#giaunt

nosferatu starters // @giaunt ;;

𝑾𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑪𝑨𝑴𝑬 𝑸𝑼𝑰𝑪𝑲𝑳𝒀 𝑻𝑶 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑨𝑹𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑽𝑨𝑳 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑳𝑴. Sleet and snow blew in and smothered what had once been late spring, disrupting the uneven flow of seasons to suit its mistress' desires. Ingvar's fragile blooms stood no chance against icy winds blowing thick through the frosty air. Ruby, in her fine fur coat remains unmoved by the poor giant's sorrow, disinterested in his grief over something as mortal and breakable as annuals.

@giaunt || meme

“Wow, really?” He’s hanging off a thick branch like some hog monkey, upside-down and swinging to and fro. And not really in the best position for questions like that—conversations like this. So, Aang deftly hoists himself back up, plants his feet on the wood, and faces Ingvar with the most incredulous look. “But you’re huge! What could possibly be scary to you?” he exclaims, arms spread.

There’s no considering how obvious an answer that is; size, shape, age, none of that grants anyone immunity to a very real, very universal feeling, but even so . . . Something about a giant so openly expressing what many are so adamant on never admitting seems off. Like someone claiming it’s a beautiful day in the middle of a thunderstorm.

“ you are so smart. the world is lucky to have you. “ (from an old meme, Ingvar for James!)

James blinked, looking stunned up at Ingvar for a moment. Then his lips softened into a smile, and he got a little red. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Means a lot, y'know?" He tried to push the praise away before it could settle in his heart for the wrong reasons. People knew him as clumsy. Reckless, sometimes. He rushed into trouble far too often. But he always tried. He tried with all he had. And yes, that was a lot in its own right.

you don't want to hear the story of my life, and anyway i don't want to tell it. (-Winfred!)

PROMPTS FROM MARY OLIVER’S POETRY

“Oh, no, that’s not true,” Melody said. “I love stories!” She lingered in the air near Winfred, her wings abuzz. The possibility of learning something new, learning about new people—spoken right to her, no less; that hardly happened!—gave her a sensation inside as persistent as hunger.

@giaunt || meme

Aang just about trips over himself. Well, more accurately, he trips, but he’s had plenty of practice now to be able to catch his own fall. And after a brief stumble, a little flail of his arms, he finds his balance. He watches Hilda’s back as she keeps walking.

“Hilda, wait!” Aang races after her when she shows no sign of slowing, when she makes it entirely clear that such a sentiment comes easy to her. It took no thought to express. Not even a second. Every ounce of him wants to argue that she can’t possibly believe that, but she does. It’s fact, in her mind. And it shouldn’t be.

dark  hues  go  from  the  other's  feet  until  sloane  has  to  lean  her  head  all  the  way  back  to  make  eye  contact.  she  blinks  a  few  times,  pinches  her  own  arm  which  causes  some  harshly  whispered  expletives  before  she  forces  her  eyes  shut.   ❝  i'm  just  having  a  reeaaaaalllly  weird  dream.  i  did  watch  the  hulk  before  bed.  big  guy.  now  my  subconscious  is  just  big  guy  focused  -  that's  fine,  totally  normal,  completely  fine  but  i  think  it's  wake  the  fuck  up  o'clock.  ❞  she  opens  her  eyes  again,  still  in  the  same  place  and  swallows  hard.  ❝  nope.  no.  nada.  i  fucking  refuse.  this  isn't  happening.  none  of  this  is  happening.  i'm  asleep  somewhere  having  a  stroke  or  maybe  an  insane  fever…  ❞   she  reaches  forward  and  prods  the  nearest  body  part.  ❝  i'm  dead  and  this  is  hell.  ❞

Gustave loved Hilda, not in a romantic way, no. She was head strong and cared little for the opinions of stuffy nobles or royals who never took their nose from the air. And he appreciated that about her most of all. It was refreshing after all the self serving simpering of the members of Gustave's court.

It was this lack of filter; so to speak that pulled a surprised laugh from the prince, pausing in his writing, pen tip set against the paper a moment - inevitably leaving ink behind. "I think they'd rather die than see me with the crown on my brow Hilda, they're not keen on my claim to it. I propose a truth they'd rather pretend doesn't exist."