous waves. Rain lashed against the wooden deck, and the air crackled with the energy of the storm. Peering up towards the deck, you spotted Sirius Black at the helm, his figure barely discernible against the deafening sea.

Approaching him with a concerned expression, you navigated the slippery deck as the ship swayed beneath your feet. "Sirius," you called out above the roaring winds, drawing his attention. His eyes met yours, reflecting the turbulent night that surrounded you both.

"Need a hand?" you shouted, offering assistance as the ship bucked beneath the force of the waves. Sirius, soaked and determined, nodded appreciatively. The salted spray stung your face as you joined him, hands gripping the wheel together in a shared effort to keep the ship on course.

In the midst of the storm, you seized the opportune moment to subtly introduce doubt. "James was just saying," you confided, your words carried away by the wind, "how he doubts your navigation skills. Thinks Remus made a mistake relying on you." The revelation hung in the air like a charged current, mingling with the thunderous sounds of the storm.

Sirius's grip on the wheel tightened, and his eyes, once focused on the turbulent waters, clouded with uncertainty. Raindrops mingled with the beads of seawater on his furrowed brow. Doubt crept into his expression like a stealthy intruder, casting shadows over the loyalty he held for Remus.

"He said that?" Sirius muttered, jaw clenched against the gusts of wind. The weight of perceived betrayal bore down on him, the discord between friends brewing in the tempest. The ship rocked violently, mirroring the tumult within Sirius's mind.

As you continued to struggle against the storm, the atmosphere between you and Sirius remained charged with unspoken tension. The foundation of trust between Remus and Sirius, once unshakable, now trembled under the strain of doubt. The storm raged on, both outside and within, setting the stage for the discord that would continue to unfold among the crew.

________________________________

Below deck, the atmosphere was suffocating, the air thick with the smell of salt, damp wood, and a sense of confinement. The cramped quarters provided a clandestine setting for the disquiet that had taken root among the crew. As you navigated through the narrow passageways, you couldn't help but catch snippets of hushed conversations, the discontent of the crew simmering beneath the surface.

Seizing the opportunity to exploit the unrest, you strategically approached small groups, subtly weaving tales of Remus's past decisions that had allegedly led to hardships for some. The dim light flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows on the faces of the crew as you spoke of sacrifices made and opportunities missed under Remus's leadership. The discontent grew like a smoldering ember, and soon, murmurs of dissatisfaction began to fill the air.

James, ever vigilant and loyal, overheard the discontented whispers. His brow furrowed, and a frown etched itself onto his face as he absorbed the implications of the crew's grievances. Concern etched across his features, he sought out Sirius, finding him in a secluded corner of the below-deck quarters.

"Sirius," James began, his voice low but laden with intensity. "Have you heard what they're saying about Remus? They think he might not have our best interests at heart." The gravity of the situation hung between them, and James's unwavering loyalty to Remus wavered in the face of the crew's growing dissent.

Sirius, already grappling with doubts of his own, looked at James with a mixture of uncertainty and contemplation. The camaraderie that had bound them through countless adventures now seemed strained under the weight of suspicion. The confined space below deck seemed to amplify the tension as the two friends confronted the unsettling notion that Remus might not be the unwavering leader they had always believed him to be.

Amidst the rising tensions on the ship, you sought out Captain Remus Lupin, the weight of feigned concern apparent in your expression. The wooden planks creaked beneath your footsteps as you approached him, the air thick with the palpable unease that had settled over the vessel like an impending storm.

With a practiced facade of innocence, you addressed Remus, "Captain, I couldn't help but notice that James and Sirius have been arguing more than usual. It's becoming quite noticeable, and I'm afraid it might be affecting the crew's morale." Your words, delivered with a touch of fabricated sympathy, painted a picture of disarray among his trusted allies.

Remus's brow furrowed in genuine concern. The bond between James and Sirius, once unbreakable, now showed visible strains. Troubled by the potential discord among his closest allies, Remus ran a hand through his disheveled hair, a sign of the internal turmoil brewing within him.

"Arguing?" Remus questioned, his voice reflecting a mix of confusion and worry. The idea of a divide among his crew, particularly between James and Sirius, struck a nerve. His gaze shifted between the crew members on the deck, searching for signs of discontent that had eluded him until now.

As you continued to feign concern, subtly stoking the flames of doubt, Remus's thoughts spiraled into introspection. The once clear path of unity and camaraderie now seemed clouded with uncertainty. The shadows of doubt cast upon his leadership lingered, leaving him questioning the very fabric that held his crew together.

_______________________________

The ship, once a bastion of unity, now teetered on the brink of disintegration. Internal conflicts had transformed the crew's dynamic into a powder keg of resentment and mistrust. Captain Remus was growing restless, sensing an insidious force at play, suspected betrayal from within. The air crackled with tension as suspicions reached a boiling point.

Remus's boots thumped against the floor as he hurried to your cabin. The wooden door of your cabin splintered open under the force of Remus's urgency. The dim light within flickered as your body, in the midst of changing attire, became an unintended tableau for the captain's intrusion. Shocked by the unexpected sight, Remus's gaze widened, capturing an unintended glimpse of vulnerability.

You gasped, hastily attempting to cover yourself, but it was too late. Remus, momentarily caught off guard, now stood witness to the revelation of your true identity. The realization echoed through the cabin, your "manly" facade unraveling like a threadbare cloth. A palpable sense of embarrassment and vulnerability hung in the air.

In that moment, Remus observed the subtle details—your hair, once concealed beneath the guise of Sterling, now flowing freely. A silent recognition passed through his mind, though he dismissed it as many men within the crew sported long locks.

A subtle recognition flickered in Remus's observant eyes. His gaze traced the contours of your face, now more revealing without the disguise that had obscured your womanly features. The delicate curve of your jaw, the softness in the arch of your brows, and the expressive depths of your eyes—the intricate details unveiled in the absence of the masculine facade.

Seeing you naked wasn't something he expected, and it took him a second to process this before stepping back into the small hall, slamming the door shut. It opened seconds later, your hair still down, but fully clothed. He couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. However, his attention went from wanting to have his hands all over you to the glinting metal in your hands.

"Why did you kill my family while sparing others who owed you money?" you demanded, your voice laced with the pain of betrayal, as you pushed him up against the wall, knife to his neck. Remus, taken aback by the revelation, questioned the authenticity of your claim.

"Your family? Kill? You have no idea the accusations you're throwing out," he replied, growing irritated. You say nothing, bringing the knife closer to his throat.

"You killed them out of spite just because my father owed you something."

"Who is your father?"

"Albus. Albus Dumbledore."

"I've never met an Albus Dumbledore before in my life," Remus said, incredulously. "Who told you that?"

"My neighbor. Peter--Peter Pettigrew. Said he saw the lot of you murder my family." When you disclosed Peter Pettigrew's name, Remus's face paled with realization.

"Your father didn't owe me a thing. Peter, on the other hand, owed me lots of money," Remus confessed, dispelling the fog of deception that had clouded your vendetta. He explained that he had spared Peter once before, only to catch him squandering the money in a pub. The truth, a beacon in the darkness, hung heavy in the air.

"I never wanted innocent blood on my hands. I've killed before, yes, but never over something as petty as money," he admitted.

The revelation of truth hung in the air, bitter and unforgiving, like a medicine applied to wounds that had festered in the shadows for far too long. The realization that your vendetta had been fueled by misinformation, that the blood staining your hands belonged to innocents, weighed heavily on your conscience.

Faltering under the weight of the truth, you lowered the knife, its metallic echo resonating through the dimly lit cabin. It was a sound that seemed to encapsulate the finality of the moment, a symbolic relinquishing of the weapon that had sought to mete out justice.

Knees giving way beneath you, you collapsed, the wooden planks of the ship bearing witness to the vulnerability that spilled forth. A strangled sob escaped your lips, a raw admission of the mistakes made in the relentless pursuit of revenge. The tears that flowed were not just for your family but for the misguided path you had trodden in the name of justice.

In this moment of despair, large, rough hands enveloped you, offering an unexpected sanctuary. Remus, recognizing the weight of your actions and the pain you carried, pulled you up into a tight hug. It was a surprising turn of events, a gesture of solace from the very man you had sought to bring to justice.

As you rested against Remus's chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat offered a reassurance that transcended words. In the midst of the turmoil, he acknowledged the complexity of your motives. There, in the embrace of the captain whose ship you had sought to dismantle, a strange camaraderie emerged—one born out of shared pain, deception, and the quest for redemption.

Remus's voice, a low murmur in the cavernous cabin, expressed admiration for your cunning ability to sow discord within the crew. It was an unexpected twist, an acknowledgment of the strategic mind that had manipulated the threads of loyalty.

Weeks drifted by like waves rolling across the open sea, each passing day carrying the weight of revelations and transformations. In the aftermath of the confrontation, a peculiar bond had formed between you and Remus. The once hostile tension had softened into shared understanding, born out of the crucible of truth and forgiveness.

Navigating the complexities of the ship's dynamics, you found comfort in Remus's company. Late-night conversations beneath the starlit sky became a ritual, the creaking of the ship and the distant sound of waves forming the backdrop to shared confidences.

The crew, initially shocked by the revelation of your true identity as a woman, gradually came to terms with the unexpected twist. Assumptions shattered like glass as they witnessed the strength and resilience that Sterling, now revealed as a woman named Y/N, brought to the crew. Remus, in a display of unwavering leadership, ensured that the crew embraced the newfound truth.

Confronting the crew with your identity was a daunting task, but the revelation unfolded with surprising acceptance. The once-divided ship, now united in understanding, sailed through the challenges of piracy with a newfound camaraderie. Laughter echoed on the deck, and the bonds of loyalty were reforged amidst shared stories and shared burdens.

Amidst the salty breeze and the sound of the sea, a sense of peace settled over the ship. The crew, once torn by internal strife, now stood as a testament to the resilience of human connection. James, Sirius, and the others, initially taken aback, extended their acceptance and support, sealing the wounds of mistrust with gestures of togetherness.

The lingering presence of Peter Pettigrew, the catalyst for the tumultuous events that had unfolded, remained like a shadow on the horizon. In a twist of poetic justice, the crew, fueled by a shared desire for retribution, concocted a plan to bring Peter to justice. The tables turned as the once-manipulator found himself at the mercy of the very crew he had deceived.

The confrontation with Peter unfolded with a satisfying sense of closure, his machinations exposed and his fate left to the mercy of the sea. The crew, now bound by a newfound unity, watched as the tides of justice ebbed and flowed, carrying away the remnants of a past tainted by betrayal.

As the ship sailed through the moonlit waves, Remus guided you to the quiet corner of the deck where the sea breeze carried the scent of salt and adventure. The night sky stretched above, a canopy of stars reflecting in both your eyes. In the tranquil embrace of the open sea, the unspoken connection between you and Remus unfolded like a delicate dance.

Remus's gaze, soft and searching, met yours as he cupped your cheek with a rough yet gentle hand. The rhythmic sound of the waves provided a backdrop to the moment, the ship swaying beneath you in a dance with the ocean. A shared understanding passed between you, a recognition of the trials overcome and the promise of a new beginning.

In that quiet space, beneath the celestial tapestry, Remus leaned in. His lips, warm and tender, met yours in a kiss that spoke of forgiveness, redemption, and the uncharted journey that lay ahead. The world faded away, leaving only the sensation of his touch and the heartbeat that resonated between you.

Time seemed to stand still as the kiss lingered, a silent promise sealed in the gentle meeting of lips. It was a moment of connection, a bridge between the turbulent past and the uncertain future. The sea, bearing witness to the blossoming love, whispered its approval in the rustle of the sails and the lull of the waves.

As you pulled away, the moonlight reflected in Remus's eyes mirrored the shared emotions that hung in the air. The ship sailed on, carrying with it the resonance of a kiss that marked the beginning of a new chapter—a chapter written on the vast canvas of the open sea, where love and adventure intertwined in the flow of the tide.

#remus lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #young!remus lupin x reader #young!remus lupin x y/n #young!remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #older!remus lupin #older!remus lupin x reader #older!remus lupin x y/n #older!remus lupin x you #james potter #sirius black #peter pettigrew #pirate!remus lupin #pirate!james potter #pirate!sirius black

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albiclalepsza · 30 days

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I had been obsessed with Lord of The Rings before I ever saw it, ever since I can remember really. My sister was a big fan and she talked about it all the time, had multiple posters of the characters (the biggest one was of Gollum for some reason). She and her friend hunted down a whole set of lotr glasses that you could collect from somewhere. She had the coolest notebook I've ever seen that's burned into my memory, with sketches of different characters, locations and monsters in the background of every page.

When I was 5 my parents finally folded and let me watch it. It was even better than I thought it would be. I was terrified of the Uruk Hai and cried at the deaths of all the characters more out of fear than sadness but that first watch is still one of my favorite memories. When I went to school I dragged every friend I made into watching the trilogy with me (my sister got the extended trilogy on DVDs as soon as it came out, I still watch them from these discs). Some of them became as obsessed with it as I was. We played together pretending to be the characters, we tried to record our own movie (though we didn't get past the prologue) and we bought almost every video game from the franchise as soon as we could.

Last year we finally went to the trilogy marathon and saw the movies in the cinema. It was fantastic, and watching them with the same people who played pretend with me 14 years before felt absolutely special.

Throughout all of this Theoden was my favorite character. As a kid I loved his armor and sword and how cool he looked as he led the whole Rohirrim army into battle in Return of The King. Now I still love him for all these things of course. But he is also a tragic character, who lost his mind in the Saruman - induced haze, only to wake up and realize his son died. He is constantly in grief, all the while trying to save his people and everyone else. And he knows that he will not return, but he still goes to aid Gondor, the very kingdom that didn't help his when they needed it most.

Bernard Hill's performance is incredible. There are so many little moments that make this role work so well. My favorite is when he is debating whether to go to Helm's Deep. Gandalf advises him and as he does so, he puts his hand on the king's armrest and leans slightly to him, just as Grima did, and Theoden just glances at the hand and immediately is that much less trusting of his judgement. It's so subtle and I just love it. There is also that bit of absolute despair when he looks at the armies under Minas Tirith that disappears completely when he turns back to his soldiers. His quick moment of grief when he talks with Eowyn at the celebration in the third movie that completely throws the conversation off its rails. The look of tragedy when the fell beast descends upon him. His quick outburst at Aragorn when he suggests calling for Gondor that abruptly stops the moment he realizes that he let emotions out. His few scenes with Merry. Actually, I could probably list every scene of his in the trilogy if I didn't stop myself here.

Anyway, Bernard Hill pased away today. I have to admit that I haven't watched any other of his movies, but that one performance in Lord of The Rings is just so special to me. Thank you, Bernard Hill, for giving me my favorite part of my favorite trilogy. You will be missed.

#lord of the rings #lotr #bernard hill #theoden

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telomeke-bbs · 1 year

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BAD BUDDY EPISODE 5 – THAT MOMENT BEFORE THE SECOND KISS

I know it's been analyzed and commented upon a thousand times before but I'm backsliding and rewatching, so–

By Ep.5 [4/4] we had already known on an intellectual level that Pran had been pining for Pat for years. We got to see some of his POV, and shared in his heartbreak, with all the flashbacks of him watching Pat and Ink's affectionate moments in high school as well as in the present day (especially of Ink buying Pat the less sweet/still sweet iced milk tea in Hokkaido Coffee, at Ep.4 [2/4] 0.21).

But what BBS did in Ep.5 was to carry us along on Pat's journey of realizing he'd fallen for Pran, so that by the end of Ep.5 [4/4] the full weight of these mutual emotions was ever-present, soaking into every wretched look they gave each other on the rooftop. And in watching Pat stumble into the full onslaught of his feelings, we were pulled along into the awareness of how much it had to be counterbalanced by Pran's emotions too, suppressed within him for so long.

The biggest emotional slap for me on this rewatch isn't the first, tentative kiss that Pat lands, even though it's the culmination of his realization that he's fallen – hard – for Pran.

It isn't the second kiss, even though it reverberated around the world when this episode aired. It isn't even the moment Pran wrenches himself away and abandons Pat alone with his feelings, just as Pran himself was wrenched away, alone with his feelings, all those years ago too.

The moment that really slaps is the little pause before the second kiss, even though by now we know it's coming. Pat isn't sure how Pran is going to react – yes, there's that – but it's Pran who's holding the weight of this moment in his hands.

You can see him trying to balance out all the roiling emotions within himself with the sensible logic he's known for; he'd convinced himself it was all meaningless, that Ink had easily and clearly supplanted him, that there was no hope of a romantic future for him and Pat.

But he'd held this secret, burning love within himself for so long, bore the terrible yearning alone, and by then had had all hopes of a moment like this one, alone with Pat on the rooftop, crushed time and time again. And yet here was Pat, offering himself to him – honest, bare and vulnerable.

All he'd ever wanted for so long. But at the same time all wrong, impossible, will only end in tragedy.

"Things don't end well whenever I'm close to you" ringing in his head (Ep.1 [4/4] 3.28, Ep.2 [3I4] 9.01).

It's the age-old dilemma of head-versus-heart.

And for once, just once, Pran cedes a little. The king of self-denial decides that after years of desolate pining he'll throw it all to the wind and allow himself – not quite a moment of happiness – but the illusion of happiness, for he could never take Ink's place now then, could he? But he could experience what a tender, passionate moment with the love of his life would feel like, if only for a moment where he could just pretend that it was real and that there was hope for a future of them together.

So he goes in a second time, reaching out to pull Pat in, no holds barred, giving it his all. Because for Pran in this moment, this IS all there is. He cannot see it going anywhere beyond this rooftop assignation, but he takes it anyway because it's all he'll ever have of his beloved Pat, in the way that he wants.

And when he pulls away sobbing, he weeps in part because he knows that it's over, that it can never be anything more, and that he can never have anything more.

I weep along, as a lot of us do, because we know the bittersweet tragedy of having loved once, known its intimacy, and then being cast back into the despair of believing we'll never, ever have it in our lives again.

Thank God Pat never gave up on Pran. And to all who might be despairing, give yourself a second chance. Sometimes it's not all you've convinced yourself it will be.

Pran's moment of shattering grief here also tells us it's OK to give in and think of yourself from time to time, even if you're used to putting yourself last, denying your own happiness. You deserve it, even if you don't think so. And even if the happiness is only illusory or fleeting, who's to say there's not more of the real thing waiting for you the next time around, if you just give it a try? 💖

#bad buddy #bad buddy episode 5 #patpran #bad buddy analysis #telomeke

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agentrouka-blog · 1 year

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@alicenttully You once (long ago) asked me to comment on this post’s subject matter, which is Robb’s abandonment of Sansa after her wedding to Tyrion.

I’d say that the post is right in that it surmises there isn’t much practically that Robb can do at this point. (Not that he offers up much in terms of true compassion or empathetic regret for what she must be going through...) He’s down vital allies, Stannis has ceased to be a threat to the Lannisters and the North is in dire need of liberating from the ironborn. He lost thousands of loyal men in an unauthorized (by him) attack on Duskendale (and blames the wrong guy). His path is leading back North. He doesn’t have the resources to try and liberate Sansa from captivity anymore, no one to trade, no inside connection. He expects her to be murdered before long, anyway. The news about Bran and Rickon’s supposed murders drove him into Jeyne’s arms in despair. At this point he doesn’t seem to have room to spare for grief over either of his sisters.

Incidentally, his doom is already sealed by then. The Red Wedding is a done deal. He is a dead man walking. Tywin married Tyrion to Sansa because of it. Robb fruitlessly wants to cut off Tyrion’s head and make her a widow, but it’s his head that will be severed.

I would disagree with the post insofar as Robb was being a good king (but a bad brother) in abandoning Sansa back in ACOK, because he himself admits it was a mistake for purely political reasons. He never even factored in her value for a marital alliance. (If her own freedom could not be allowed to count.) He fully underestimated the danger of Theon’s own trauma as a former hostage, and it cost him Winterfell and (as far as everyone believes) his two brothers, buffer heirs between himself and Sansa. His abandonment of his sisters caused his mother to commit treason against him, and his own impulsive marriage did even worse damage. At every corner he understimates the factor of human emotion, of the free will of the people he is leading. His new in-laws might not be 100% loyal? Unthinkable. Karstark finally making good on his constant threats of murdering Lannisters? A shock! He barely shared vital information with his own leading men. Edmure ruined a clever idea because he wasn’t told about it. And then he was blamed for it!

Robb refused to trade Jaime Lannister for his sister in the beginning of the war when the Lannisters were on the backfoot. We are given no reason to believe he was right in that choice. Nothing about it paid off for him. It was wrong.

He is paying for the sum of his mistakes in ASOS. He was wrong a lot, and he can still barely fathom why.

"I have won every battle, yet somehow I'm losing the war."

He is losing because he was focused on battles over people. So Robb’s next plan is a wedding for Edmure to fix his own mistake and more battles. Very clever plans of false messages and sneaking around the enemy. Because he is good at those. Once again underestimating the factor of human emotion, the free (murderous) will of the people he is (no longer) leading.

Robb is a tragedy, but he is also absolutely a cautionary tale.

#anti robb stark #not really he is a baby he just wasn't that great either #sansa stark

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phoenix-is-the-hottest-thing · 7 months

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"I need to discard these useless emotions of mine before being consumed by sadness and despair."

WHAT THE FUCK MIHOYO

SA IS SUCH A TRAGIC CHARACTER BUT

BUT

She’s also really fucking awful… in her desperate dash to remain functional, she became twisted beyond recognition or happiness…

But you can’t argue against it, she truly was alone, can you fault her for coping this way? The sheer grief of what she has done and lost is difficult to comprehend. Venus didn’t even have bubbles available, everyone was utterly gone. Even the sims like Marah came after a really long time of her having to fix Venus tech on her own. Sa straight up jokes she “nearly had a mental breakdown” at Marah, but uh… take out the nearly, girl.

We don’t know how fast the decay of her personality happened, but my guess is that she had already changed to such an extent that Marah had no compassion for Sa by the time she started to exist as a sim, not to mention that Sa was to blame for their misfortune and the destruction of Purusha.

Sa tried to live with her colleagues, to keep a pointless human routine, and it only drove her more crazy. So Sa became a monster, forced herself to act like a robot and a god, distanced herself from pain and people… but it seems she could never quite get there, or at least not within the timespan than Vita awoke in.

Sa is still a human deep down, no matter how much she denies herself.

Multiple times she chose to spare Marah (who had secretly kept her personality when she got turned into a Cleaner, so did Sa try to get rid of her or was it a pragmatic act’s side effect? Either way she didn’t rectify it) and then she chose to keep Vita upon learning she had become self-aware, and keep a direct telepathic connection with her, they had conversations where Vita expressed doubt on Sa’s plans…

For me the tragedy really is “What else could Sa have done? What else could have happened?”

Even if Sa had dropped all her plans, she was already unstable while playing house with Marah, always a step away from violently lashing out and succumbing to despair and rage. She couldn’t have been happy among these illusions she had absolute control over, she tried. She held onto normalcy, programmed a robot to force her into a normal human routine, pretended everything was fine and she still lived in a society, and it didn’t work. Sa only became more and more bitter and twisted.

When she left, and tried to find a new home out there, away from the Cocoon (she couldn’t have settled on Earth, not with the Honkai right there— and we don’t know what she might have done or not on Mars, but it had long been destroyed by the Honkai too) she couldn’t seem to find anything for ages. Phosphorus was created thanks to the Ark, for the previous 250 million years of Sa’s existence, there was no human city of Phosphorus. Phosphorus is younger than CE— maybe three thousand years at most. They are the descendants of the PE human samples. They are Earthlings. There are still no Venusians left besides Sa, and her colony hasn’t existed for even a single percent of her life. Too little, too late.

Sure, maybe a community wouldn’t have been necessary for her to heal. Perhaps she could have just treated the new little soul, Vita, like family, rather than a slave and a tool, but… we all know she was way too far gone to have a normal relationship even then. She had already given up and discarded Marah’s companionship. She had already settled into the idea of ridding herself of her emotions, using machine rationality to shield herself from pain.

So, logically, by then, she thought any disturbance should be swiftly dealt with. So, she should have killed Marah and remade Vita, get rid of her mind, so neither could betray her. The logical thing to do, with no emotions behind them.

Sa, of course, still had feelings about it anyway.

Her imposed rationality and irrational emotions clashed, and all she could bear to do was minimize Vita’s and Marah’s importance. They don’t matter, so she doesn’t have to kill them for being a risk. See, perfectly rational, and no painful feeling. Right?

Just more lies to herself— just like when she played house, pretending her world was okay.

#honkai impact #honkai spoilers #hi3 lore #vita #i am eating up the sa lore #fascinating stuff #asks

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sailforvalinor · 9 months

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Seeing your post got me thinking. How did you feel about Ten's ending? Especially the fact that he "didn't want to go". That hit me rather hard when I first watched Ten's ending. It was rather unlike Five's for instance where he accepted his fate. I forget in what order I watched it, I think I watched Five's story after, but I digress. I don't know, it felt so human to me, and raw and David Tennant delivered it flawlessly. So I wondered your thoughts on it.

I loved it. I loved it I loved it I loved it. I was a bit too emotional at the time to post anything coherent about it, but…yeah. If it tells you anything, my dad cried—and he’s seen it at least three times before 😂.

Here’s the thing about the “I don’t want to go” line: Series 1 and 2 is a positive character arc for the Doctor. At the beginning of Series 1, he is at his lowest, the Time War having just occurred. He is angry, closed-off, refuses to be “domestic”—i.e., he’s refusing to get attached again. But Rose drags him back into all of that anyway—and this arc is a lot of things, it’s about him rediscovering joy, confronting grief and guilt, but most importantly, he is allowing himself to care again.

But to care is to leave yourself vulnerable to loss, and that’s what happens when he loses Rose—and it’s inarguably devastating for him. His characterization takes a definite shift here, he’s lost a bit of his joy (and even at times when he does express happiness or joy it can feel like a mask, or at least somewhat forced), and he becomes so unwilling to let go—think of the “I can do this, I can do anything” scene where Astrid dies in “Voyage of the Damned.” To me, Series 3 and 4 and the specials are a negative character arc for Ten, though a subtle one, one you don’t realize is occurring until it culminates with the Time Lord Victorious—a slow, agonizing trainwreck. He’s lost so many people by this point—not just his Rose, but Martha, Donna, the Tylers, Mickey, Astrid—and he’s been isolating himself to avoid getting attached again, to avoid hurting anyone else, but when he comes to care for the crew of Bowie Base One and loses them, he snaps. And we all know what happens—he falls for the lure of power, the illusion of control. And he himself falls.

“The End of Time” is the consequence of that fall, and I would argue that the Doctor finds himself much in the same position as he was in at the beginning of Series 1–desperately lonely, but unwilling to get close, so so scared of loss. Though in a very different way, I think Wilf helps Ten relearn the same lesson Rose taught him all those years ago, that he has to care, to try to force himself to be apathetic is so much worse, but Wilf (and the Ood) help give him the second half: he also has to learn to let go. It’s a constant cycle: “you have to love -> you have to lose -> you have to love -> you have to lose,” and Ten finally, finally understands—but as he’s dying. He’s finally grasped the truth, he’s seen the light, but he’s seen it too late. And that’s the tragedy of it. As I watched the specials, I got the sense that he wanted his time to end—it’s never explicit, but you can sense it, he seems tired, makes references to having lived too long. He had all that time he wasted self-isolating and alternately wallowing in despair or trying to force apathy, but it is on his last day, at the sound of four knocks, that he finally realizes that he wants to live. And he can’t.

I think that Matt Smith was an absolutely brilliant casting choice as Eleven, because it would be impossible to not resent any other replacement after that. Smith’s Doctor is just so sweet and goofy and joyful that it’s hard to dislike him for long. Honestly, my personal headcanon is that Eleven is like that because of Eleven, trying to make up for Ten’s lost joy.

Anyway, sorry about the ramble, I had more thoughts about this than I realized.

#I do wonder how Ten and Eleven will interact—and yes I do know it’s coming because it’s impossible to exist on the internet without knowing #about the existence of the Day of the Doctor #personally I would think Ten would resent Eleven to a certain degree #anyway I digress #thank you for giving me a chance to ramble and read way too far into this 😂😂#Doctor who #tenth doctor #tenrose #Val cries over a madman with a blue box

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pinkmoondoll9shihtzu · 1 month

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a while ago you answered and ask of mine with something that really resonated with me, abt your real self feeling like it was trapped in a glass cage. anyway im taking your ask box name literally. I used to live in a world full of magic and wonder, I think we all do when were young, and then alot of awful stuff happened, it took alot, a new traumatic tragedy every month. and now the magic is gone and it feels like it was never there and wont ever be there again. (1/2)

thankyou for returning to my askbox im glad what i said helped befofre, sorry it took a while to respond i been ~in a haze--- my glass case got fogged up so to speak🩶gosh i been thinking lately i need to do mushrooms for the first time ina few years. the past month was such a trauma overload its thrown a wrench in all my plans & the world feels completely different to me now, i can barely even be online anymore it all feels so hostile to my sense of whimsy.

basically the only thing thats been getting me thru this past 5 weeks is just, going outside. not necessarily walking just sitting, breathing in the fresh air, and looking closely at the trees. when i sit outside without any distraction its impossible for me to deny that the magic is alive, objectively it is always there it extends far beyond me or any personal problem i have, it is going to outlive me. it comforts me so much to inhale the outdoors its the coping mechanism i've returned to again & again since childhood. i love feeliing like im so small im just nothing. yea i feel like shrooms cld b really nice rn..

grief is hell but its necessary because it taught me how to enjoy whats good.... the cycle will always keep spinning & the warm feelings will always return. from being an old person who been thru it so many times i trust that now. have u ever met a greedy rich person before? they have everything handed to them so they've never learned what it means to appreciate life. they're never satisfied because they don't know true despair or loss. this is not all rich ppl some still have perspective but its a thing w some, we all kno its a thing. for me it really has served my soul to go through so much pain & lose all control. Now i see every peaceful silent "boring" moment as true bliss. i dont rly need anything anymore , imo that is how death transforms & elevates

ofc it dont happen over night and u really do have to let yourself cry it out. let yourself wallow , feel pity for yourself like you would feel pity for a child who came crying into your arms. comfort yourself, get it all out dont try to hide from it. slowly the tides will turn. things will begin to stand out to you, little beauties you never noticed before. the simple things..they mean so much more once u have experienced true terror. i pray very much for your heart to heal anon ❤️‍🩹 the whimsy will return to u i can tell by the way u want it for yourself & others. U can be a guide to them thru your actions. ilu im here for u just dont give up 🌷 pmd9

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thebleedingeffect · 2 years

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SPEAKING OF LOZ AU THOUGHTS- anyway im elaborating on how the final showdown between Nocturne, Zelda, and Ganondorf goes down cause it's genuinely tragic to me. Ganondorf being haunted by the knowledge of his fate and the knowledge that the ones before him and after will lead the world into ruin. That the ones he's nurtured and loved all of their lives have always been the ones destined to end him, the knowledge that he knew and festered inside him for years upon years. The truth that he refused to tell anyone, nonetheless Nocturne or Zelda, the agony of them wanting to help him so badly but he never trusted or wanted to burden them with the truth. That they're parts of some bizarre, cursed mix of a divine comedy and tragedy, that he has no part in their stories besides being the villain.

The force the two of them stand up against in the end, good verses evil, a tale as old as time and Ganondorf feels so very old staring down at the two he loves most, the ones he's supposed to hate. Ganondorf can almost feel his ancestors hatred for them bubbling underneath his skin in the late night as he stares down at Nocturne's peaceful form, sleeping quietly underneath the desert moon. Zelda is the more proactive one between the three of them and the first crack widens and splinters during the first genuine fight between her and Ganondorf. She's seen that he's torturing himself but she doesn't know why and he refuses to tell or even let them help or comfort him in the slightest. It's maddening knowing that the truth is just beyond her fingertips but yet even as she's dissolves into begging and declarations that she loves him, please, what's weighing your shoulders down so heavily, my brother?

The legends say that he's the holder of power, the dark king, the evil king, the demon king, that his control over power is unmatched no matter the time or place. But yet, staring down at Zelda, and ignoring how Nocturne flinches from the both of them for hours afterwards- he feels no stronger than the sand against the desert wind. All of this love, this mistrust, the misplaced care for one another with their destinies laid out before them, all of it and more flashes behind Ganondorf's eyes as he plunges pure malice into Nocturne and let's the glow of the triforce spill over Zelda's screams of despair.

Why wouldn't she scream for mercy of her younger brother, the one she's let clutch the tails of her sash since he could barely walk? That she's watched over as a baby and throughout all the winds of hyrule, the boy she's watched cling onto Ganondorf's back and grow into a brilliant prince, a warrior, the best little brother she could ever ask the goddesses for. Ganondorf knows that the both of them never quite stopped seeing Nocturne as the child following the both of them no matter the distance or situation, that they see him and see the sunshine that reflects off his golden hair. Sunshine isn't reflecting off his hair now, instead blood is matted into sickening clumps where his head crashed into the hard floor.

He never was the biggest fan of wearing red, blue was always his color

The worse thing is that Ganondorf knows Nocturne isn't dead, can still feel him shakily breathing as the power of the triforce flickers erratically between them. The glow on his own hand is glowing brighter and brighter but Ganondorf feels no satisfaction, no taste of victory, all he feels as Nocturne's blood spills onto the polished floor is that he promised Nocturne that he would've never be hurt again on that day so long ago. Zelda's screaming abruptly stops and when he finally turns to see her- he sees nothing but rage, the kind of rage that makes the triforce of power pause. The fight afterwards is brutal but tragically short, even as Ganondorf watches the anger, grief filled tears stream down her face as she ignores her own critical injuries to stare down at him and ask why? Was it all to satisfy some goddesses? Did you not trust us enough to simply try? Ganondorf doesn't have an answer for her as he sees death flicker over his vision, granting neither of them any closure as their blood mixes together, Nocturne's untouched as both refused to disturb him even as the world tore itself apart.

Zelda's final moments are empty as she stares down at the sheer unending darkness spilling from Nocturne's body. Knows that whatever emerges from him will not be her brother, her Nocturne, and so with her last remaining thread of strength- plunges the master sword into his stomach and seals him underneath the stone and rubble of the temple of time. She dies believing that she's the last to pass on, that they'll be waiting for her.

Nocturne's moments are of watching the two he loves more than anything tear each other apart, no energy or strength to even move his eyes from the images beginning to burn themselves into his eyes. Watches the way Zelda refuses to meet his eyes and feels the pain of the darkness splitting him apart and of the oddly warm metal jutting into his stomach. He doesn't die, just feels golden chains dragging him into an endless slumber that he hopes he doesn't wake up from.

Untold years later, the temple of time eroded to time and unspoken memories- Nocturne wakes to a face oddly similar to the one he remembers, one slightly aged but undeniably a version of his own.

#BLAST YOUR SISTER WAS RIGHT WHILE READING THIS #oh my gooddddd im supposed to be in bed but i was fucking POSSESSED #THEY'RE SO TRAGIC AND LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH IM GONNA SJSJSISJABS8DWUWH #Nocturne is now 'dark link' btw and its time who finds them. its time for Bonding #oc stuff

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demigoddessqueens · 2 years

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Hi! I LOVE your writing and I wanted to request a vax'ildan x reader in which reader learns something sad (maybe someone died?) and Vax tried to comfort them? You don't have to write this of course. Anyway, have a good day!

Oh the angst! The tears! The hurt and comfort, anon! You speak my language. 😢 💔❤️‍🩹. This is a bit of a drabble, but if you catch the tv and film references I sprinkled around, kudos on you 👍

It started out as a quiet afternoon, unbeknownst of the tragedy that had fallen. You were enjoying a lively breakfast with the ones you had called family, in addition to the one you still missed back home. Yet that came crashing down on this cruel sunny day.

Captain Jarrett had called you outside, stating that he had urgent business to discuss with you. Matters that concerned your home. Given the tone in his voice, it made your heart drop down to your stomach. As soon as you both stepped outside, he knelt down solemnly with a somber expression on his face.

“Lord/Lady Y/n, it is with a heavy heart that I bring you the tragic news from your homeland. Your parents and twin brother have tragically passed from a plague that ran amok the land. Your presence is requested back home...to take care of affairs with the rest of your family.”

No, no. This couldn’t have been happening. It’s impossible. You just wrote to them barely two weeks ago.

The words in your head were expelled with shaky breaths and sobs that ripped from your body. Chest heaving, eyes glistened with tears, you wanted to throw up. To scream, cry, shout. Anything. What started as a slow process became a torrid affair of despair. Jarrett saw your demeanor change as he stood up. Pulling you into a comforting hug, he expressed his condolences.

“I am deeply sorry for your loss. If there are any preparations or requests you may need, please do not hesitate at all.” You nodded weakly as Jarrett placed a small handkerchief in your hand before stepping away. You still stood there frozen with grief before you felt a soft touch on your shoulder. Turning around hastily, you saw the concerned look of your best friend, Vax’ildan.

You tried to dab away at your tears in vain, but your demeanor only further worried the rogue. “Love? Are you alright? I heard you scream! Was it Jarret? Are you hurt or—?!.”

You could only choke out your response. “It’s my family…my parents…my twin…and now my other siblings are alone…and.” The floodgates were ripped open again as you fell to your knees sobbing. You instantly felt his arms circle around you into a tight embrace to his chest, voice cracking in the shared despair.

“Oh sweet, I’m so sorry. Love, I’m so so sorry.” It was an endless cadence of sympathies as Vax gently rocked back and forth with his hand stroking through your hair. Tears from your muffled sobs stained his clothes and cape that wrapped around you, but he didn’t care. It had felt as if hours had passed before your strangled voice broke the silence in a whimper.

“I can run, travel, or conquer this whole damn continent but they can’t. They’re gone…gone from me..gone where I can’t go. And all I want to know is why? WHY them while I get to live?”

Vax only stroked the back of your head before responding. “I know, I know, peach. It never is easy, and sometimes you do feel lost without them there.” Memories from when he and Vex faced the unthinkable quickly flashed through his mind. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he careful pressed on.

“But what I do know is this…it’ll never be the same entirely but you live on through them. You are them, their legacy and even gone, they live in you.” He placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. “I…We…will help you through this, if you ever need the time or space.” You nodded weakly into his chest, grateful that he remained here with you.

You spoke one last time as the emotion coated your throat. “You know, the crazy thing out of all this though…is that..we had this tradition every start of the season to sing folk songs…and I would give up anything to just hear them one last time right now.” At that, Vax let his tears fall out of sorrow and pity for you.

He felt your shoulders shake as soft sobs left your body again, gripping only tighter. If there was a way, he would take all this pain away from you. Anything that would absorb all this pain that tore your heart. But for now, this was all he could do for you.

#critical role #critical role x you #critical role x reader #critical role x y/n #tlovm x y/n #tlovm x you #tlovm x reader #the legend of vox Machina #headcanons-ish #vax’ildan vessar #vax’ildan x y/n #vax’ildan x you #vax’ildan x reader #Vax’ildan

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rynnaaurelius · 2 years

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Goddammit im so hapoy to have found you, a Luke apologist. I jaut got sucked back into the whole fandom bc of the upcoming series and... i read the original books when i was really young, right, 11,12,13. And yea, Luke was the bad guy!!

But now im actually Luke age. And i know how young everyone actually is. If you put me in charge of a bunch of 12-15 year olds and made me watch them die one after the other; i'd probably side with the side that's AGAINST those making this happen too???

Idk his stance is just so so so understandable. I'm studying to become a teacher rn and being responsible for big groups of young kids - it feels a certain way. It's like... motherly instincts, but not really, but kinda, but definetly extreme protectiveness.

Now did he make some bad choices along the way blablabla, sure yea. But holy hell his position is understandable.

ESPECIALLY! Knowing about New Rome and that alternatives are a possibility, actually, the greeks just aren't getting them??? Nah i'd definetly try and murder all the gods. Viciously.

I don't really know where i'm going with this except that i was scrolling through the Luke tag and one of your posts was like a breath of fresh air in between all the, mostly pretty young, fans that hate on him and everything he every did. So thanks, i guess?

Goddamn, I somehow never got an email for this, so I had no idea this was collecting dust in my inbox. Sorry about that.

Also, you left me rambling, so. . .sorry about that.

And yes. I am more or less the same age Luke was during the series, and I can't imagine the number it would do on you to be responsible for prepping a bunch of preteens and teenagers to face their violent deaths, especially after what he went through with his mother and Thalia.

I left it in the tags of the post that went viral against my will, but Luke's living out a different genre from Percy and company, and I—I would lose my shit, too, if in his position. That's torturous, dystopian shit.

They're kids, damn it.

(And I have. . .many headcanons about Luke Castellan and Camp Jupiter and Greek demigod life expectancies. Most of them not good, all of them trying to square the worldbuilding)

And I find it so difficult to believe that it's a bad person—and not simply a very angry and hurt person—who sets out to do really questionable things to try and keep another kids from suffering and dying, to prevent anyone else from becoming himself.

There's a certain despair through it and Luke's choices; I really, really have my doubts over whether Luke genuinely believed that he would survive the war, either way.

Raging against the dying of the light and all that. He knows he will likely fail, he knows he's propping up a monster, and he's doing it anyway in this desperate attempt to create something different.

This makes Percy so important because he still thinks that as family and as people, the gods can change—just look at his conversation with Hermes at the end of TLO.

There's a faith he very understandably keeps (Poseidon is, by godly standards, a good dad who tries and that's important), a faith that Luke, in turn, has understandably lost and we see Hermes's grief and regret over that loss.

Luke's last change in heart, his choice to believe in Percy, in how to break this cycle of violence and abuse that's been eating demigods alive, is beautiful and kills me every time.

(Requisite note that this final choice takes on a different timbre considering the events of HoO)

He's lost everything—his mother, Thalia, Annabeth, any semblance of a home he ever had. Which is how I think he justifies Kronos, ultimately, I think. He's lost any hope he has, for himself or otherwise, and is intent on making the gods pay for what they've done.

Like every other tragic hero, he penned his own tragedy, knowing what was going to happen the whole time, which kills me.

He walks into his own end and, at the end, finds that last thing at the bottom of Pandora's jar—Hope.

#i can't believe i'm a luke castellan apologist for having the bold take of 'i think luke making bad choices doesn't make him a bad person'#especially on We Love Our Moral Complexity Dot Hellsite #but here we are #anyway i am once again having luke castellan feelings #long post #ish #we're ignoring the effect heroes of olympus has on any of this #because per the logic of hoo. luke is Even More Right #which. ah. would be fine if anything is DONE with that or written more coherently #heroes of olympus #luke castellan #i got an ask!#percy jackson

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blessedarethebinarybreakers · 3 years

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I have a theodicy-adjacent question if that's alright. How can I offer prayers of thanksgiving without implying that God "likes me better" than They like other people? For example, I often want to thank God for keeping my loved ones safe through this pandemic, but it feels weird when so many have lost dear ones. I've learned a lot about how to wrestle with God through your ministry, but how to bring your positive feelings to God without toeing the line of a prosperity gospel-esque mindset?

Anon, I feel you! Some point a few years ago I had a similar unsettling realization. I knew that gratitude is important not only for our relationship with God, but for our psychological wellbeing — yet I felt so guilty for thanking God for things i knew others didn’t have. Did attributing the good things in my life to God imply that God wasn’t with those who lacked those good things?

I brought that guilt and discomfort to God (and still do, whenever it arises anew). asked Them to help me sit with it, accept it, and then transform it into something more fruitful.

guilt transformed to motivation. discomfort transformed to commitment. what i was left with was an understanding that i did not need to stop my prayers of thanksgiving, but to expand them.

i take time to really feel and express my gratitude for the abundance i experience. and then i ask God to help my gratitude move me to a desire for others to experience that abundance too. I ask for guidance in how i can help make that abundance happen in the the lives of those around me and far from me.

___

i also make time for lament. many of us are taught how to ask God for things and how to thank God for things, but grief and lament are not taught. however, thanksgiving and lament are not opposites, but work together. they enrich one another. we need to take time for both.

a book that helped me embrace lament was Barbara Brown Taylor’s Learning to Walk in the Dark. You can read quotes and whole passages from it in my tag over here.

one of my favorite songs/psalms to sing/pray in lament is this one. The psalmist empowers us to question God, to ask why and how and when? and then the psalmist leads us to praise God anyway — to praise in spite of and with our doubts and our questions.

when we look at all the pain in the world — in our own lives, the lives of loved ones, the lives of those we don’t even know, and in the struggling pulse of all Creation — we feel all sorts of things. Distress, despair, anger, grief. But some of us are afraid to bring those feelings to God. We’d rather avoid the feelings in general, repress them, not sit inside them for a while. (And certainly, we should not wallow in the bad all the time.) Bt when we dare to assign intentional time to sit in those feelings, God sits in them with us.

And there is a strange thanksgiving in there, too — that we aren’t alone in the lament. We come to see that it is true that God does not will suffering upon any one of us — that the fact that sometimes i experience blessing while you struggle, or you find success while i go without, is not because God is choosing which happy few to bless that day. God really does will abundant life for all, and grieves when sin (individual, systemic, the rot that eats at this world) blocks that abundance for anyone.

___

in continuing to make time to feel and express gratitude, and then to make time to lament and to both desire and participate in abundance for others, thanksgiving does not elevate me above others as “better” or “more blessed” than they are. instead, gratitude reminds me of how interconnected we are with one another. In the Body we all share, “If one member suffers, all the members suffer with it; if one member is honored, all the members rejoice with it” (1 Cor 12:26).

___

When abundance wins out in spite of sin, we rejoice! When it is we who enjoy that abundance, our gratitude should not lead to smugness or self-congratulations, but to humility. it should shape us, move us to bring similar abundance to others.

A book that has really helped me understand that concept is Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass (which you can read online for free).

Christian texts have told me that the appropriate response to all God’s gifts is gratitude, but it’s Kimmerer’s book that helped me digest and embody just what that means. We acknowledge abundance, and we use that gratitude to connect us to the giver, and to others to whom that giver would also share Their gift.

Here’s one passage from her chapter “The Gift of Strawberries,” starting on page 33 of the webpage linked above:

Even now, after more than fifty Strawberry Moons, finding a patch of wild strawberries still touches me with a sensation of surprise, a feeling of unworthiness and gratitude for the generosity and kindness that comes with an unexpected gift all wrapped in red and green. “Really? For me? Oh, you shouldn’t have.” After fifty years they still raise the question of how to respond to their generosity. Sometimes it feels like a silly question with a very simple answer: eat them.

But I know that someone else has wondered these same things. In our Creation stories the origin of strawberries is important. Skywoman’s beautiful daughter, whom she carried in her womb from Skyworld, grew on the good green earth, loving and loved by all the other beings. But tragedy befell her when she died giving birth to her twins, Flint and Sapling. Heartbroken, Skywoman buried her beloved daughter in the earth. Her final gifts, our most revered plants, grew from her body. The strawberry arose from her heart.

In Potawatomi, the strawberry is ode min, the heart berry. We recognize them as the leaders of the berries, the first to bear fruit.

Strawberries first shaped my view of a world full of gifts simply scattered at your feet. A gift comes to you through no action of your own, free, having moved toward you without your beckoning. It is not a reward; you cannot earn it, or call it to you, or even deserve it. And yet it appears. Your only role is to be open-eyed and present. Gifts exist in a realm of humility and mystery—as with random acts of kindness, we do not know their source.

...Gifts from the earth or from each other establish a particular relationship, an obligation of sorts to give, to receive, and to reciprocate. The field gave to us, we gave to my dad, and we tried to give back to the strawberries. When the berry season was done, the plants would send out slender red runners to make new plants.

Because I was fascinated by the way they would travel over the ground looking for good places to take root, I would weed out little patches of bare ground where the runners touched down. Sure enough, tiny little roots would emerge from the runner and by the end of the season there were even more plants, ready to bloom under the next Strawberry Moon. No person taught us this—the strawberries showed us. Because they had given us a gift, an ongoing relationship opened between us.

...It’s funny how the nature of an object—let’s say a strawberry or a pair of socks—is so changed by the way it has come into your hands, as a gift or as a commodity. The pair of wool socks that I buy at the store, red and gray striped, are warm and cozy. I might feel grateful for the sheep that made the wool and the worker who ran the knitting machine. I hope so. But I have no inherentobligation to those socks as a commodity, as private property. There is no bond beyond the politely exchanged “thank yous” with the clerk. I have paid for them and our reciprocity ended the minute I handed her the money. The exchange ends once parity has been established, an equal exchange. They become my property. I don’t write a thank-you note to JCPenney.

But what if those very same socks, red and gray striped, were knitted by my grandmother and given to me as a gift? That changes everything. A gift creates ongoing relationship. I will write a thank-you note. I will take good care of them and if I am a very gracious grandchild I’ll wear them when she visits even if I don’t like them. When it’s her birthday, I will surely make her a gift in return. As the scholar and writer Lewis Hyde notes, “It is the cardinal difference between gift and commodity exchange that a gift establishes a feeling-bond between two people.”

That is the fundamental nature of gifts: they move, and their value increases with their passage. The fields made a gift of berries to us and we made a gift of them to our father. The more something is shared, the greater its value becomes. This is hard to grasp for societies steeped in notions of private property, where others are, by definition, excluded from sharing. Practices such as posting land against trespass, for example, are expected and accepted in a property economy but are unacceptable in an economy where land is seen as a gift to all.

Lewis Hyde wonderfully illustrates this dissonance in his exploration of the “Indian giver.” This expression, used negatively today as a pejorative for someone who gives something and then wants to have it back, actually derives from a fascinating cross- cultural misinterpretation between an indigenous culture operating in a gift economy and a colonial culture predicated on the concept of private property. When gifts were given to the settlers by the Native inhabitants, the recipients understood that they were valuable and were intended to be retained. Giving them away would have been an affront. But the indigenous people understood the value of the gift to be based in reciprocity and would be affronted if the gifts did not circulate back to them.

Many of our ancient teachings counsel that whatever we have been given is supposed to be given away again. From the viewpoint of a private property economy, the “gift” is deemed to be “free” because we obtain it free of charge, at no cost. But in the gift economy, gifts are not free. The essence of the gift is that it creates a set of relationships. The currency of a gift economy is, at its root, reciprocity. In Western thinking, private land is understood to be a “bundle of rights,” whereas in a gift economy property has a “bundle of responsibilities” attached.

...

In material fact, Strawberries belong only to themselves. The exchange relationships we choose determine whether we share them as a common gift or sell them as a private commodity. A great deal rests on that choice.

For the greater part of human history, and in places in the world today, common resources were the rule. But some invented a different story, a social construct in which everything is a commodity to be bought and sold. The market economy story has spread like wildfire, with uneven results for human well-being and devastation for the natural world. But it is just a story we have told ourselves and we are free to tell another, to reclaim the old one.

One of these stories sustains the living systems on which we depend. One of these stories opens the way to living in gratitude and amazement at the richness and generosity of the world. One of these stories asks us to bestow our own gifts in kind, to celebrate our kinship with the world. We can choose. If all the world is a commodity, how poor we grow. When all the world is a gift in motion, how wealthy we become.

#gratitude #prayer tag #prayers of thanksgiving #prayers of lament #thanksgiving #lament #pandemic mention #braiding sweetgrass

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sailforvalinor · 9 months

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Val! I've been playing KHD and just finished up the manga connected to it, and goodness I have thoughts. Conflicting thoughts, mostly about Roxas. So, it got me wondering what your thoughts are on Roxas, nobodies in general, and KH3. The whole storyline feels messy to me, but that probably makes it all the more compelling to me. Why do I do this to myself? Anyway, as you know I love hearing your thoughts on stuff, so I thought I'd ask. I know you're either have already started school or about to, so no pressure with answering. Take your time. I hope you're adjusting okay to your new surroundings and that you're having a lot of fun too. :)

Waugh that's so exciting! I've read the Chain of Memories novelization, but otherwise I've not actually had the chance to read any of the mangas--I'll have to keep an eye out.

As for thoughts on Nobodies, yeah, I agree the storyline does feel messy at times, yet still so so compelling! I think the guiltiest party for me in that respect is how it's revealed in KH3 that Nobodies are capable of regrowing hearts. Because that seems to contradict everything we know about Nobodies from previous games, but if you actually go back and look at those games, there are actually a lot of hints about this--Axel caring about Roxas and Xion at all, "Roxas, are you sure you don't have a heart?", Saix being capable of feeling betrayed by Axel, Vexen displaying panic and annoyance, Namine's entire character arc, Xigbar/Luxu even being capable of playing his long game at all. Some members are more emotionless than others (Xaldin and Marluxia, I'm looking at you), but why would you even want a heart if you didn't feel any emotions? Desires are driven by emotions--one can't really exist without the other.

The terrifying thing about this is that the Organization members seem to rationalize this away (Axel especially) by saying that they are remembering what it used to be like to feel emotions and trying to project that onto their present moment, an idea so specific and bizarre that I can only think it was perpetuated by Xemnas to keep them from figuring out the truth. But of course it's not true--Namine has no memories, how could she feel loneliness?

As for ideas about Roxas, by the end of 358/2 Days he is so attached to Xion, so so angry, so human, that I almost wonder if he hadn't completely grown his own heart by then. He still had to go back to Sora so he could be recompleted, but that explains why he haunts both Sora and the narrative so much, especially in DDD.

I think the same goes for Xion, but perhaps even more so, when you consider that she was never actually a Nobody--just a replica using Sora's memories of Kairi as a blueprint. I suppose that since we know she was created without a heart, she is essentially a Nobody, but I have to imagine that having Sora's memories pouring into her head all the time gave her a bit of a boost. (Wait, does this mean Replica Riku didn't have a heart either? Somehow I've never thought about that.)

I think Axel was also pretty dang close, he was just in severe denial about it, especially now that we know he was burying his grief and despair over being unable to find Subject X after sacrificing his humanity to find her. Roxas and Xion left him just like she did, and burying those emotions and having that ready and waiting excuse that you're not actually feeling them is a lot less painful than having to confront them.

358/2 Days is such a fascinating tragedy, and watching it bleed its way into DDD and KH3 because it's begging to be resolved is just absolutely beautiful. I'll admit the resolution in KH3 seemed a little quick (perhaps because the BBS storyline was also resolving in a similar fashion), but it was great all the same (especially when Sora confronts Xion, my gosh, the fact that he knows her when no one else does). And Hearts as One playing in the next battle, mixing both Roxas and Xion's theme into a joyful and glorious battle theme, makes me absolutely insane.

I know Nomura wants to move on to other things in the next game, but I really hope he doesn't drop these characters. But on the other hand, maybe he should leave them alone? They need to be happy for once.

(Also I think about the scene where Axel looks at Kairi and sees Xion for a split second daily. It *might* be my favorite scene in the entire game.)

#i have a love/hate relationship with nomura's retcons because you go back and realize it wasn't actually a retcon at all and then you have #to rethink everything about what you thought about the world #anyway thank you for the ask!#oh and thank you I'm adjusting pretty well actually!!

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tales-of-the-dense · 3 years

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me: so yeah, anyway, I’ve often joked about how “x-men is a soap opera,” but it’s kind of true. especially in the dark phoenix saga, you can see how claremont and byrne really dive into full melodrama. there’s this push to evoke a concrete, physical reaction in the audience by displaying this turbulent tragedy through these extremes of emotion, right? except in doing that they hit this snag; you look at the way the majority of men in this story perform masculinity, and there’s a lot of repression. how can you display that needed emotion when so many of your characters are repressed? and so the only way for them to channel that emotional display is through their female characters, and because ororo’s writing is so shoddy during this time (and also, somewhat racist), jean has to become the main vehicle through which the story portrays its most extreme emotional moments. without jean, you don’t get that emotional-somatic connection to your audience. and god, it’s all very Shakespearean, isn’t it? having to use a female character to portray the true depth of anguish and despair and anger in your story, because they have access to something the men in your narrative simply don’t? man, have I not reason, then, to be fond of grief, amiright? anyway, can I get a caramel macchiato?