mentallyablaze-writes
Emo Eno
This is my main blog but I primarily use @emo-enoI use this for asks/follows!
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I don’t normally remember my dreams, but when I do they’re extremely vivid and detailed. When I was younger, this meant that my mom thought I was making up stories to tell, and lying about my dreams.
I just woke up from the strangest dream, where my whole life changed from a single decision. When I woke up, that same decision was staring me in the face.
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I was raised a girl.
I was taught to put on lotion after I shower, wear chapstick often, brush my hair daily.
I was raised a girl with 3 brothers.
They were scolded for ripping holes in their pants, scuffing their shoes, but never for forgetting to brush their hair.
I was raised a girl.
I was taught that loving to sit quietly and read was endearing. I was taught not to play as rough with my brothers. My own mother told me that men wouldn’t like me if my legs had scars on them.
I was raised a girl.
My own mother despised the color pink, so I did too. My own mother prided herself on loving camping and fishing, so I did too. Love it enough to be different, but at a distance so as not to get too dirty.
I was raised a girl. Now I am a woman. The girl I was raised as is a stranger to me.
Was my mother raised a girl? Will I raise my daughter a girl?
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Hi I’m emo_eno on ao3 and life has been so busy lately that I often don’t have a lot of down time for things I enjoy lately. But whenever I’m feeling a little overwhelmed sometimes I look at your responses to my comments and it’s just an overwhelming feeling of community and appreciation that helps me keep going. Thank you for not only being the kind of writer who can literally see into my heart, but also for being the kind of person who doesn’t crush it outside of their writing. You’re so so sweet I appreciate you endlessly xoxox
ohhhhhhhh you are VERY very very kind. we are holding hands. and i do appreciate you; i reread ao3 comments to bolster myself to keep writing, and yours stick out bc of how sincere and enthusiastic yours are!!
i'm so sorry that life isn't going well right now for you. i know what that's like, even if i've experienced it in a different flavour than yours, and it's hard, hard work. you deserve to have more time and have time to enjoy things again. i hope that it gets better quickly, that you get a lot of good rest, and that you have more time for things you like again very soon.
thaaaaaaaank you v v v v much for stopping by and confiding in me; it makes my heart sing. i will try to continue to write to meet your expectations :) the dabi route should be out in the next few days, and i hope it can make your cramped days a little roomier :) xx.
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I sit here with my nails clacking against the screen like it’ll save my life.
I notice every little detail of your movements, but it seems like you don’t even care about my grandest gestures or most annoying habits.
I tried to give you overwhelming love, I tried acting out. I’ve tried holding my tongue. I’ve tried learning your interests, I’ve tried being myself.
But it seems I’m never as interesting as your phone. I’m desperate to know what enthralls you so, but I’m afraid the answer will hurt my feelings.
I let my thoughts swirl into a mighty storm of what ifs. I let the anxiety and sadness consume me. I’m drowning in the sea of my depression, but even that does not pull your attention.
I want you back. You’re sitting right beside me but you’re not even here. I can’t remember the last time I looked in your eyes and didn’t see the reflection of your phone screen.
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Every day I am scared.
This rollercoaster I’m on leaves me terrified and thrilled but I can’t get off. The lap bar is stuck, and when the ride stops and I try to wiggle out the man running the ride holds me down until it starts again.
I’m trapped here and I can’t leave.
I told my family I was having fun, it’s an amusement park of course I’m okay! I told them not to worry, I wasn’t ready to leave yet.
But now I’m stuck on this roller coaster and everyone else is gone. It’s just me and the man running it.
I want to go home.
I want to be free.
Mom, please come pick me up. I’m scared. I don’t want to be here anymore…
Hello?
Is anyone there?
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mischief n mayhem 🫡 https://www.instagram.com/p/CpwQ0wIrvNv/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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As a Barbarian, you hate that just because you have a different lifestyle, your party looks down on you and assumes you are incapable of basic intelligent thought. Today you had enough.
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You wake up in your pod, and realize what it means. You've arrived! You're so excited to explore this new and foreign place, you can barely open the pod to release yourself. Taking a deep breath before stepping out of the ship to calm your nerves, you release the lock and step into the bright light of the outside world.
And pause.
There are buildings? And beings roaming a bit away? You had thought this planets system to be entirely desolate, but perhaps extraterrestrial life had sprung up, or maybe it was never deserted to begin with.
You are hesitant to keep moving forward. Here you were, an ambassador of the human race, but when presented with opportunity, you choked. However, you can't just do nothing. You have a duty, a mission! It must be done...
You begin walking towards the nearest sign of life, trying to steady your nerves. So far they haven't noticed you, but you notice a strange bulge on their backside, and strange tubes wrapping around them and disappearing from view in front. You open your mouth to speak as you get within hearing distance, but now you notice the tanned skin, 4 limbs, and the clothing on the beings body. They turn towards you, and you realize you've let out a gasp. The tubes and bulge aren't alien appendages, but must be some sort of oxygen tank.
The person in front of you is just that, a person! Your mouth opens and closes a few times, and the woman in front of you smiles awkwardly, before waving you closer. Your feet are rooted to the spot you stand in, shock washing over you. How can this be? You were supposed to be the first person here! Now some woman is standing here looking at you like YOU'RE the alien. She says something to you in a language that sounds like a mix of German and Spanish. You try to respond, but your throat is dry after 3000 years of sleep.
She moves towards you and grasps your hand, speaking again. You do your best to show you don't understand, and she must get it because she smiles again and walks away, dragging you behind her. She approaches a big building with the words "Das Groß Casita." Underneath the sign in smaller letters, it says (est. 2278). But how is that possible if you left in 2222? What year is it now? How long have you really been asleep? Can you see your family again? Your mind begins to race.
Inside the building is a stout man at a desk, with an earpiece in and a computer in front of him. He glances up at you bored, then double-takes when he sees your outfit. Your spacesuit. His eyes widen and she begins shouting into the earpiece and frantically typing. His eyes keep flicking back to you, and you can't tell if he's nervous or excited. After a few minutes of this, a door off to the side you hadn't noticed before opens. You turn towards it as silence falls upon the room. Both the man and woman gesture you towards it.
Steeling your nerves once more, you take a hesitant step forward when you hear your name being called from the room the door opens into. You wish it was a voice you recognized.
You spend 3000 years in hypersleep, traveling to a distant star only to wake up at the destination and be greeted by a full human civilization because they invented a faster space ship 50 years after you left.
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When you learned of the god of war, you thought he’d be tall and muscular and angry. When you were about to meet him, you braced yourself for the worst.
You weren’t quite expecting the short, scrawny, shy kid you ended up getting instead.
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Carnival
The old, run-down carnival had always been a source of unease for the residents of the small town. But for a group of friends, the carnival's dark reputation only added to the thrill. They decided to sneak in after hours to see the attractions for themselves.
As they made their way through the deserted midway, they heard strange noises coming from the haunted house attraction. Intrigued, they decided to investigate.
Once inside, they were greeted by a series of terrifying scenes - ghosts, monsters, and other terrifying creatures lurked around every corner. But it was the final room that truly horrified them.
In the center of the room stood a clown, its face twisted into a grotesque grin. But as they looked closer, they saw that the clown's eyes were not painted on - they were real, and they were staring straight at them.
The clown began to move towards them, its movements becoming more and more frenzied. The friends realized too late that this was not a carnival attraction - it was a nightmare come to life.
They ran from the haunted house, vowing never to speak of the carnival again. But the image of the clown's twisted grin stayed with them, haunting their dreams for years to come.
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The Witch Who Spoke to the Wind
Sequel to Eindred and the Witch
In which Severin, the golden eyed witch, learns that his greatest enemy and truest love is fated to kill him.
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Dealing in prophecies is a dubious work. Anyone who knows anything will tell you as much.
“Think of all of time as a grand tapestry,” his great-grandmother had said, elbow deep in scalding water. Her hands were tomato red, and Severin watched with wide golden eyes as she kneaded and stretched pale curds in the basin. “You might be so privileged to understand a single weave, but unless you go following all surrounding threads, and the threads around those threads, and so on - which, mind you, no human can do - you’ll never understand the picture.”
Severin, who was ten years old and had never seen a grand tapestry, looked at the cheese in the basin and asked if his great-grandmother could make the analogy about that instead.
“No,” she replied. “Time is a tapestry. Cheese is just cheese.”
And that was that.
By fifteen, Severin who was all arms, legs, and untamable black hair, decided he hated prophecies more than anything in the world. He occupied himself instead with long walks atop the white bluffs well beyond his family’s home. Outside, he could look at birds, and talk to the wind, and not think about the terrible prophecy which followed him like a shadow.
His second eldest sister had revealed it - accidentally, of course. Severin lived in a warm and bustling house with his great-grandmother, grandmother, mother, two aunts, and three sisters. All of whom were generously gifted in the art of foretelling (a messy business, each would say if asked), and every one of them had seen Severin’s same bleak thread.
He would die. Willingly stabbed through the heart by his greatest enemy and truest love.
Willingly. That was the worst part, he thought.
Severin, who had no talent in the way of prophecies, but plenty of talent in the realm of wind and sky, marched along the well-worn trail, static sparking around his fingertips as the brackish sea breeze nipped consolingly at his face and hair.
I will protect you if you ask me to, it blustered, and Severin was comforted.
He didn’t care who this foretold stranger was. When this enemy-lover appeared, Severin would ask the wind to pick them up and take them far, far away. Far enough that they could never harm him. The wind whistled in agreement. And so it was settled.
Keep reading
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“May you have a life of safety and peace”, said the witch, cursing the bloodthirsty warrior.
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After shoving Hansel in the oven, the witch turns to Gretel - who is currently fending the witch off with a gingerbread chair - and says:
“I can’t believe you thought a trail of breadcrumbs would save you. I mean, honestly, this is a forest! It’s full of animals. Honestly, the very idea that a dumb shit like you thought you could get the better of me is absurd.”
Gretel hits her in the face with said chair. To be fair to the witch, she takes the chairshot like a champ.
“Ow!”
“Did you know,” says Gretel, “that crows are capable of facial recognition?”
“Eh?” Says the witch, clambering to her feet and pulling a candy cane sledgehammer off the wall. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Not only that,” Gretel continues, “but they can remember both friends and enemies. And they’ll often follow people they remember as friends.”
The two fence with their sugared weapons for a moment, before the witch knocks the chair out of Gretel’s hands.
“Enough with the bird facts! Honestly, this whole attempted escape has been utter clownshoes. Get in the fucking oven!”
She seizes Gretel by the collar. Gretel immediately sandbags, letting her whole body go limp. This eminently practical defense forces the witch to try and deadlift her. Which is hard, as the witch often skips leg day.
“For example,” Gretel says, as the witch struggles and grunts, “if you feed crows a lot of breadcrumbs, they’ll probably start to see you as a friend and follow you in the hope of more food.”
The witch stops. Outside, she hears the thunder of wings.
“They’ll even bring you shiny things they find as presents!” Says Gretel, as a corner of the gingerbread ceiling is suddenly cut away by a large crow with a knife in its mouth.
“Oh shitballs.” Says the witch, as the crows descend. “I hope you know this is a great unkindness.”
“Technically,” Says Gretel, “It’s a murder.”
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Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.
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You broke my heart and I have nowhere to go.
You isolated me and now I'm alone.
I want to be happy again.
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You’ve been sentenced to 400 years for multiple murders. It’s been 399 years and your jailers are starting to get nervous.
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It always upsets me so much when I see interpretations/illustrations of the two headed calf poem that show a living calf being torn away from its mother and killed to sell to a museum and framing the poem as being "humanity kills beautiful things for being different".
Two headed cows almost never survive more than a few hours after their birth. The farmer finds the *body* the next day. The calf was destined to die, and that's a tragedy, but for the time it was alive, it had a beautiful and unique experience.
It's not a poem about the cruelty of man. It's a poem about the beauty of life in an indifferent universe. It's about purpose and beauty being able to exist even in an existence doomed to come to an end, as all our lives are. It's not a poem about how a calf dies, but how, even for only a brief moment, it was alive.
And, for that moment, because of that life, however fleeting, the sky had twice as many stars.
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