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#everyone is either a sun moon or star person and you cannot fight me on this
the-divine-gods · 2 years
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anathemafiction · 2 years
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Rest
Your limbs are heavy as if stone is growing on the outside of your skin, enveloping your muscles, merging with your blood, making itself a part of your very flesh. You feel... old. Ancient. Cracked and weathered by rain and sun and intrusive hands that do nothing but misshape what once was immaculate marble. 
 You feel heavy and worn, and your eyelids sting with the effort to keep them from closing. The Church swears that everyone has a soul, but if so, yours wasn't born with you but belongs to someone far older, for you feel the weight of time in your very core. 
 You're bone-tired, but you cannot rest. You have to keep watch, have to keep tracking the rocky mounds of Navarra. You can feel the heat of the campfire at your back, its quiet flames flickering in the evening air, and above your head, you imagine the faint smoke that rises to the starry sky. There is no moon, but so many stars, endless and quiet and cold and...
 Dark. 
 You blink, shaking your head awake, and for the thousand time, rub your eyes with a punishing hand. You can't fall asleep. Not yet. But even as you square your shoulders and narrow your eyes, watching the night as if it has personally offended you, there's a weight at the back of your head and a heaviness in your temples, and you know that soon you'll be fighting this battle again. 
 You're so tired. So bone-tired. So terribly—
 A noise behind you. You start to turn, but you're sluggish, too slow, and even before you can peek over your shoulder, two arms are hugging your waist and a low timbered voice is speaking by your ear, and you close your eyes, then, because you can feel the vibrations emanating from his chest and resonating against the skin of your earlobe. 
"This is the third time you've shaken yourself awake," Hadrian murmurs, his fingers coming to loop on each other against your stomach. (...)
- - - 
It seems to be pulsing with the rhythm of your heart. 
 One, two. Pain. Three, four. More pain. 
 You clench your teeth, eyes narrowing on the scroll before you, and try your hardest to ignore the headache that wants to split your skull in two. The letters on the old parchment are faded and written in cursive so tight, it seems the writer was either furious or running out of time. Either way, it makes it hard to read when one is rested and content. But as another pulse of hot white pain spreads from the back of your head to seep deep into your eyelids, the text before you is almost impossible to decipher. 
 Damned. 
 Your hands clench on the table, nails digging into the wood to resist the urge to tear the bloody scroll in two. You need to translate this, Tarek gave you until the end of the afternoon and through the high windows of the library, you can see that light has shifted from bright and clear to yellow and orange. Twilight isn't far away, the sun seeks its rest on the horizon, and you don't have much time. You don't have-
 Pulse. 
 "By all the demons in Hell," you growl, clutching the parchment now. You want to chuck it out of the window, you want to—
 Four fingers on either side of your temples, their touch shockingly cold. You jolt in surprise, but the fingers tighten their hold, and two thumbs at the back of your head prevent it from turning. "'Tis only me." Comes a voice as cold as the fingers that grip you, but just as they are nimble, so is the voice's melody beautiful. "As much a disappointment that may be, for it seems you seek demons instead."
(...)
The entire piece is available on Patreon!
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azurevi · 3 years
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3 halloween tales (cater, jade & vil)
This is really random, but the ssr cards for the halloween show have given me many au ideas, so here are my self-indulgent stories inspired by them. The Cater one is especially long because I got a lot of ideas about it. For the Vil one.. it's pretty disappointing how it turned out, but I hope it's not too bad. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!
WARNINGS : death (all), mild mention of gore (cater), war + mild possessiveness + violence (jade) [let me know if there're more!]
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the heart and its eternal weight
Cater is a cemetery caretaker. It isn't that he really loves it, but his father was one. He feels like it is only right to take after his steps.
He isn't into superstitions. Some people find distaste in his job, but it's something crucial for Cater. People, even after they're dead, should still be honored, and so deserve a hospitable place to rest. 
Everyday is a routine for him. Sometimes, though, the families of the passed talk to him about their stories and their emptiness once their loved ones are gone. Cater finds the beauty and softness in humans by hearing these stories, and it makes him even more dedicated to his job. 
It's natural to him, dying. His father was killed in an unintended accident, and sometimes it seems like his death could have been avoidable just as much as it was inevitable. He just wishes that he had had more time with him.
One of the lessons his father taught him about graveyard caretaking is to beware of ghosts. Those who recently died are more visible and intimate with the world of the living, and so they might appear before humans. Some are inhostile, of course, but there are malevolent ones.
Lore has it that some ghosts prey on hearts. It is said that the heart is the most important part of a human, as it is accountable for life, death and emotions. People believe that ghosts can be revived with a fresh, still-beating heart, and as a result the human giving up their heart will die in place of the ghost. Basically, the heart can also create ripples in the fabric of space-time.
Because of his job, he isn't all that popular among others, and he only has a few life-long close friends, his mother and sisters by him. So even if he has a crush on the most admirable person he's ever seen, he still won't make it known in fear of rejection. He figures that he still has time to figure it out.
And he's wrong. News about your tragic death spread around quickly like wildfire, and he's devastated. It feels wrong to even feel so, because he has never been acquainted with you in the first place.
Your body is buried in his cemetery, and a lot of people come to your funeral that day. Some of your family members are so heartbroken and pitiable, and so Cater offered to be their listener.
All he can hear is about the great work you've done, the care you put into everyone you met, the warmth that radiated off you while you were still alive. It breaks Cater how he's never had the privilege to know you, to experience all your graces with his own perspective.
One night, the moon is lit and hung up high in the sky, so close that it seems to be prying on Earth and the people roaming on it. Cater is patrolling with his lawnmower when he hears quiet and uncertain sobs.
He is creeped out, yes, but he's also curious. He's never seen a ghost before, and it could be a human for all he knows.
He's proved wrong once again, as he discovers your opaque body behind a giant tree. You are hugging their legs close to your chest, and a rotting hole's visible where your heart should be.
There's no way you can be hostile, and you certainly won't kill him for his heart, so Cater decides to approach you gently, tentatively, like you're smoke that will disperse the moment he intrudes.
To his surprise, you can hear him clearly, and even invite him to sit down with him. It's so bizarre -- a ghost asking for a conversation! But Cater doesn't mind as he pops down beside you. He notices how although you were no longer solid, it still feels like tense when his hand passes through you. Certainly it's because you've been dead not for long.
And so the two of you indulge in heartful conversations, and Cater finds himself regretting even more about how he never gathered the courage to go up to you. Mid-conversation you tell him about all the things that you wish you could've done and all the ideas you wished to spread.
Cater probably shouldn't have, but he is so absorbed in your ambitions and kindness that he offers to carry out all these great things for you. After numerous confirmations, you agree too to let him carry out your thoughts.
And so Cater works in his neighbourhood, sharing campaigns and donating, taking care of lost pets and cats and partaking in environment improvement. He's never felt so fulfilled before, and it's the first time he feels like he's genuinely making a difference in the world.
In times he's not representing you, he brings you up on the little hill behind the cemetery where the moon and stars are so close and vibrant, where they all dance in the dark ballroom and pulse in excitement of being seen. He wishes he could show you more hidden gems, but your spectral spirit cannot be too far away from your body. 
But it's enough.
A month passes and Cater notices subtle change in your behaviour as well as appearance, like how you're responding with less enthusiasm and how the hole in your chest is growing bigger. When he finally asks about it, he's told that ghosts generally only stay in the world of the living for 49 days, and their heart will rot away in this period. After that, they will have to go to the underworld, never be back again.
Cater is certainly shocked that the lore is more than a children's makeup story. He is well aware of the significance of the heart in relation to the soul and life. 
He asks if you'd like to have his heart instead, so bluntly and casually. You seem to return to their original intimate self when you refuse. 
"I'm already gone. It's you, the living, who should be making changes,"
So he pretends that you're not getting more and more unresponsive and less and less generous. He turns a blind eye against your wavering figure and how you can't be seen at all in the sun. He plays dumb when in reality, you're slipping away before his very own eyes, heart rotting away like nothing more than a fruit.
It hurts finally knowing and understanding someone and having to lose them. 
On the 48th day, you are already but a still, soulless shadow, leaning beside your gravestone and fresh, white flowers. Cater can still see you. Sometimes he thinks that you chose to be seen.
And he can't bear to see you go. To see your dreams go into flames, to watch such a pretty soul just - vanish.
So he gives you his heart. Alive and beating and sentimental. It doesn't even hurt a bit. 
You wake up immediately, your eyes glowing and body solidifying. 
"What have you done?" 
"What I can do to make a change,"
Time is starting to rewrite itself. Cater is going to die in your place. The space around you was warping and folding into itself, softly and rightly like a lullaby.
Just before you slip into darkness, you gather up a whole bunch of rose petals and desperately stuff them into the hole in Cater's chest, as if they can give him life in lieu of a heart, and you are sobbing and clinging onto his still warm arm, never wanting to let go.
It's all Cater wants, to save a wasted soul and to make a difference. 
And so he cradles your face, and leans in the moment everything goes black. When he wakes up again, he's weightless in the cemetery, where a bunch of well arranged roses lie on his buried body.
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a melancholy specimen
To Jade, beauty needs to be preserved to be constant. It's just like flowers. They die away without proper care.
Just when he thinks he's seen all the beauties of the world and is getting bored of it, he meets you. A blooming flower sparkling in the bland, old boring world around it. He's immediately captivated - how a person can still manage to flourish in such a rotten world where everything is depressing and all man is for themselves!
You're the most elegant piece of art he's seen, and that's something considering that he owns a museum. Innocence lies in your eyes and bravery sings itself between your lips.
You find him just equally amusing -- gentlemanly, insightful and just a touch of flirtation. The two of you fall in love like Alice down the rabbit hole - amused and unstoppable, fascinated by the wonders evolving about.
But the world doesn't give a damn about love, nor do they understand your dreams of a bright future where everything is close to hearts. They call you both madness and nonsense.
"Their souls are tainted with war and sorrow. They are beyond the point of rescue. Victory and glory are all that can feed their ego,"
Jade is disappointed. War has gouged people's eyes out and filled them with wails and ash.
The two of you are the only stars in the night sky, still fighting for salvation, yearning for a better future where trees grow and flowers yearn for the sun. You promote and do your best to lift the veil of darkness off the world. 
But the sun doesn't understand either. War keeps going on and on, and people never have the time for aesthetic relaxations. It refuses to shed light on its pitiable humans.
"We should evacuate, Jade. They say a bomb is dropping tomorrow,"
Jade doesn't care and can't care. The most paramount thing is to open his eyes to the beauty of this world. He doesn't want to become one of those barbarous men, tasting dirt and blood on their tongue while they glorify violence and brutalness.
He stays behind while his neighbourhood dies away. You are the only ones yet to leave. 
"Please don't leave me, Y/N. You're the only light in my life,"
You can't bear to leave him, and so you stay. The bomb is dropped, and it's too close. Too hot. Too cruel, too inhumane. It ravages everything in its way, burning all the darkened things to the ash and bringing the only beauty left in this world with it.
Jade wails. Broken cries are engulfed by nearby explosions and the cackling of flames. Your soulless body lies amidst the destruction, just another wilted flower in the slit of a rock, deprived of water and sunlight.
He finally understands. Nothing can save the world anymore. It's gone way too far, and it will never recover from malevolence. All he can feel is pity for his world as his heart ache with spite.
Bandages around his hands, he wraps your corpse up completely, preserved underneath the layers. You will be his reminder that there was once a flower in this drought, an anchor keeping him from becoming one of those barbarians.
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lifeless silhouette in the dark night
You can never recognize directions. You find yourself stumbling upon a seemingly inhabited mansion in the middle of the woods. Cold and bruised, you knock on its door.
Welcoming you is a tall man with blonde and lilac hair called Vil. His skin is unnaturally white, and his eyes seem to glow like orbs that eat your souls. But you are too tired to make notice of all these details, and he's kind enough to let you stay for the night.
He treats you with ravishing cuisine and a grand bedroom that was as grotesque as the rest of the house. Afterwards, he leaves you to rest, but not before warning you not to get out of the room post midnight.
You oblige- for the first half hour. Then you start to hear wails and footsteps that amplify and disappear. It's impossible to sleep.
The next morning, you confront Vil about it. He refuses to face the questions as he ushers you to get going, and so off you go.
You spend another day lost in the woods, then somehow come face to face with the mansion again. Vil is beyond shocked to see you, but then he breaks into a deep smile.
"It's almost as if you belong here,"
Weirdly enough, you could agree, There seemed to be an invisible force pulling you towards Vil. After dinner, he orders you not to leave the room again before making his leave.
Broken wails. Recurring footsteps. You can't bear it any longer, and you also wonder if Vil is aware of this. He properly is, and thus tells you to stay safe inside the room.
But dumb curiosity gets the best of you, and you open the door and step into the endless corridors.
The wails come from the host's room, where Vil is supposed to be. You're closing in when its door is suddenly flung open, and out runs a panting Vil.
"Vil? What are-"
His eyes are bloodshot and there's red stain in the corner of his mouth. Sweat dots his forehead. He looks disheveled and the complete opposite of how he was during dinner.
"You shouldn't be here. Get back - get back in!"
His voice booms in your skull, and you're running back to your room before you notice. 
It's another sleepless night.
To your luck, Vil doesn't wait for you to bring the incident up.
"Don't be creeped ou by it, please."
He seems very uneasy about it, but he's obstinate to give you an explanation.
Turns out that he is a vampire. One that has lived for 500 years and is waiting for his eventual death. He's seen everything in this world and lived through the best and worst of humanity. He understands people's fear about vampires, and so he resides in the remote part of the wood. He only ever drinks the blood of small animals that he hunt, and never has he once killed a man.
He knew nothing about what'd happen to him when he became a vampire. If he'd known about the repercussions, he'd never have become one in exchange of eternal beauty. Now he has to turn someone else into a vampire to end his immortality. It is only a cycle.
 Every night the moon rises and spills into his room, and he has to fight his urge to go out and taste the sweet blood of humans. 
There are times when he slips and loses control, but he always manages to get back to his senses. But it seems that your presence here in the mansion is awaking his desire to suck you dry.
You're bewildered to say the least, and frankly horrified. But at the same time you feel pity for him, for he is just a man who can't ever do anything as atrocious as hurting people.
And so you offer to end his suffering. Of course Vil disagrees. He just talked about how he never wanted to take a life, and now you're offering yourself to him? He'd never allow it.
But you're even more persistent. You keep staying in his mansion, and his sanity slips a little more every night. And you know that he's contemplating too, for he never tries to kick you out of his mansion.
"You deserve a rest, Vil. For your love and selflessness. For all the unspoken kindness you bestow on others. It is only fair that you get to rest,"
Vil has lived a life. He's but a mere walking corpse now, and a rest -- a sleep -- sounds just like what he needs.
And so he rests. Vil falls into a deep, serene sleep while you endure each and every dark night.
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Forget the mass of humanity. Forget the concerns for mankind. Forget the pleas and cries of the international and national…thing…that is called “the people” (I reject the notions that it is alive, as some may say, certain deluded individuals), that everyone everywhere claims to speak on behalf of, for no one gets anywhere without their consent (although the consent is usually superficial; the mutuality is a farce, as you might ascertain from opening a history book, for make no mistake, nothing, and I do mean nothing, is done on behalf of “the people”). Forget the appeals to my biological kinship with my fellow persons. Forget the emotional appeals, for I have no particular goodwill towards the lot of man. There’s nothing for me there, and I doubt there ever will be. There are exceptions, and those who are, I cherish you deeply, and greatly. Let it be known that, by me, you are loved. As for the rest? I can’t say I am compelled to sympathize or want the affections of the majority. For I do not identify with them, and I do not ally myself with their causes, their wants, their needs, their desires, their fears, their worries, and their likes and dislikes. Why should I count myself among willing slaves, who so gladly serve selfish masters? Seems like a terrible idea to me.
This is what I want.
I want unbridled, unrestricted freedom. And I shall decide what that means, for me. Where those limits lie, if I acknowledge any. What I fight for, and what I fight against. I only stop where I may decide to stop, and I shall go only where I wish to. I will use whatever spirits, geists, that I find pleasing to me, if I shall utilize any at my disposal. And I shall determine, for myself, what form it takes (and the material means used to establish it), what it happens to manifest as, for the world is a canvas, the pages for a novel, and my life shall be poetry, it shall be art. The pools of inspiration it draws from. The various sources of inspiration I look to, as I realize my will, in its fullest potential, for that is all any of us can do, and that is all we may be said to have the “right” to do. If it is not the same tomorrow, as it is today, or yesterday, then be not surprised, for stagnancy and consistency are old and for old men, while youth and renewal and contradiction, that is the way of things, the true way of things. With whoever I want, those fellow vagabonds, if I can somehow manage to seek them out, if their vision, whilst not the same physically, is similar in spirit, and I repeat, with whoever I want, I shall associate with. If anyone shall decide to join me, so be it. If they refuse to, or even oppose, then I cannot blame or stop them, though I shall try to make it happen nonetheless. They can come and go as they please. Do as thou wilt, my friends. Do as thou wilt.
It shall be in a most beautiful, natural setting. Overgrown grass and healthy flowers instead of filthy sidewalks and streets. Tall, muscular, vibrant, imposing trees in place of concrete squares and drab, wooden structures. Soil for my bed. Lakes and ponds as my bathtubs. The breeze as my air conditioning. Wild fauna living their lives to the fullest, rather than drab, human clones, pompously strutting about. The sun and the moon taking the place of putrid streetlamps and streetlights. Money and moneyed interests will be gone, evaporated like mildew in the morning sun. No more will the economy be a deciding factor in anything. It’ll back-to-the-land. However, the land, and its inhabitants, shall not be dominated. Harmony shall be achieved, where everything has its place. Nature is not our bitch. We are Nature’s bitch. We’d do well to remember that eternal fact.
This is not for anyone’s sake, outside of those whom I am emotionally attached to, and appreciative of, and love dearly. That is the answer to those critics who may be suggesting I am trying to be some sort of savior, some sort of messiah, striving for a kind of “greater good”, where all is restricted out of necessity. This should shut the conservative cowards and idiotic reactionaries up. Might I suggest you go back to the office and the church, and keep your noses out of what you couldn’t possibly understand. And if they cry the leftist-sounding cries of “egoism” and “selfishness”, then I shall throw their hypocrisy back in their faces, eviscerating their weak, pitiful arguments. I am what they practice, without all of the empty justifications they use to synthesize their contradictions, rendering them schizo . Nor shall I deny that I balk at tradition, for their “traditions” are false, and not perennial in the slightest, not worthy of the allegedly “primordial” importance they give to them. To put tradition, real tradition, and the ways of the Cross, Crescent Moon, or Star of David in the same sentence…would be the most absurd of errors. They are flimsy, just like their followers. Born of an age and period most foul, most absurd, and most deadly. And if economic concerns are raised towards me even once, I shall the nearest bank to the ground. Fuck your dismal science. I wipe my ass with your dollar bills. I might set your house on fire next.
Speaking of the left, they will no doubt decry me as some kind of decrepit miscreant. Unconcerned with the working class (I do not deny this, for to have something in common with someone based on our similar wages, is as hollow as having something in common with someone based on race, or gender, or geographical location), who are stuck in a slumber, lulled to sleep day in and day out, no sign of awakening in them to be found, and who reject whatever does not fit their mold, for they are ignorant and just as bourgeois as the bourgeois themselves, having adopted their standards. Yes, the rampant oppression and enslavement is disconcerting and hard to watch, but when they let it happen to them, and make no attempt, none at all, to alleviate themselves of it, can you really feel so sorry for them? They’d rather wallow in their sorry state, in their victim status, than assert their will, take that power, and light everything on fire, like they should. To answer the inevitable question, no, I shall not sit around idly, waiting for a revolt to magically happen, and then strive for my liberation then. It’ll never come, and if it does, as history has shown, it will not come via your side. They wouldn’t risk being ostracized and becoming an outcast for the mere sake of principles, in the meantime. Their liberty, whenever that comes, is not my liberty. As I’m sure they’ll also find out, I do not wish to make work more enjoyable or bearable, either. Those are two concepts that cannot be reconciled. I do not want to have a stake in the factory I work in. I want the factory razed to the ground. Forget about equality, too, while you’re at it, dear reds. I will gladly resist any attempts to level, to make me one with the herd. It won’t happen. I’d sooner fight you the way commie scum are supposed to be fought (I’d gladly make Joseph McCarthy look like a goddamn socialist, if need be), than let you pull a fast one on me.
Some may deem me a madman. But this is a mad world we live in. Everything is topsy-turvy. A crooked, messy hodgepodge we live in. All that we want to save or resurrect is dead and gone. We’re living in the shadow of a dead god, and the new ones give us nothing at all but misery and strife. Therefore, why not embrace the chaos and madness? After all, chaos is the natural state of life. Life is not orderly and pretty. If it is, it is not in any way the human mind would be able to grasp it. It is gruesome, violent, and uncertain, yet this is also what makes it beautiful, joyous, and exciting.
I want that thrill to come back, why the powers that be want to choke the life out of life itself, until everything is as drab and dull as everything else.
I’d go as far as to say that I, and others like myself, are the only “sane” ones left (forget sanity, however, for it was invented to keep the nonconformist from being a threat to the easily frightened mob, by quietly tucking them away in a dark corner), and everyone else is crazy.
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void-tiger · 3 years
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Tagged by @curiosity-killed (thanks for the tag!!)
roses or daisies:
DAISIES!!! They’re so simple and cheery have just as many colors and look delicate but are actually really tenacious? Also, how charming is Day’s Eye (and asters in general having the habit of facing eachother if they’re not turned towards the light--I think I have a picture of dahlias doing this from last autumn--and like. Star Flower. Okay, I’ll shut up now xD )
classical or lofi:
...okay so I admit I had to look this one up. But easily some of my favorite tracks are those Hidden Ones that bands plop onto their albums to fill up leftover space, but are often basically just scrapped recording or practice sessions? The bloopers and their creative process, basically. Cut to me googling and youtubing it and finding hiphop lofi and...yeah! Definitely Lofi.
(Classical vs OST and Modern Classical (that’s composed to be a lot more cinematic) just...really puts me on edge. It’s too mathematical...to put it nicely.)
So...yeah. Slow beats and something that sounds experimental or like a jamming session? It’s soothing and kinda ideal for background noise.
sunrises or sunsets:
Sunset. One, never ever gonna be a “morning person”. Forget it. Two, sunsets often have more dramatic colors and still make the landscape glow and you get to see stars peeping out vs fading. Also, y’know. I’m actually awake to appreciate it vs groggy and legit physically ill.
honey or lemon:
Honey as a condiment. Lemon for sweets flavor. (Baklava’s probably the exception...then again I haven’t had that many honey-flavored sweets, I guess? But Lemon-Poppyseed?? Definitely one of my favorites,)
coffee or tea:
Coffee. I adore tea service aesthetics and will someday probably collect them (especially the really quirky or earthen or blownglass ones vs the froufrou european ones)...buuuut, I just haven’t really had A Good Cuppa Tea much at all. There was this spiced tea I’ve had in Jordan that was AMAZING and I do like greentea (with...A LOT of sugar or honey...) but. I’ve just never really had tea. My family’s coffee drinkers, so the smell of coffee is nostalgic. (And yes, I’m basic enough that I prefer flavored, sweetened creamers; and my coffee brewed or spiced with, like, cinnamon and nutmeg, too. Or as a mocha.)
...I also have a Bad Habit of abandoning my Herbal “Teas” with the bags either left steeping too long (I have gotten better at using a timer) or while waiting for them to cool. And while I’d just really love it for Uncle Iroh to make me tea (provided he doesn’t get on my case about wanting sugar and maybe cream), the Times and Temperatures are just so dang fussy!! I...don’t think I have the patience for that.
enemies to lovers or friends to lovers:
Friends to Lovers. I just...don’t Get It with the sexual tension~ that seems to be the driving force behind enemies to lovers...I guess?? (That, and unless it’s literally on a battlefield, HARD PASS. I’ve had people try to blow off my complaints about getting repeatedly tormented as “he liiiiiikes you~” bullshit to ever be comfortable with it as anything but Legit Two Sides Of A Battle/Political Conflict. Sorry.)
But, Friends to Lovers? That Bond. And then the ...Oh. The domesticity and trust and safety. Also it is RIPE for Idiots to Lovers mutual pining xD
(bonus points if both parties decide ahead of time, “hey. even if dating doesn’t work out I still value your friendship in my life, so no pressure about ‘ruining things,’“ And then, of course, it does work out and there was nothing to be anxious about, after all.)
rainy days or sunny days:
...cop out but, overcast days with Soft Sunlight and Cloudbreaks?? I do like a clear skies sunny day, but, my eyes are also so sensitive to light that it can be painful. Rainy days can be soothing...but the rain has to be A Certain Way. Too heavy and with too much wind behind it and it can get me anxious. (My childhood home had Every Rain is Severe Weather...with no place to shelter. It’s gonna take awhile before i can appreciate it like i’d want.)
jupiter or mars:
Jupiter. GIANT. DEADLY. MARBLE (that wants to eeeaaat meeeee...) Also Pluto, and the jovian moons.
aphrodite or athena:
Athena!! She’s an ace icon, aight?? And also strikes me as...very, very Tired with everyone’s bullshit. Also...all the greek gods are kinda assholes. So. Yeah. She ain’t perfect and her characterization’s at the mercy of whatever myth in question, but generally she strikes me as practical and sensible and having Mercy...sometimes. As much as that group is capable of it, anyway...
rome or greece:
...probably Ancient Rome as a “ancient culture to explore but a YIKES (but. so is ancient greece.)” But visiting IRL in the present? Greece.
sun or moon:
Moon. I appreciate what the sun does and I do like feeling sunlight and all that...but, I’m also a night person. And I can look at the moon without risk of blindness and admire its corona and that rainbow corona you can see just a bit further out if you know where and how to look. BUT. The moon easily loses out to a starfield, especially if the light pollution and humidity are both low enough that ya get to actually see the milky way’s galaxy arm. (The irony that the sun IS our local star does not elude me.)
1920s or 1990s:
...neither?? 90s only slightly win out ‘cause I’m a ‘93 Kid and the 90s and 00s had some incredible toys and cartoons. And, idk. I still like overall pants and shorts. Always have. While a flapper dress would be “oooh pretty! starlight beading! Now OFF. Back to regular clothes for ‘Sporing or Comfy Lounging.”
blizzard or thunderstorm:
Blizzard. Also. Have you considered...thundersnow??
(Admittedly? I’ve also never been through a snowstorm that threatened by health&safety. The same cannot be said about thunderstorms when nearly every one could or would spawn tornados and severe straightline winds that could knock down trees and powerlines and sometimes even damage homes. While living in a home with NO safe place to shelter. Not even an interior closet or bathroom. NOT. FUN.)
midnight memories or made in the am:
...what?? [googles] ...OH...they’re...albums. UH. Neither?? (I don’t listen to them...?)
sage green or vanilla white:
Sage green. It’s kinda a nostalgic color somehow? Also. Just not a fan of monochrome...at all. I see it? I instantly want it to be a backdrop. Negative space. For COLOR. (jewel tones for whites/light neutrals and browns; NEONS for blacks and dark greys. Preference for Jewel Tones over Neons...wait. What was the question again??? OH YEAH..uh... I do like vanilla icecream? With rainbow sprinkles. Or...paired with hot fruit pie or cobbler. Or cookies. Um...yeah I should prolly shutup now. xD )
folklore or lover:
...I don’t...understand??? But...I like Folkslore as in...folklore??? Fairytales, Legends, Myths... (also, so frikkin ace I’m just. not ever gonna pick “lover”)
croissant or macaroon:
...why would you do this to me. I make a beeline for croissants because...Soft Flaky Buttery Bread. And they are So Good as a savory sandwich sorta thing. Easily better than english muffins or crumpets, tho biscuits have a fighting chance. But LIKE. Soft breads. My weakness as a kid.
...but a good macaroon?? It is so light and crisp and TINY and like?? how does it taste like coffee??? and berries????? (Too bad they are So EXPENSIVE. While even cheap croissants are almost always Good.)
ballgowns or pantsuits:
I like the aesthetics of a ballgown. But never the pricetag, I wouldn’t wanna live in that thing for more than an hour, tops (and. so much damn work!!) and I’m stuck looking at them Defying (boob) Physics and just...dying a little inside. With my rare It Pretty Want Pretty wilting with it. But...it’s rare that pantsuits really...look like anything. (They also look uncomfortable and yet another Wardrobe Disaster and Do I HAVE To??? if I think about...actually wearing them. But, Legs Free No Tripping...I guess??)
hades or zeus:
I only wanna EVER meet Zeus if I get to castrate the bastard and lock ‘im up where he’ll NEVER get back out. Hades, tho...I’m WATCHING you, Bub. (Why yes, I agree with Demeter on this one.)
platonic love or sensual love:
Platonic. Cuddling and Kissing are technically Sensual but, y’know what? They ain’t exclusive to sexual or romantic loves (and I just. really do not want kissing at all. MAYBE a quick kiss on the forehead or fingertips but LIKE. That’s it. And it’s cute af for...literally ANY Love Type.)
light academia or cottagecore:
Honestly? A mix between the two. Cottagecore with my charming little home with its overgrown flowerbed of wildflowers (and asters! All the asters) and produce grown in large pots or hanging baskets...and inside the walls are covered with overflowing shelves of books and knicknacks and other Neat Things. Oh, and naturally a tea service (might not actually have tea in it...) and tons of pillows and blankets, and lamps and lanterns Everywhere for warm and soft (and colorful) light to read by while music plays softly in the background. And the home smells like something I just made for Supper or Snacks, or like a food-scented candle.
-
Aaaaaand tagging @mckinlily @headspacedad @aairachnid @synergetic-prose and whoever else wants to play! No obligation to play if tagged.
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itsakpopalypse · 5 years
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Kim Sehyoon : Astrology ask- How he would be romantically
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“hii 😊 can you do an astrology reaction like chan’s but with Sehyoon? thank you so much in advance!”- @naomik1999
Of course ! glad to do so !! Here you are ! I hope you like it !
A/N there will be 18+ included below the cut !!
Okay !! Starting with pure fluff and explanation of his overall chart
 this baby
oh my god he is so precious
okay so we know he is a Taurus sun
but did you know he has a LEO rising? 
lowkey means he has this strong confident presence that intimidates people yet draws them in
he is so lively and interesting to watch that you are like👀👀 
and he seems like he would be outgoing on first glance
but his sun and moon balance out that strong firey energy SO beautifully
with a Taurus sun he is somewhat more calm and will have a very steady aura
like you get near him and feel more grounded just for it
beautiful fixed earth energy in action let me tell you 
as you know fixed tends to mean unmovable and it is lucky for him he has a more mutable moon or that would eventually cause conflict
his instinct is still probably to dig his heels in but he will come around quickly
let’s talk what a Taurus sun means for his relationships
ever met one? they are . so . Cuddly by nature, 
Maybe not first meeting someone but when they he becomes comfortably used to a person  he will go at the hugs and physical affection with his whole chest 
expect
forehead kisses  (oh my god im sofft)
hand holding
picking you up for absolutely no reason except that he wants you c l o s e r
tend to be very physical, artistic and sexual by nature.
so expect lots of touch 
please take care of his heart he is not going to want to express it in words but Taurus’s are soooooo easily hurt. 
they are slow to anger so don’t expect any fights really
he will be logical and intelligent
but if you do fight he may take a while to cool down after
Pisces moon.
i have said it before I will say it again
SO MANY FEELINGS
okay so with Pisces especially in moon this means a few things
sensitive 
they give people SO many chances to break their hearts
you will have to be so supportive 
he will need to be held sometimes
you might be the lil spoon
its cute
but we know he thicc thicc
so you know it’ll probably translate to him laying his head on your thighs and staring up at you with stars in his eyes
because he is so s o f t for you
Pisces moon is so romantic 
he will be constantly trying to make you smile because it will be his whole world
god the PAINTINGS he will do of and for you
Sehyoon is so deeply artistic and he expresses himself through his art
so especially with the Taurus sun being a hindrance on putting his feelings into words he will find a way to do it through his art
expect lyrics and paintings
he might do your nails when they are chipped
try to learn how to do your make up and hair
he is so affectionate i am getting so soft
i don’t normally mention it but his Mercury is notable 
since his mercury is Taurus it means he will be practical, and very
very
dexterous
that will come back in the 18+ section i just needed to put it out there cause BIG OOF
his venus is Aries, venus controls how one reacts to love relationships of all kinds 
Aries is a dominant sign so yes, Sehyoon is a soft man full of emotions who is a bit shy, but expect that once he knows what he wants he will go for it
he will probably be cautious though, as a true Taurus always is, so he will probably try to figure it out through your friends before he directly asks you out
drops hints for a short while before just being like 
hi
then blush like mad and giggle and hide his larger frame behind Byeongkwan who totally is there for emotional support don’t @ me
He will peak out and say something complimentary or just random and then when you begin to answer he will decide to rip the bandaid off
“I like you a lot can I take you out please?”
Cause he is a gentleman okay
will then find so much time for you
naps
he will cuddle 
big spoon sometimes but I see him as more of a lay you down full bodied on top of him so he can feel your lips pressed to his neck and you can have soft whispery conversations like that
will kiss the top of your head between words
ask questions that seem strange’
but he just wants to know everything about you
because he wants to understand how to make you happy always and that’s the best way for him to do it
analyze analyze analyze
dates will be pretty quiet and chill
he will do whatever you want because he doesn’t need to be in charge of those things 
he would be the sweetest most boyfriendy boyfriend the world has ever seen and you will honestly constantly be amazed (hes not even my a.c.e bias im just in my feels from his chart it’s so beautiful and cohesive)
His N Node is Sagittarius and this is notable because it will mean he is pretty adventurous with his love
that’s coming up again later too jot that down
okay and im gonna ramble cause he is so so s w e e t please
will not stop talking about you to the members
guys did you know that my S/O is ….
the most WONDERFUL person in the world???
they are like yes you told us that 10 mins ago and will likely tell us again in 10 more minutes
S P I C Y time
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istg it was so hard to pick a gif there are so many sexy gifs of this man LAWD
WOOOP let’s get to it 👀👀👀
I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW
everyone calls him a SERIOUS KINKY DOM
and I won’t say that ISN’T there…..
what I will say is it isn’t likely his GO TO 
okay I will explain
his Aries rising and venus means he will have some FIREY dom-y moments
but his Pisces and Taurus placements will tone it down a bit
now if you are INTO that he is happy to please
but just expect that on occasion he wants you to make him weak
have you seen any dance ever that he is in the man goes from powerhouse to trembling in the grasp of another
black and blue fancams do yourself a favor if you haven’t
okay star stuff again
this man
is so affectionate. his hands are EVERYWHERE always 
he will time things incredibly well
remember when i talked about the importance of his mercury being Taurus too??
yeahhhh
so this means he is amazing with his hands
expect thorough teasing from him
this is not a drill
he is going to make you cum at least 2 times before his cock comes near you 
i don’t make the rules
have you seen his tongue??? hands vs tongue  I am thinking he is going to do both but there might be times where he does one or the other
he loves loves loves
to hear moans
not so much a praise kink but damn it does stroke his ego
he wants you so incredibly blissed out that you don’t even think about what noises are coming out of your face 
h i p control
the dancer hips on this man honestly I cannot continue because im going to burst into flame lawd
we’ve all seen the package so while he is not lacking in size by my estimation, he is also SO precise
O V E R S T I M 
okay so just cause he isn’t a ‘dom’ always doesn’t mean he isn’t always kinky
he is kinky
i do think he is a BIT more into pain play than some of the other members would be but I don’t think he’d go for anything that is TOO rough
spanking with a leather paddle is a yes, anything too much harder is a no
he just wants you at peak pleasure the whole time and he LIVES to know he is the one doing it 
What can I say Aries are low key ego driven and he will use your pleasure to make him feel like a god or demon in the sheets
and that’s fair cause he likely is one
remember that Sagg north node? yeah that’s back
adventurous 
so expect some bondage both ways
he would love for you to put a blindfold on him and make him experience everything through touch
will let out the prettiest whines but also will be so in to it
loves to be teased but will never ask you to reciprocate oral unless you’re doing character play
if he HAPPENS to be domming well watch out cause he is damn good at it. 
biting
yeah that’s a thing 
honestly as a rapper i see him having a huge oral fixation
there will be times he will leave a box on the bed with lingerie and you will see a note telling you to put it on and come to the bedroom
and when you come out he is going to LAVISH you in attention
unwrap you like the best gift he has ever recieved
that thing his eyes do where they darken and he looks like he could get you on your knees with a single word
yea that too
but instead he just strips you and doesn’t miss a single inch as he explores you with his tongue and teeth
WHEW
not a lay down the rules type of dom
maybe one or two but mostly he just wants to control and move your body for your own pleasure
on the flip side when he wants you in control its like
he has had a hard busy week and he is stressed
so he will give you a hint he wants to be babied
will get your attention and make it clear but probably be too embarrassed to ask outright
but when you do lord he will be so pleased
ride his face or his cock he’s good with either he just wants you to touch him and body worship him the way he does you
that is when praising him will work in your favor
but not just by telling him how hot he is
he wants you to talk about how you love him
where you love him
what he does to your soul and bare it for him
those deep conversations which could be had over coffee but if you are kissing your way down his body he will not be able to stand it
he is so in love and it shows
hey bouncing out of that think of this
artist Sehyoon puts down a tarp one day and stips you naked. he begs you to let him paint you and he does, but not on a canvass
no he has body paint and his hands are the brush and he literally covers you in him so viscerally and emotionally
it starts beautiful 
a color here and there outlining things he thinks make you so unique
you’ve got stretchmarks? scars? moles?
he amplifies these and makes you see your “flaws” as as beautiful as he sees them
full length mirror in front of you once you are enhanced he grips the base of your neck gently in his hand from behind and meets your eyes in the mirror 
his hot wet whisper in your ear that this
this was the peak of his creativity
that he would never be able to replicate on any other format the beauty he sees in you
and somehow even though it’s this beautiful sweet moment his eyes do the thing and you know you are in for it
expect the flutters to turn to fire as he puts a bit of pressure into that hand, just enough to get your attention. you know what comes after
expect to be much messier by the end and hes throwing out whatever clothes he bought tbh
aftercare isn’t gonna be a thing much 
he works hard on you and he is tired
will cuddle forever after you will be gross and he will not care showers and cleanup are for after he has had his NAP 
*I hope you enjoyed it!! feel free to send more requests anytime! I love peaking at these charts and delving in !
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Text
The Mercenary Band
Tanef was sitting calmly at the base of the tower keep, sharpening her swords with a whetstone she had found in the weapon's storage in the keep. Her breathing was sharp with signs of pain, due to her chest being hit by a war hammer. Somehow she and her other 4 companions had survived the siege and the assault, now resting and recovering from wounds, aside from Shirra, who was sent as a messenger to get reinforcements and save them from the siege. She, with Loth, their cleric, helped Thurn and especially Horn to heal, as they had taken most of the beating in the fight. There were 3 fresh graves outside the fort, for those 3 unfortunate companions that had fallen in the assault.
“You should rest too, Tanef,” Shirra had come down to see the elf.
Tanef kept sharpening her blade “I want to go to the town and shake those councilmen by their collars. How dare they condemn us to death!” She threw the stone away in anger, but then almost collapsed due to her injured chest.
“You are in no shape to take the 3 day journey south. Rest!” Shirra insisted and patted Tanef on her shoulder.
“Someone needs to repair the gate or stay on watch” Tanef resisted.
“Me and Loth can take care of it, don't you worry!”
“Fine” Tanef gave in and walked upstairs and layed down to rest.
After a few hours Tanef rose up again and went out in the courtyard once more, seeing Thurn woken  up from his rest and standing around, balancing himself on a walking stick.Tanef walked over to him.
“Your leg is hurt?” she asked
“And you can't breathe normally” he answered
“What do you suggest as our next course of action?” Tanef asked.
“I personally do not want to deal with the so called council anymore, the already double corssed us already during the siege, I do not wish to be betrayed once more by those corrupted asses!” he proclaimed.
Tanef shifted around and thought for a second: “You are right, we should avoid dealing with them, as they have already proved to be untrustworthy, but we are under a contract for the next 3 months, we cannot break it or else we might be declared triaitors. I suggest we go back to the town and get our reward for the task. If we want to survive in this dimension we must live by its rules.”
Thurn growled “Sure, do the bare minimum, I'm fine with that.”
They both stood by in silence for a while, until Thurn whispered “This isn't my home anymore.”
Tanef hugged Thurn over his back and reassuringly said “It's fine, don't worry about it. We can make a new home, that is if you want to.”
He growled again and stabbed the ground with the stick strongly and went inside once more. Tanef stood for a while, thinking about how to help Thurn with accepting that his home dimension is all but gone. After that she walked off to inspect the walls and defences, unable to do so before due to the siege.
After a few hours of slwoly surveying the surrondings, Tanef went back to the fortress, to its tower keep, and saw everyone already gathered together. Tanef joined them and started to talk.
“How is the gate doing?” she asked to Shirra
“One side is useless, but the other is still standing, we'll need a new gate if we want to keep the fort for ourselves. I'm also concerned about the food stocks, we only have enough for a few days left, we'll have to travel to a village or the town soon to get the supplies we require.” Shirra said.
“We need more drink!” Horhrug said.
“Alright, we'll sort that out soon, but first we have to get to the town and get our reward for holding the fort. We can gather the supplies along the way.” Tanef told everyone.
“Who will stay behind and guard the fort, though?” Shirra asked. “Do you plan to recruit from the villages?”
“That is an option, yes, but it might take a bit too long to make sure its properly defended, so I propose that only I will go, while the rest of you stay behind and protect the fort.” Tanef answered.
“Wouldn't that make us vulnerable without you? We'll be 2 people less in case of another siege!” Loth said worryingly. “You are also hurt, don't you need some help with you?”
“We need to take our chances regardless, we will starve to death before we can leave the fort, and who know what those spineless bastards might do if we dont come in timely fashion, the lives sacrificed here would have been spent for nothing!” Tanef said
“Whatever you say, captain...”” Shirra said.
“So it's been decided, tomorrow morning I depart for Amelgalia.” tanef said, stood up and headed out.
“Where are you going?” asked Thurn
“I need some fresh air, that's all.” Tanef answered.
Next morning she went out before the sun was up.
She loved the night's sky the most, as it had the most going on. It had stars, moons and other objects she just couldn't find a name for. And sometimes something shot past or appeared for a few moments. The day sky she also adored, the fluffy forms of the clouds and the sun itself. She still hadn't seen a sun setting or rising, and she forgot to do so again this morning, too enchanted by the shifting tones of the sky as the morning came. Living almost all of her life underground had stolen her the joys of what a sky is.
But she also had to keep to her goal, getting to Amelgalia. She made sure to pack everything she needed, that is, food and a few essential things like flint and steel for firemaking and bandages, in case she got hurt. As well as her contract with the city, which she brought in case of needing a proof of her employment.
The trip to Amelgalia lasts one and a half days and she passed a village on her way there, before the night set. She decided to not push herself and find a place to camp for the night. The season seemed to be summer, as far as the subterranian upbringing told her, so she didn't see a reason to bring a tent or anything.
She decided to sleep on the trees, a pretty good hiding place in case of some bandits, and a perfect place to observe the stars from. Unfortunately she missed the sunset, again, so she made herself content with another night of star gazing, as she had done every evening so far. Before she knew it, she was asleep.
She woke up coughing, her chest hurting unbearably. She had overexhausted herself yesterday and now will have to go slower, maybe only reaching the city in the evening.
The sun was well up when she woke up, so she sighed in regret that she couldn't see the sunrise again, but onwards regardless, clutching her chest and resting on the road side to rest for a few moments.
Suddenly, she heard a noise that resembled a horse stamping the ground. She lookd to her left and safe a cart being pulled by a horse. She stood up and waved her arm towards th cart and waited for it to come closer. Soon, it came and stopped, its driver speaking down towards Tanef.
“Where do you want to go, stranger?” he asked.
“Amelgalia” Tanef responded.
“What business you got there?”
“I'm an adventurer and im heading to receive my reward from the council.”
The man scanned her body. “You do look like the sort. Are you by chance one of those mercenaries that occupy that fort up in the north?”
Tanef cackled. “I'm too young to throw my life away in such endavours.”
“How old are you then?” the man asked.
“Just 170 years old, not that much.”
The man looked with wide open eyes. “Alright then. Uh... do you require a ride to the city?”
“Of course” Tanef answered
She climbed in the cart and sat down, and the man cracked his whip and they rode onwards.
“So on what kind of adventure were you then? You don't really look like from here.” the man asked.
“Oh I come from far away lands, you could say not from this world, even. I was sent on far, far away quest by the council after an artefact, fought many monsters, got lost a few times and had to find my way back, you know, the usual adventuring stuff.” she told.
“From another world, eh? You are either a big liar, story teller or both.” the man replied.
“What if I am? I've told many lies to my comrades back when I still had any. I've told them stories that never took place, lied that I am some sort of... plane hopper, that I have seen the sky for hundreds of years, forced to hide my fascination with it in case I am found out to be a liar. Some nights I dream about... I mean dreamt about how much easier it would to slice their throats and find my way in the world by myself, without them stalling me.” Tanef said, coughing at the end.
The man dropped silent but then chuckled. “I didn't understand a single word from you, girl. You must have lived no more than 25 sumers, full of dreams and ambitions. Wait till you reach my age, then you will find a value in setting down, with friends... and maybe a partner. Did you run away from your home? No, you are dressed like some bandit, so maybe you are one! Maybe I should throw you out my cart, you filth. Better keep your mouth shut or you will get worse treatment than this!” The man spat out his words in anger.
“I'm sorry, I must have had something deep inside me that I needed to get out. I hope I didn't scare you too much” the man apologized after a small while.
Tanef remained silent and just looked at the surroundings while sitting in the empty cart.
After a few hours, the two reached a large fortified city, Amelgalia. Its walls were around 10 metres high and had several towers on them, protecting the insides of the city. There were some buildings outside the walls, though, mostly merchant booths and warehouses that wouldn't fit inside the city. The horse stopped and the old man spoke to Tanef.
“Well, this is it. We need to part now as I have business outside the walls. I wish you well on whatever you need to do here.” the man said.
“Thanks” Tanef muttered.
“Wait!” The man said as soon as Tanef started walking away. “What's your name?”
“Tanef.”
“Glad to meet you, Tanef. I am Kristoff!”
Tanef waved her arm as a goodbye and walked inside the city.
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eclipsing-maestro · 5 years
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Vitale Maestro
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The Basics ––– –
Full name: Urashiki Vitale Yamikozui / Maestro
Race: Drahn (Auri of the First) + Ghost (Chronal Dissacoiation)
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Bi/Pansexual
Marital Status: Married
Age: 28
Nameday: 12/16 (16th Sun of the 6th Umbral Moon)
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Physical Appearance ––––
Hair: Black Hair (Angel of Death/Kuja Style)
Eyes: Ghost Faded White Pupils/Blue Limbal Rings/Jet Black Sclera
Height: 62.4 inch/ 5ft 3.5 inch
Build: Well-Toned, Mild Physically Fit
Distinguishing Marks: Tribal Tattoos (Arms, Legs, Upper Back, and Under her Breasts) + Battle Body Scars
Common Accessories:
Bandages (Wrapped around Both her arms from Fingers tips to abit below her shoulders, and Legs from Toes to Thighs, covering some of her battle scars)
Edensgate Choker/ Omega Rings of Slaying on Index, Middle, and Ring Finger on both hands/ Edensgate Earrings on both Horns/ Makai Mask
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Personal ––––
Profession: Freelancer Assassin
Hobbies: Fighting, Drawing/Painting, Training, Hunting, Cooking, Playing Musical Instruments, and Reading Books
Languages: She is Mute and Lost her Voice, so she uses Sign Language, but she can understand Hingan, abit Xaela Language, Amaurot/Ascian tongue
Residence: Babylon Citra (In Larcade), The Crystarium (In Hydaelyn)
Birthplace: Amaurot ( Vitales Anscestry is from another universe that came to The Star to escape the endangerment of their fallen universe. These outer humanoids are called Maestros)
Religion: Unknown
Patron Deity: Unknown
Fear: Forsakened and Forgotten
Relationships ––––
Spouse: Her Childhood Best Friend
Children: N/A
Parents: Unknown Wherabouts
Siblings: 6 Sisters (2 of them are her Twins/Triplets), 4 Brothers
Other Relatives: (Wayyyy too much)
Pets: BeeMo (Fat Cat), HunHow (Black Hayate), Speedo (White Whitteret)
Traits ––––
Extroverted / In Between / Introverted
Disorganized / In Between / Organized
Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded
Calm / In Between / Anxious
Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable
Cautious / In Between / Reckless
Patient / In Between /  Impatient
Outspoken / In Between / Reserved
Leader / In Between / Follower
Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic
Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic
Traditional / In Between / Modern
Hard-working / In Between / Lazy
Cultured / In Between / Uncultured
Loyal / In Between / Disloyal
Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful
Additional information ––––
Drinking Alcohol: Moderately
Smoking: Abandoned habit
Other Narcotics: Never
Medicinal Drugs: Sometimes
Indulgent Food: Sometimes
Splurge Spending: Never
Gambling: Sometimes
RP Hooks ––––
Anomaly Mysteries : Vitale is from another universe, but she was also from a distant history. She ventures to knowledge and understanding into the mysteries of the 13 shards, the era of The Star, the universe and the planet she comes from, and the mysteries of exploring other dimensions or very relatable ones, even if it’s within the Multiverse exploring it like a library. She does not intend to know everything than what she knows about Time and Space, because in her aspect, “knowledge is a blessing but it is also a curse” and it might be unsafe to see much. But this tends to be a venture she goes solo in, yet rarely ever does. In Hydaelyn, she’s into the Chronicles of the New Era, mainly Omega since she and Omega are as you would say “partners in crime” when exploring the very essence of the world and many others. She acts as a wandering ghost, hence being a living ghost herself suffering from Chronal Disassociation, it could be something vital so that way she can understand the meaning of life, even if it means fighting towards it as she is a warrior of supernatural aspects. Yet no longer a warrior of light, she tends to walk the path of her origins and the path of her liking, which is understanding the concepts of many other stars and life that is within and beyond out there to such a beautiful yet hidden, forbidden phenomenons of outer space and the outer worlds distant to the two universes she’s familiar of, but keeps at a stable amount so it wouldn’t feel like she’s seeing too much, but would you be willing to prepare your mind and spirit to journey this far like she has? Something like this for Vitale, is just a very rare hobby.
Redemption: Despite traveling to other worlds, Vitale is on a road to redemption. Her sins of Wrath has caused her to be absorbed in vengeance, for she has not lived a good life. She’s been sacrificed, betrayed, heartbroken, scarred, taking scars, mentally broke down and even at points where she almost lost her life. This however did change her ego where she sees that the entire world has no faith in good, and she became a vile demon by heart, responsible for genocides and chaos throughout Hydaelyns realm, since she grew up majorly than her own universe. Once took up the lance of the Dragoon, then the Shield of the Paladin, the Greatsword of the Dark Knight, and many other teachings, her pity, her worries, and her empathy was what made her weak, and soon it was casted aside for more power, as melodramatic as it sounds. But now shes goes all out as a Samurai and Dark Knight majorly. Time has passed for her, the daemon within she finally awakens and finally accepts, and now she wishes to redeem and make amends. She is aware of her unforgiving actions, maybe her unforgiving existence, but even through that blank expression on her face and the oblivion vibe she carries, she continues to walk the road as a Samurai, and a Specter... a ghost. Though there is many more secrets about her still hidden, she wouldn’t mind joining other Warriors or fighters out there to at least be of aid in their stories. Aiding the stories of others, that she believes, is an objective to her road of redemption. Putting aside the ravenous will she once bared, but she is a Chaotic Neautral. She may be of a free agent of sorts, but she does have a free will, it’s up to you if you wish to trust her.
Recorder: Vitale is a Recorder. Though she is known as a RiftWalker, there is more to her than that. As a Recorder, Vitale has the capabilities of seeing branches of timelines that are created, destroyed, or overwritten. Those eyes of hers aren’t just for show after all, they just represent that supernatural power within. She cannot predict the future however. As a recorder she can only acknowledge and analyze the other branches of the past and the currently made present, or the choices soon to be made by whoever. This is something that she keeps a secret from everyone except her relatives, and the people of her universe. She’s a wanderer of a hidden supernatural art of power, yet she tends to play the “Timelime Analyzing” character, but her Recordings are not always 100% and she is aware that she could be wrong, but she can detect paradoxes within the rift of time and if things to go wrong, either by the choice of the Warrior of Light, she will either return to her universe and just relax like go fishing or something, or approach the Adventurer and play mind games with them (similar to how Accord did with Zero in Drakengard 3), but in the end, this is a part of her she never reveals because despite all, she and the Maestros want to live a normal life to escape the truth of their abnormalities that’s not of this universe, but only to theirs.
Dark Themes: Vitale is all about dark themes, deep mysteries, or vile events. She tends to be cautious but if it ever happens, then it’s no biggy to her. Any type of dark theme story etc is always suitable! Either it consists spooks, violence, fighting, or being the end of the world, then that’ll be alright! Would love that
Far East: Always love Far Eastern stories or events. Would be fine if it was Hingashi, Othard, Doma, or the Azim Steppe! It’s funny too for me mostly because despite Vitale being a Xaela, know that she is not of the Steppe (just like how she’s mistaken for being a dude cus I made her a hecking tomboy FFFFF), but it is understandable that it does confuse the very eye, since she is from another universe. It does indeed confuse a lot of people but ever so, your muse always has the privilege to ask who Vitale really is, or just say what tribe of the Steppe she’s in an her answer will just be “I’m not from here” LOL but not that Far Eastern settings, but even the aesthetics too. Either a dark theme also! A huge nerd when it comes to Ninjas and Samurais and everything else. Vitale is a Wandering Samurai, a Ronin, so she always uses a katana but she also has her Dark Knight aspects mixed with her Samurai ways, so not just a katana, but just the way of the blade in general.
What I’m Looking For ———
Friends
Rivals/ Enemies for a Challenge
Combat/ Spar / Battle to the Death
Influence
SuperNatural themes
Dark themes
Mysterious themes
Funny Moments if optional
Aiding stories of others
Anything at all
Contact Information  ––––
Either here on Tumblr DM or Discord! If Discord feel free to DM on tumblr for it ^-^
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arcanacouncilrp · 5 years
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       event two     -      may 15 - may 28
                      first.
      28 August 1691 — It has been twenty-seven days since everything changed. The disappointment, the rage, the betrayal, the sense of loss; all of it has faded into a dull, thumping, pure loneliness. I’ve been travelling aimlessly for over three weeks; it’s the only thing that’s kept me sane. Carriages and ships pale in comparison to my old methods of travel, but all that’s gone now. If I’m to be one of the people now, I suppose I’m meant to suffer their wearisome normality.
     I landed in Norway early this morning, after bartering a ride from a fishmonger. The crew was polite as one would expect, but it hardly made up for the smell. The locals seem used to it; I received no odd glances or upturned noses, but I also didn’t stay in town for long. The forest felt much more inviting than their taverns. Loneliness is my curse. An eternity of it. Perhaps the others were lucky.
     After I settled in a clearing and built my fire, I heard a rustle in the trees. A clowder of long-haired cats emerged. They had stone cold eyes; hard-looking. Feral. Perhaps they smelled the fish I’d made a bed of on my voyage against the flames. They studied me, and I didn’t falter. Once, I’d have been able to speak with them, but those days have passed. One broke the line, overcoming its hesitation. It continued to hold my gaze as it made its way over, slowly and with a predatory gait. When it was close enough, I offered it some salted meat. It didn’t trust me, but hunger won out. No sooner had it plucked the meat from my fingers did it disappear back into the depths of the trees. The other followed with it.
                                                               I was alone again.
     But an interesting idea lingered with me long past the sun setting behind the leafless branches. The Ancients left me my creation powers. Why don’t I… create? Why hadn’t I thought of it before? My companion didn’t have to be human. Witches had familiars once, right? That’s all I am now, isn’t it? 
     It took a lot out of me, bringing him into being. But he’s beautiful. A spitting image of my mystery friend that had visited in the afternoon. He also enjoyed the salted meat, and the warmth the fire had to offer. He told me his name was Balfour. Who was I to argue?
                               Perhaps I won’t be alone anymore.
                     before.
     Two weeks have passed since the initial discovery of Feiyan’s absence, as well as the flicker in magical gifts. Not to mention the grab for power. Emotions have calmed over the short time, but the weight of it all has hardly dissipated. No one has really moved on, but some seem more intent on finding answers than others.
     Death has taken to his dog form, using its keen sense of smell to search The Lair. He goes floor by floor, noticing nothing out of the ordinary until he reaches the suites. Something incredibly old and remarkably feline fills the air, emanating from beyond Feiyan’s door. Knowing Billy rarely leaves the library, Death barges in, coming upon a feral-looking grey cat with long hair and bright teal eyes. They stare intently, and Death starts barking.
     The Tower and The Empress both run in, hopes high, and Justice follows not long after. “Oh, great,” Justice mutters sarcastically, a sentiment The Tower shares.
     “What have you morons done with her?” the cat replies in a gravelly voice that shocks only Death. The Empress calms the room, but not before giving the cat a quick scratch behind the ears and a small smile.
     “Welcome home, Balfour,” she whispers. A voice rings from the doorway as Death shifts back to his human form. The Fool, having heard the commotion, appears to ask what the hell is going on. Justice suggests they convene The Council.
     Balfour sits in the middle of the Council table, everyone else in their seats, listening as intently as one can to a talking cat. He explains what he is: a creation of Feiyan’s. Who he is: her oldest living friend. How he is: pissed at the idiocy of the group in front of him. The Empress speaks up, interrupting what she knows could be a barrage of insults from the irascible cat she grew up with.
     She explains that Balfour lived with them when she was young, The Tower quickly chiming in that he is far from a friendly house cat. The Empress continues: he often came and went just as Feiyan did, but one day he left and did not return. That was nearly seventeen years ago. Balfour interrupts her then, telling the group he has his own thoughts and agenda just like the rest of them, and had some things he had to figure out.
     “About two weeks ago, I knew something was wrong. We’re connected, Feiyan and I. I’m a piece of her soul, and I could feel her in pain. So I ask once more: what did you imbeciles do? Where is she?”
    That hushes the room, but only for a moment. Questions begin flying. Feiyan is hurt? She’s alive? Where is she? How do we get her back? Balfour hisses to silence them, his frustration - and concern - is clear. He tells them the only reason he has returned is to find out where she is and why the scent of danger lingers in the air around them, and until a clue surfaces, he has no information for them beyond this.
     “And what have you all been doing in her absence?” he sneers, piercing gaze leveled around the table at all of them. No one answers immediately, forcing The Empress to speak up and explain their dispute over decision-making power.
     With that he leaps off the table, making no effort to hide his irritation at the Councilors. “You are supposed to be the best of the best,” he tells them, his tone an uncanny reminder of the way Feiyan spoke, “yet you squabble like children as the world decays around you. Either put yourself to good use, or do not bother me.”
     Tail held high, he’s out the door, ending the meeting without another word. The Councilors look at each other for a moment longer before breaking away. Some go looking for Balfour, desiring to aid him; some seek out friends for comfort, or to laugh off the absurdity of the whole situation.
                                            They have no idea how outrageous the day is yet to be.
                    now.
     Hours later the Councilors begin to notice their magic behaving strangely, though most write it off as their nerves getting the better of them. 
                                                                                 Until they can’t.
      Death finds The Fool lost in his fears over the Council’s permanence; attempting to cheer him up, Death takes the form of a kitten, barking insults and orders just as Balfour had. Quickly, though, he realizes the problem on his hands. He can’t change back - or at least, not to the form he is trying to take. The Fool might have laughed at him, but his own control over his powers wavers, sending him to new places at random as if he was a child once again.
      Wheel of Fortune has never had this many unlucky things happen to him in a row before, which naturally leads him on an ill-advised adventure to test his newfound bad luck. Things are supposed to go his way always, so what could possibly be wrong? On his little adventure he gets caught in the crosshairs of The Chariot’s malfunctioning magic, and suddenly his feet leave the ground. Frustrated by her loss of control, The Chariot is already doing everything she can to regain it, but Wheel of Fortune’s attitude does nothing to improve her concentration.
     The Devil is not trying to summon anything, yet things from fleeting thoughts keep appearing around her. It isn’t that big an issue - the clean-up may not be fun, but she can only do so much to help with that - until her rogue powers put The Tower right in her path. Having fought hard over the years to master his gift, he hasn’t accidentally set anything on fire… yet. Mostly. But the harder the Councilors fight their loss of control, the worse it gets.
     Judgement, who had taken to the astral plane to get away from the pandemonium of magical talking animals, cannot seem to find his way back. The Magician finds him in a trance and moves to shake him awake, but the contact slams her spirit into the astral plane with his, leaving them caught between worlds with seemingly no escape, and their bodies abandoned and empty laying in The Lair.
      A storm closes in on The Lair, so The Star goes out to take control and let it pass, but his powers only seem to make it worse, whipping the rain into a thundering frenzy. Strength catches a glimpse of his struggle through a window and runs out to help. Big mistake. Combined, the two of them valiantly fight against the storm they are feeding - and begin to worry they run the risk of the Potomac rising and flooding their home.
     The High Priestess is not just drowning in others’ emotions - no, his predicament only gets worse. Happening upon The Emperor in the library, the two quickly discover that neither of their powers are working properly. The Emperor bursts into uncharacteristic tears, her frustration at the day’s events amplified by The High Priestess’ out of control powers. She tries to will him to turn it off, but her persuasion doesn’t work quite as planned, and her magically-induced mood swings do not get any better.
     At first, The Hanged Man doesn’t notice a huge difference in his powers. He’s still moving faster than everyone else, and that’s all that matters, isn’t it? Until he struggles to control his own speed, that is. One minute he’s darting around, the next it’s as if he stepped in quicksand. He seeks out the nearest person he can find for help, but The Hermit is having troubles of her own. Her visions overlap with her present, and she’s struggling to wade through what is real and what isn’t, but she hears The Hanged Man’s voice and knows she has to help, if she can.
      The Moon finds herself ejected from her sleep much too early, and in her annoyance she seeks out The Hierophant in the infirmary for something, anything, that could explain her problem and make it go away. A new issue quickly arises: The Hierophant cannot seem to keep her eyes open very long around The Moon, and every time she dozes off, her dreams start up loud and chaotic, drowning out both their worries for the moment.
    Justice and Temperance are arguing when they leave the meeting, the former not trusting Balfour at his word due to past history, while the latter attempts to point out they’re being stubborn. The Sun follows close behind attempting to mediate but failing miserably. What actually works is the three stumbling upon an unconscious and seemingly unwakeable Judgement and The Magician. Worried, the three take the bodies to The Hierophant, hoping she can wake them, but as she herself struggles to stay awake, she discovers her healing powers are not responding.
     The Empress had gone to her garden just after the meeting for peace and comfort, and for a while she was left unbothered. Then, her plants begin to grow. And grow. And grow. Utterly out of control, she tries to stop them, but her powers do not respond as they should. The Lovers, upon seeing the commotion, runs to help, but she actually makes matters worse. She can’t control her mimicry, let alone the chlorokinesis, so between the two of them, they become trapped in a maze of greenery.
     Mayhem reigns well into the next day, until a subtle shift in the air restores everyone’s control. The storm ceases, objects stop floating, and The Lair is (mostly) untouched by flame. No one is any closer to discovering what caused the malfunction, but Balfour reappears to confirm one thing: this cannot have been a good sign for the future.
Happy plot day, councilors, and we hope you enjoy Balfour! He’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Our first event was such a lovely success, and we were so thrilled to read through everything you all came up with. Although this new event is starting, feel free to continue any threads you are still working through from the first event. For this event, the magical malfunction lasts approximately 24 hours, so your threads with event partners can occur anytime between the afternoons of May 15th and May 16th. This event will last about two weeks through May 28th, so you are also encouraged to begin reactionary threads about the power fritz and Balfour himself! We have more in store for you with this sassy cat, so stay tuned and happy plotting!
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sagemoderocklee · 5 years
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Hey Eeri, I wondered if Naruto was the sun and Sasuke the moon, what would be Lee and Gaara? I saw the star for Lee, because he shines with all his might at the risk of consum himself entirely, but I had not idea for Gaara? Have you an idea or do you prefer the dragon/tiger symbolism?
I think that the tiger/dragon symbolism for Gaara and Lee is such an amazing, working, and consistent one for them however, if we wanted to move towards something similar to Naruto and Sasuke, my first thought would be with Wind/Earth. Much like Fire/Water have that complimentary/opposing nature to them, so too do wind and earth, and i think it makes a lot of sense given that Gaara is the Kazekage and uses sand in his fighting, while many of Lee’s moves despite being physical (earth) in nature use wind as a common naming convention (5 out of 13 official, not anime-only techniques). 
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According to the Naruto Wikia, which is a blackhole constantly sucking me back, Gaara’s Nature types are officially listed as Wind, Earth, and Lightning (for why???), he is also given Magnet Release in the novel but like I’m not sure how I feel about that because I don’t count the novels as canon, but it does make sense given that it’s a kekkei genkai and he’d have inherited it from his father...
So anyway, I’m disregarding that Gaara having Lightning Release because it makes Zero Sense! He never uses it! And it specifically is stated that lightning release is RARE but everyone and their mother apparently has it in the series now because Kishimoto cannot write! So disregarding that, we’re gonna focus on wind and earth. 
Lee doesn’t have an official nature type. I get why, but tbh it doesn’t honestly make sense because he still has chakra, he still uses chakra. He just can’t mold and manipulate it. He essentially just pushes his chakra into his arms and legs. 
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It’s really common for people to misunderstand that Lee has and uses chakra, he just doesn’t use it conventionally. Which means that he has a chakra affinity, just like everyone else, he would simply have a harder time figuring out his affinity. Given, however, that a lot of his techniques are named with wind in mind, I think it’s safe to assume that Lee does in fact have a wind affinity. In my opinion, you could also argue that he has either fire or earth release, but for the sake of this argument I do think he’s more inclined to having an earth affinity because he is such a physical person and earth is representative of that. 
地 Chi (sometimes ji) or tsuchi, meaning "Earth", represents the hard, solid objects of the earth. The most basic example of chi is in a stone. Stones are highly resistant to movement or change, as is anything heavily influenced by chi. In people, the bones, muscles and tissues are represented by chi. Emotionally, chi is predominantly associated with stubbornness, collectiveness, stability, physicality, and gravity. It is a desire to have things remain as they are; a resistance to change. In the mind, it is confidence. When under the influence of this chi mode or "mood", we are aware of our own physicality and sureness of action. This is a separate concept from the energy-force, pronounced in Chinese as qì(also written ch'i) and in Japanese as ki, and written alternatively as 気, 氣, or 气.
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The above, which I just pulled from Wiki, explains that earth in Japanese philosophy pertaining to the five elements, is representative of the physical body. I also bolded the part about resistance to change because Lee’s body is resistant to his desire to change it--being able to mold his own chakra, etc. I also find that Lee, in some ways, is resistant to change in that he continues to model himself after Gai-sensei and fears losing that. His sense of identity is so strongly rooted in Gai-sensei that I think change would be a challenge for him.
Gaara himself, represents Wind, however, he does have an earth affinity--he’s from Suna, he uses sand in his fighting, he is the leader of his village which requires him to be grounded, sure, steady, etc. I think, in many ways, he has that earth influence, but embodies Wind. 
風 Fū or kaze, meaning "Wind", represents things that grow, expand, and enjoy freedom of movement. Aside from air, smoke, and the like, fū can in some ways be best represented by the human mind. As we grow physically, we learn and expand mentally as well, in terms of our knowledge, our experiences, and our personalities. Fū represents breathing, and the internal processes associated with respiration. Mentally and emotionally, it represents an "open-minded" attitude and carefree feeling. It can be associated with will, elusiveness, evasiveness, benevolence, compassion, and wisdom.
Much like Gaara does exemplify parts of Earth, I think Lee also exemplifies parts of Wind, but is ultimately earth. 
Gaara is wind but he is still influenced by earth; Lee is earth, still influenced by wind. When the two come together, it creates a balancing force.
Now, if we were to go with a celestial metaphor--and I do absolutely love your star metaphor, which I imagine that Lee could also be led towards the supernova for a metaphor as well, or we could go with a shooting star metaphor (fast, short lived, often burned up in the atmosphere or destroyed on impact)--then it’s a little harder to place Gaara, specifically. From my perspective, Suna as a culture is more grounded in the earth itself, and that heavenly bodies are the dominion of the gods and you can’t call yourself that except under specific conditions. Gaara as the Kazekage, would thus have occasion to be compared to a god--and it’s funny I’m talking about this because I was thinking about something along those lines the other day. 
Anyways, I digress, and honestly my headcanons for Suna aren’t really pertinent to this conversation. 
For me personally, I feel Gaara would be symbolized by a planet. I think this makes sense if you consider earth--for example--as a place where life grows and is sustained. As Kazekage, that’s his role. I think of him as supporting and caring for others, and I think that could be the interpretation if you wanted to go with space metaphors. 
And from there, you have the star that either shines bright over this planet or a shooting star with a trajectory that’s also passing by this planet, or even the metaphor of colliding with (Gaara vs Lee). I think it’s a less consistent and less working metaphor overall than the tiger/dragon or wind/earth metaphor. I think as individual the star does work for Lee, but trying to pin down Gaara and find that balance between them is difficult because i don’t think celestial metaphors really work as well for him. 
Overall though, I think if you execute it well, then you can make that work. It’s just about understanding the characters and their relationship to each other and themselves. Like, in my opinion, I think a good writer really can accomplish any metaphor because they’ll take the time needed to explore it. 
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daywillcomeagain · 5 years
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galadriel
i’ve started a series in which i do retellings of the events of a tolkien character’s life, from their perspective, framed to make them sympathetic and help the reader understand their choices. this is the first, but you’ll be able to read the rest here once i’ve posted more. they’re from discord chats, so they’re in a very casual style.
2.9K words under the cut!
galadriel is born in valinor, in the undying lands, in the west. death is unheard of. only one person has ever died in the history of the entire universe, and it was because she wanted to die. the streets are paved in diamonds; emeralds and rubies and sapphires are scattered on the beaches as a gift. galadriel is the youngest child of the youngest child of the king; she's a princess, yes, but she's fifteenth in line, eighteenth if the noldor get over their sexism by the time the king dies. and she's smart. she's absurdly smart. she goes to the valar and begs them to teach her everything. they agree to teach her as much as they are willing to. she learns mathematics and astronomy and biology and botany and anatomy and poetry and physics and chemistry. and she runs out of things to learn that the gods will teach her.
she starts dreaming of going to middle-earth. ruling her own kingdom. she's in paradise and she knows everything there is to know and nothing she does matters, not really, she could have learned it all or she could have been the best archer and runner and swimmer in the land or she could have sat at home and done nothing and it wouldn't have mattered because she's already in paradise. and she's still not taken seriously here, she has all the knowledge of the gods but in the eyes of everyone else that still doesn't make her anything more than a young girl. she is valued most not for her knowledge but for her hair, so beautiful and golden, the most beautiful anyone has ever seen. from strangers it is flattering. from those who know her, it is nothing but an insult. and she doesn't fit in anywhere, not exactly, half-lindar quarter-vanyar quarter-noldor, with blonde hair and a telerin accent that speaks so confidently of her own knowledge.
and then the king dies.
feanor gives his speech, full of fire and rebellion, and his sons jump to his side to swear an oath, and she can't tell if her shivers are terrified or excited. (maybe it's both.) he says: say farewell to the gilded cage of paradise. let us go to middle-earth. let us pursue evil, let us destroy it, we will never turn back, and we will win, and all shall bow to our glory.
galadriel has always hated feanor, but it surprises nobody that his speech wakes something up inside her. her brothers, her father, her mother, they all council calmness, of cool heads, of softness. galadriel wants to go. she is described as "the only woman of the Noldor to stand that day tall and valiant among the contending princes."
they have, of course, no boats. perhaps you have already heard this story. but let me tell it again, as she would have seen it:
it is dark. galadriel has never seen night before, not truly; she grew up in a world where the hours were marked by whether the light was the sharp gold of laurelin or the gentle silver of telperien. at least there is starlight now--it is not the pitch black of void that came with the darkness at first. but still, it is so very dark. her sight is better than humans, but it is not perfect, and she has never before lived in dark.
she is at the front of finarfin's host, which is to say that she is still at the back. it chafes, of course, because it all does, because every second in valinor aches and all she wants is to be gone.
and she arrives to see her uncles fighting her aunts, she arrives to see blood and death, she arrives at the end of a long line of people who are in sword battles with her mom.
the noldor--her dad's people--are smiths and hunters. they work with iron and diamonds. morgoth taught them how to make swords and armor and then how to point them at people. the lindar--her mom's people--are singers and fishers. they work with wood and rope, building boats and tying knots and harmonizing with the sound of crashing waves.
the outcome was, of course, inevitable.
what did galadriel do? well, that depends on which version of the story you heard. some say she fought with the lindar, used her swords and armor in a desperate attempt at defence. some say she just stood aside in shock, because everything is dark and full of blood and metal and screams and nobody has ever died before. i suppose it's your choice, in the end, because nobody could ever get up the nerve to ask her. how could they walk up to the great Lady of Lothlórien and ask her, did you kill your uncles, or did you stand aside and let your mom be murdered?
either way, it doesn't matter, in the end. the lindar are killed. the boats are taken.
this is, of course, when the valar choose to speak up. mandos lays upon them a doom that is maybe a curse and maybe a prophecy, and says that everyone who leaves now is exiled forever, and that they shall be killed, "by weapon and by torment and by grief", and that the valar do not care. he declares that every good deed they do shall end in evil, that anyone who survives shall come to see their own existence exhausting, that they shall fade and diminish and become shadows of themselves.
galadriel knows, now, that fëanor started the fight. she hates him more than ever. but she cannot help but think again of his speech, decrying the valar, decrying paradise. for she did nothing, and now they are punishing her for her half-uncle.
her father turns back, to stay with her mother. her mother whose people have been killed. it's a good decision.
but--she's been dreaming for so long, and her people are still going on, and she knows that if she stays she will never forgive herself for losing her only chance.
it is a day (or it would be, if it was not still endless night, a black sky with so very many stars) before they realize.
there aren't enough boats.
fingolfin doesn't trust fëanor. fëanor doesn't trust fingolfin. the house of finarfin doesn't trust either of them. they argue and argue and argue, who will go first, how will they do this. feanor's people took the worst losses--feanor's people started the fight--fingolfin's people trusted them and followed them and they wouldn't have if they had known--but they still trusted them, and the people of finarfin were the only ones who knew the other side--
--in the end, none of the argument matters. fëanor takes the boats when they are all asleep. sails across an ocean. waits for everyone to wake up before he sets them on fire.
this is the alternative: the helcaraxë, an arctic wasteland of freezing cold and mountains. they had already deemed it impassable. if it had not been, the first kinslaying would never have happened. by all rights, they should be trapped there, in valinor. making that walk would kill countless people. it would be suicide as surely as it would be suicide to hike across antarctica in the winter, or trying to cross siberia during a night that lasts forever.
with no light, there were no years. but later, timekeepers would calculate. it is 37 years of the sun later when galadriel steps foot, shivering, on middle-earth. and with that footstep, the moon rises for the first time.
the war is, of course, exactly as hopeless as they were told. fëanor is dead; maedhros is being tortured, publicly, visibly. they are not winning; they are only in stalemate because the enemy is not, currently, doing anything. galadriel is no longer the young princess who did not know death. she has learned something about herself, on the ice: she does not want to fight a hopeless war, no matter how beautiful the songs they sing about her death. she wants to live to tell this story.
she moves in with her great-uncle from her mother's side, instead. elu thingol. his people call themselves thindar, not lindar, but they look the same. not like the ñoldor. it's welcome. their realm is warm, and full of flowers, and safe. his wife, melian, is a wizard. galadriel has changed a lot, but this has not changed: she goes to melian and says, teach me everything you know.
and so she does.
they learn from her about the silmarils, about the oath. they do not learn from her about their dead family; she is too coward for that, still. but they do learn. when thingol learns, he makes his decree, bans quenya. she has to change her name. artanis she is no longer. she chooses her own name, in this new language. galadriel.
she gives speeches, writers letters, begging her people and her family. please, abandon this war, stop using your forces to fight morgoth and start using them to defend your people, it cannot be won, your job is not to win it, your job is to mitigate the damage. she petitions thingol and melian to take in refugees, to save as many people as can be saved.
they don't listen. nobody listens. every battle is a new casualty. her cousin, her brothers, her uncle.
(she falls in love. his name is celeborn and he has and if her hair is laurelin then his is telperion and he does not compliment her hair. he meets her after a speech, compliments her way with words, proposes meeting and teaching the men and dark wood-elves to the east. she had always thought that it was silly, when people spoke of love at first sight, but as soon as she hears that, she knows she will marry him.)
she visits the one brother who is still alive. he has collected names for himself--once findaráto, now finrod, felagund, nómin. he has made a beautiful city in the caves, where thindar and noldor and dwarves mingle. he has named himself king. he has sworn an oath.
meanwhile-- a human comes to doriath. he watches the daughter of thingol and melian--the princess lúthien--as she dances, as she sings. he calls out her name and she looks back at him and in the songs they will sing thousands of years later it is that moment that they will point to as the moment she is doomed. she brings her love to her father. her father laughs, says "he can marry you when he holds a silmaril in his hand." beren does not take this as a no. beren looks thingol in the eye and says "you're on".
finrod’s oath is to beren. galadriel’s half-cousins are still sworn to get the silmarils back at any cost. she weeps when she hears the news.
in the end, there is not yet another kinslaying. this is mostly because sauron kills her brother surely enough that her cousins do not have to bother.
(beren gets the silmaril. they get married. everyone in doriath is full of joy and hope. everyone but one.)
more die. once, she was eighteenth in line for king of the ñoldor. more have been born since, but counting herself, only two of those original eighteen walk on middle-earth. there are scarcely enough ñoldor to justify having a king. the silmaril still burns in doriath.
thingol dies in a fight over who owns the silmaril. nobody's quite clear if it's his fault or the fault of the dwarves. it doesn't really matter. melian goes into mourning, goes back to valinor. takes her protection with her. for the first time in a very long time, doriath is vulnerable. (the sons of fëanor send messengers, reminding: neither thingol nor the dwarves own the silmaril. it is theirs by birthright. and, they add carefully, they swore an oath. they do not have to say what they will do for it, because everyone knows.)
more cousins fall. if she wanted to claim High Queen of the Ñoldor, she could, probably. or maybe the kingship orodreth's, or idril's. she finds to her surprise that she doesn't really want to. she has learned at the knee of dozens of ainur, and she knows nothing that will help win the war. she wants to rule, yes--but not like this.
she still gives speeches. she doesn't really expect them to mean anything.
the sons of fëanor come. she has known them since she was a child, grew up with them. she has memories of riding and laughing and going to classes and learning how to work in the forge and being babysat when her own brothers were busy.
they kill everyone. even the children. they do not get the silmaril.
the survivors flow into a refugee camp that her cousin's daughter leads. they had crossed the ice together when galadriel was an adult and she was still a child. it is strange, to take orders from someone when you were there at their birth. but they are both old now. she does not bother to give speeches.
(they come. they kill. they do not get the silmaril. they do keep two children--twins--hostages, not dead, and she has fallen far enough to be grateful for that.)
seven years after the third kinslaying, five hundred ninety three years since fëanor’s speech, the valar arrive in beleriand. the war is horrific, but at last, at last, it is not hopeless.
galadriel fights. it is a grueling war, decades long, ainur against ainur. chunks of land break off, crumble into the sea. doriath is lost. arvernien is lost. dor-lomin is lost, hithlum is lost, nevrast is lost, all of it lost to the sea.
but they are winning.
she loses her last two cousins. they were murderers--she shouldn't care--she still cares, a little.
they win. the valar declare: you are pardoned. we forgive you. you can return to valinor, if you wish.
she almost laughs in their face. she has done nothing wrong to be pardoned for. she rejects it a thousand times over. they should be begging her pardon. they trapped her in paradise. they came six hundred years too late to save her family. and then they act as though it is such an act of mercy and graciousness, to forgive her for the terrible crime of being related to kinslayers.
she learns that another of her relations--gil-galad--has taken up the kingship of the noldor. she and her husband build a city within the land he has claimed as his kingdom, for the sindar who chafe at noldorin rule. she moves, after a while, to eregion; her half-cousin once-removed rules, there. grandson of fëanor, son of curufin. he does not call himself that, though she has seen the star he puts on his work. he introduces himself instead as a craftsman. celebrimbor of eregion, and that is all.
she is happy enough, for a while, but she is restless. her husband says that he has connections on the other side of the mountains. they speak a language there--silvan--that is not quite telerin and not quite sindarin; she learns it quickly enough. she agrees to move, and they do, passing through khazad-dum at the height of its glory.
it is not long after that they learn that sauron is still around. celebrimbor sends her a ring.
this, too, is a song you have heard. gil-galad was an elven king, of him the harpers sadly sing. they wave celebrimbor’s corpse as a banner.
and then--then, it is just her. they are all dead.
she becomes a queen, but not of the noldor. laurelindórenan, the native silvan elves call it. they are a peaceful people who know as much of battle as the lindar did. it breaks her heart to change that, but she knows it is a choice between that and death. she takes over, crowning herself queen in all but name. she establishes borders. she helps them to fight. galadriel and celeborn become lady and lord of lothlórien.
she has a daughter. celebrían's hair is as silver as her husband's.
she marries elrond. she is so, so happy.
celebrían is on her way to visit galadriel and celeborn when she is captured and tortured by orcs. elrond heals her, physically, but she never recovers. she leaves for valinor, for real. and again galadriel is alone.
all the while, she wears the ring. because she knows that mandos spoke true when he gave his doom so many thousands of years ago, and she knows that she has rejected his pardon. here in middle-earth, she will fade, she will diminish. she has seen it happen: elves whose bodies just give out, becoming thin and transparent and then just a voice on the breeze and then nothing at all.
but as long as she wears the ring, that does not happen in lothlórien. as long as her ring still has power.
--you know the rest of the story. frodo comes. he is the temptation. she declines the Ruling Ring. she has seen too much of what her family will do, given power. in valinor, she dreamed of coming to middle-earth for a kingdom.
she knows he plans to destroy it. she knows that her ring will lose its power, should the One be destroyed. she also knows that it is the right thing to do.
and so she has two choices. she can stay, and fade, slowly but surely. or she can go again to the west, a returned exile penitent for crimes she did not do, walk again in paradise, useless and heartbroken.
(at least her father will be there. he had stayed, so very long ago, and she had left.)
out of all the peoples of the world, it was only the lindar who could make swan-ships. thousands of years ago, they were all burned, the wealth of the lindar gone in a single fire.
when galadriel sails back to valinor, it is in a swan-ship.
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perri-berry · 3 years
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Tales of Anearth: Fate and Fight
You know what? I’m just gonna go for it and post my WIP novel as I’m working on it for funsies. If you wanna read it go for it(and maybe tell me if you liked it?) If not, keep on scrolling.
   Darkness consumes the world.  That chill that dances along your skin. The one that sinks into your flesh, making its way down your spine until you’ve become numb to all except the bite of the monster. The world felt this chill as it was consumed by the void of death. Power-mad druids bring the dead to life once more. No one direction. No one target. Every town was empty. Burned, broken and abandoned with not even a ghost haunting them. Every soul had two options; flee the wake of destruction or be unwilling drafted into the ever-growing army of the undead. To overturn whole capitals. To swallow the world. 
In a never-ending nightmare survivors swarm the coast. One stronghold to shelter the trembling hands of humanity. Even though it was in the middle of Sunnas there were no sun rays or warm breezes to be found here, only grey skies and fog shroud this harbor town. Waves crash violently against the shore. Rain splatters down onto the city; stirring up the mucky roads and leaving its people to slosh in the filth. Death cannot be avoided even inside these walls. Unmarked graves and burial pits are overflowing. Sickness grips itself to any living thing it can find. So the rain is the least of their troubles, so they simply let the droplets fall down their faces and soak their bodies.
Peasant parents attempt to give their children some shelter from the growing storm while the higher born have already found safe haven indoors. Warm, dry and well-fed, even at the end of the world money can still fix some things. It doesn’t surprise her but her blood only boils slightly. The rain rolls off her hooded, black leather cloak as she cuts her way through the crowds. The cloak which  is covering her tall, black finely laced knee-high boots in mud. It saves her pants however, so she was grateful. She always knew wearing pants that were two-toned, one leg a much lighter brown than the other, would be subject to more cleaning but this was at the bottom of her list.
Her hardened admiral blue eyes look up at the inn sign rocking gently in the breeze; the hinges groaning and dribbling with rainwater. Upon entering, she moves from the way of other patrons. Crowded and noisy, she scans the dimly lit bar. Although it was loud, there was no celebration. Weeping, arguing, and drunken slurs mixes together in languages from all over to form one song of desperation. Weaving by tables and around drunks, she squints. 
She finally spots what she is looking for. A small, delicate hand covered in intricate swirled light blue tattoos waving to her. A very short Elven woman softly smiled to her. As she sits down, she is greeted with “Pippa! What took you so long? We were worried you had gotten lost”. 
Pippa throws her hood down, some of her short wavy jet-black hair sticking to her wet face. Giving her a smile, Pippa sits at the table with the rest of the group. Illuminated by candlelight certainly makes them look a bit more menacing but that isn’t the case.
Straight across from Pippa is A’ommi. The small Woodland Elf has dark-bronze skin that reminds Pippa of melted chocolate, the way it makes her stomach all warm. Brushing her well-muscled frame all the way down to her calves was lovely strands of straight copper hair, that if she were to stand in the sunlight it would light up like a mane of unchecked fire. A’ommi’s round, striking golden eyes look to Pippa with a small sense of humor. If she had heard A’ommi’s joke Pippa’s small smile would have become a steady grin but instead her eyes continue strolling down her body.
Even with the rain and muck A’ommi never wears anything other than simple deer leathers. Not shoes, not a cloak, or even a hair tie to hold all her hair back. They’re poor quality and very worn, the edges starting to break away but they get the job done as they cover the parts to keep her decent but leave enough showing to show off her trails of tattoos consisting of moons and stars. A sharp jab in Pippa’s side grounded her back in reality. “Ah! Denali, watch the nails please” she reminds with a short, distracted chuckle.
With an amused smile and excited carnelian-colored eyes, the silver-hued devil girl titters “I’m sorry, you just weren’t paying attention”. 
She has such a sweet voice, so happy and confident. With a thin face, tight-pursed lips and deep purple ram horns on either side of her head the playful girl was easily the most distinguishable girl of the group. Most people just called them called them Durgians, devil-folk, servants of the god Undullos, or any manner of hateful slur but those with open minds just knew they were people with horns and tails. Denali was no exception. She was just a kid after all, only twenty-two. 
A kid with a kind heart and cheeky, sharp tongue. Denali always dresses herself in clothes to match her personality. An elegantly made deep ocean blue, knee length dark blue skirt and white top with a sweetheart cut and puffy sleevelets. Tilting her head she slowly starts to braid her lavender colored hair, smiling all the while.
While Denali was taller than Pippa and towered over her mother by a whole two feet she was only the third tallest out of them all. “I wish it wasn’t raining” Denali whines, looking out the nearby window.
“But what would little devil do? It’s much too crowded to play!” Mogar rebuttals, pulling Denali onto his lap.
 A...half-man, of few and choppy words. Pippa chuckles very softly under her breath. All heart and muscle; lots of muscles. From the waist down, Mogar’s legs are human. The sight of the upper half of Mogar however makes everyone flee, well almost everyone.
 Half-man, half-bull. With a thick neck and broad, wide shoulders Mogar was covered in short, coarse black fur from snout to hips. His well-built chest is littered with jagged battle scars from the years. His long cow ears are comparably soft to the rest of his body, and perhaps the tip of snout right before his wet nose. It makes Pippa smile whenever she sees Denali running her hands over Mogar’s head, all the way to the top of his tall, thick, dark sandy colored oxen horns. 
The two enjoy one another's affections greatly. The sheen in his fiery, ember golden eyes make many wonder if a demon of Hell was upon them but never her. Two of the same; like a fire, burning steady and true with unbridled excitement. One feeding the other with bravery and curiosity. Never far apart from the other, they do everything together. A romance only found in stories.
Pippa rolls her eyes before catching A’ommi’s wide-eyed stare. They are fixated on the opposite wall. Turning her head she sees out the rain splattered windows people running and shouting. Several people point towards the shore. 
“What the..”. Before they can even get to their feet, the bar door slams open. 
A wet, filthy human man with a scruffy face shouts to the curious patron. “There’s a ship! It’s huge and she’s making port!” he shouts before running back out. 
“A ship?” Denali echoes. 
“We should go check it out” A’ommi states, already out of her seat. 
Nodding, the rest of them follow her lead. Soon as she stepped outside, Pippa notices the sky; still cloudy but the rain had ceased. Surrounding the docks, the mass of survivors clamor in hopeful excitement. They part like waves seeing Mogar heading towards them, making it easy for Pippa and them to reach the dock end. A normally tense walk in town felt strangely calm as icy stares fixated on the ship rather then the elf walking with them. Yet another thing to be grateful for.
Pippa’s mouth falls softly open. Fog rolls off the side of the massive ship. Ten thousand dark wood planks create the elegant curves of this tall ship. Masts as tall as castles held white sails embroidered with an unknown yellow sigil are puffed full of wind. The water meets her bows with the dignity of a queen. Creating her own waves, waves that presented them with a new path.
 A man wrapped in an emerald colored cloak stands at the end of the boarding ramp. Tousled wisps of black hair fall out from his cloak's hood. The shaded face of a man can be seen from under it. He lifts his head, letting his hood fall to his shoulders. While his body was well toned and muscular his apricot skinned face was skinny with his cheekbones almost making him seem like a skeleton. Almond-shaped, pale green eyes scan the crowd. From them radiates intensity but also an honest kindness. His lips curl upward.  
“Citizens! I am Soren SwordBreaker” he declares, his voice booming over them. Pippa takes a step back at this sudden voice.
 “I come from the island of Kelradan! Where I have been sent by King Belleran to provide the survivors of the mainland safe passage to the city of Erantel!”. Soren looks out to the confused, murmuring people.
 “You’re safe now” he tells them. Although his smile seems reassuring, Pippa is filled with unease.
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hopplepopple · 6 years
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The Journal of Hope Evans, Page 13
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Fifth Sun of the First Umbral Moon
Dear Hope,
I’m writing this one for you.  So that one day, down the line, if you pop this journal open, you’ll be able to see your thoughts in amber, catch a brief glimpse at how you felt at this moment in time.  Brace yourself, big guy, you’re about to dive headfirst into a trip down memory lane.  But first, let’s contextualize the timing, so you remember where you are.
Starlight was a few days ago.  Clicking yet?  I (you? We? We.) took L’lih out to Westwind, out to see the stars on a chilly winter’s eve.  Laid down a blanket, sat beside her, ate sandwiches and cookies, and gazed up at the stars.  Plus, she really liked our gifts.  But none of that compares to how we felt with her there beside us.  Amidst the cold, she was warm.  Against the infinite horizon, she grounded us.  Millions of light shining in the sky, but none as bright as that woman in our arms.  The hint of moko on her person, the sweat, the tawny maple skin of hers.  The twinkle in her emerald and jade eyes, each more inviting than the last.  And Gods, her voice, that savvy, saucy, sultry tone, and the way she used her tongue to craft such witticisms. 
My heart was racing just being there!  And here I thought I was dead inside.  Hopefully you’ve figured that one out, because I sure as hells can’t.
Kiht’li taught us a lot about love.  Not to rush in headfirst.  Not to over-commit.  To ask questions, to dwell upon it.  He taught us that there was good in everyone, and that we should come back to the world.  But he also taught us that even the best of us are prone to hurting others.  And I will always be thankful for that time we spent together.
Oichi, oh gods, Oichi.  We invested too much in him.  Perhaps strangled him with affection, even.  We assumed we knew what was best, and that we knew who he wanted to be, rather than who he was.  Maybe that’s why he decided to go home, even if matrimony was all but certain.  We smothered him, and didn’t allow him to be. Yes, he was loving, yes, he was kind.  And holy hells did he know his way around the bedroom.  But we learned much from him.  That others are capable of making mistakes, too.  We aren’t infallible, so why should we assume others are? 
That brings us to her. The festival in Shirogane, when she arrived, we had our fortune read.  Said that our love life will be fruitful, but something is going to happen soon.  Either L’lih or I are going to run into trouble, as someone will be gunning for us.  Fair assumption is me, given Sun’ra’s existence.  I can handle a cocky, spiteful man with a dagger well enough.  However, the biggest concern was that they said one of us will need to make a decision sooner or later.  Naturally, that one goes to her. 
I know where she is, relatively, at this moment.  Caught between her old life, living as though the world is uncaring and fighting for every scrap she can hold (remind you of anyone?), and a life with me, where everything is accounted for, and we’re free to simply exist, live life, and explore the possibilities of the world to our heart’s content.  Maybe even settle down, start a life, a family together.  I want that, down the line, but I doubt I’m ready for it, yet.  I only hope that Oichi’s departure hasn’t scared me out of committing to one of the few great things in my life, if that’s the case. 
The problem is, I know that this choice is going to be hard for her. That decision won’t be easy, I know.  Nothing ever is.  Now, I support her in whichever she chooses, because I love her, and accept that I cannot do everything, nor control every facet of her. But I’m more worried that she doesn’t see it as choosing between two different paths.  She’s likely to see it as a decision of people, to choose between Sun’ra, and myself.  That’s just wrong.  She doesn’t need to abandon him for me, even if he may not agree.  This is her choice, and I cannot interfere.  But I only pray that she chooses for the right reason, and not be torn between focusing on the people, but rather, on what she wants to become.
That brings me back to you, Hope Evans.  You’re probably laughing yourself to sleep tonight on this.  “Oh, I remember when I was that young and naive”, or “it went down pretty smoothly, so stop worrying, younger me”!  I want to know, when you read this, if I was right.  If it was all worth it.  For all I know, you could have our kit in your lap, smiling in fondness.  Or, you could be alone, drinking that damned whiskey we’re so partial to.  I hope the former.
As it stands now, I can see myself spending the rest of my life with this woman.  She’s funny, she’s rambunctious, she’s kind when she needs to be, she’s fiery when required.  And Gods is she easy to talk to, even if I’m too stubborn to open my mouth half the time.  Why she bears with me, I’ll never know.  But I hope, one day, she’ll stick around for me to find out.  Then again, Hope, you’d know.  You’ve already lived through this chapter in our story.
-Hope Evans
P.S. L’lih, if by chance Hope wised up, married you, and you’re reading this over his shoulder... punch him in the face for me, for being so dumb that he wrote this instead of just telling you upfront.  But... I can only pray that he’s made you feel every bit as special as you deserve. @ffxivakyi @oetw-p0926 @pictishus
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thevanillabeanposts · 6 years
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“the sun doesn’t move”
the sun doesn't move. we turn away from it. there is light, there is dark, the next day. we turn back. we do not control this. but we long for either the light or the dark or for time in between. we get too cold or what we think is too cold what we call too cold but really we just need time to reflect introspect heed to our desires on our own funeral march or rest assured that we will be warm again and that we can never get too cold. the sun doesn't move. you are not too hot you can always get too much heat too much sun too much good. but we will turn away. the sun doesn't move. it may be day light sun warmth it may be night dark moon a mere reflection or hint or sweet taste of what is yet to come again cold but that is your state. you are not your environment. you are you. always. the sun doesn't move. we can get too much sun. but we still need it. we may not admit it. we may fight against it. we may hold it by the collar look it in the eyes and go lock ourselves away but we cannot stop the sun from shining from burning even if it isn't burning us inside out or outside in the sun doesn't move. we can hide for too long rot mold churn like milk until all we know is butter
the sun may melt us
or freeze us hard in our absence
but never the sun’s absence
we can hide for too long
but we cannot hide forever
the sun doesn’t move.
what seems dark
will have milky light poured in
until all is white
melted
soft
pure
fresh
we move
the ground beneath us moves
the entire world moves
we run
walk
perform
hide
some run for the spotlight
some applaud from the darkness
the sun doesn’t move.
there is beauty in the abstract
hope
often darkness
but one can find light
if one is willing to wait
the sun doesn’t move.
one must live life.
to learn life lessons.
the sun doesn’t move.
asteroids hurtle through space
ignore the warnings
zip past regardless of anyone else’s agenda
the sun doesn’t move.
other stars illuminate the asteroid’s path
but as it zips
it seems to zip itself inside a world
where the sun does move
and it is alone
the sun doesn’t move.
asteroids meet a fiery death
they are never as bright as stars
stars alike the sun
we are asteroids.
we are stars.
except we are not.
we simply watch these from our evermoving ground.
the sun doesn’t move.
we mimic them but do not learn.
whether a star or an asteroid
we always forget
never remember
zip ourselves up
intentionally without purpose
greed without need
the sun doesn’t move.
we never know.
we all die.
the sun will die.
the sun doesn’t move.
circling
cycling
rotating
revolving
the sun doesn’t move.
twinkle
glimmer
glow
shimmer
the sun doesn’t move.
lightning
thunder
an enlightening stutter
the sun doesn’t move.
perspective
perception
charming harmony
the sun doesn’t move.
turn away
turn to day
wasn’t lost
is now found
the sun doesn’t move.
the sun doesn’t move.
we do not control this.
we feel
we think
we believe
we lie
we put faith in the unknown and tumble over
invisible entities proposing possible deities
to deter deciding demons
from the prospects
of life and death.
the sun doesn’t move.
life lives within death.
death dies within life.
pain hurts.
healing soothes.
change brings loyal discomfort
until it is time to change again
and you miss previous pain.
what is it like to be young
the sun doesn’t move.
we grow up so fast
we shrink old so slow.
down to the last
each and everyone goes.
day in and day out
there is good.
the sun doesn’t move
pain does not affect one person.
one person is struck.
many people see.
many people hear.
many people smell.
many people taste.
but only one person feels.
the sun doesn’t move.
binded at the hip
they walk the same way.
sunrise always brings around the question
what are we going to do today
the sun doesn’t move.
one hurts and the message to the other is
free yourself
or go down with me.
they go together always.
through every passage
narrow or wide.
day or night.
life or death.
because life stops for death
but death does not stop
for life.
the sun doesn’t move.
one person’s pain
only hurts them.
the sun doesn’t move.
one person’s pain
results in resounding aches throughout humanity.
the sun doesn’t move.
scars and stains provide insight to one’s life.
where one slipped.
where one tripped.
where one slid.
where one fell.
where one worked.
where one earned.
where on grieved.
the sun doesn’t move.
stains can be removed.
the sun doesn’t move.
scars imbed.
the sun doesn’t move.
you are not your scars.
the sun doesn’t move.
change is a place where light grows from dark
where frames picture reality
Where reality gets framed
where reality is a ghost
the spirit is unaware.
mutiny
sacrifice
betrayal.
the sun doesn’t move.
carpet burns
broken glass
blurry windows.
the sun doesn’t move.
grey and brittle support the bright and meek
Bright and meek break the grey and brittle
Lies are promised like tied up gifts of sour honey
Someone stole the copyright page.
The sun doesn’t move.
Congregation
Overstimulation.
Social necessity
Loss of impact
Discard the scraps
Volcanic cries below a whimper
The sun doesn’t move.
Plaster emotions like a poster advertising a human.
Someone stole your glasses.
You were always you to them.
The sun doesn’t move.
Ripples
Chasms
Crimson
Silver.
Slivers shiver
Blades bruise
The sun doesn’t move.
Olive
Peace.
The sun doesn’t move.
Trees drink up what they can
They live through the night
The sun doesn’t move.
Life source beckons
Stability abandoned
Future collapsed.
Call the warden
We have an escapee.
The sun doesn’t move.
They stop loving you
When they realize you lied.
They never stop loving you.
The sun doesn’t move.
Call it trust issues
Magnify the cover-up
Make haste to escape
They always catch you.
The sun doesn’t move.
Leering above
Lurking behind
Out of sight
Forefront of mind
Whisk away
Cherish safety
Called back to the wasteland
It’s a trap.
The sun doesn’t move.
Shielding in shadows
Paved over pockets of light
Calm.
The sun doesn’t move.
Crowding in corners
Cannot see
Blinded from the air
Whose hand is over your throat
The sun doesn’t move.
Overlapping quantities
Of unrealistic fantasies
And rapid overdose of flattery
Buried alive.
The sun doesn’t move.
thieves grieve
eels steal
thoughts caught
fire of a liar
gambling witnesses
graceful agitation
reimbursement
the sun doesn’t move.
Glimpses of the past nightmares
Framed on bedroom shelves
Except the truth is captured for once
As the villain slithers from camera shot
While everyone smiles
He is not there
He is always there
The sun doesn’t move.
How does no one see
Rumors aren’t always lies
Defending the allies in vain
Disregarded, blind to the pain
All eyes on the target
But never hit the bull’s eye
Scapegoats scream
Hit the goat’s eye
Slip away
Now you slither too
The sun doesn’t move.
Itch you can’t scratch
Stick you can’t snap
Switch you can’t flip
Door you can’t open
Legs you can’t kick
Air you can’t breathe
Books you can’t read
Scents you can’t smell
Blood you can’t pump
Life you can’t live
The sun doesn’t move.
Pull her away
Lock her up
Give her a home in a cage
Villain turned victim
Everything grows from the roots up
The sun doesn’t move.
Candlelight
Flitter
Flutter
Flicker
Sizzle
Smoke
Sirens
Alarms
No more matches
Everything is gone.
The sun doesn’t move.
Carefree.
Never free of care
Never free of caring
Care too much
Never cares enough .
What is it like to be carefree
And how does one
Begin to care
The sun doesn’t move.
Worthless
Hopeless
Pointless
Weakness
Sadness
The sun doesn’t move.
Burden
Stubborn
Offense
Defense
The sun doesn’t move.
Obstacles
Open doors.
Eaten alive
Buried cold.
Apologetic
Sincere
Confused
Doubtful
Hope.
The sun doesn’t move.
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THE LAND OF 1000 SCARES
I found the prompt below on the Guardians of the Galaxy kink meme on livejournal and I really hope the person who submitted it about 3 years ago will like it if he/she happens to read it. At first I thought it would be my usual short fiction but the thing took a life of its own and became the longest work I’ve ever written in both English and my birth language.
Also, I started working on it almost a year and a half ago (I’m a very slow writer) and we didn’t have any information about what Vol.2 would be like at the time, so some details here won’t be Vol.2 canon, especially the technology they have access to.
The story is complete with 14 chapters; I will try to post one chapter per week. I hope you’ll enjoy it and feel free to leave a comment (or multiple ones! ^^).
________________________________________________________________
PROMPT: I'm imagining a planet of creepy Gollum-y things but it can be anything. Just something kind of scary where the Milano is temporarily out of action, they're fighting with limited ammunition, and the entire planet is hostile and terrifying. 
Some scariness would be nice, some peril, team looking out for each other, maybe being captured or imprisoned, I'm just interested to see the team in a scary situation that they cannot immediately fly/fight away from.
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Chapter 1 - A sensational debut.
 “Okay guys, hang on to anything you can, landing's going to be rough!” Peter exclaimed through gritted teeth while trying his best not to crash the Milano on a planet that freaking appeared out of thin air.
Two seconds before, they were on their way to Knowhere after completing a boring but lucrative mission on Guna, gently flowing through the emptiness of space. Then everything took a reddish hue and if it wasn't for Quill's fast reflexes, they would have been splattered on the side of a gigantic and arid mountain like a mosquito on a windshield.
Peter quickly swerved the ship to the left, only missing what looked like a petrified forest by a few inches. Well, considering the ear-splitting scraping sound which came from under them, he might not have missed it at all. Awesome.
The ground was approaching way too fast now, and there was not much he could do apart from keeping the Milano as horizontal as possible and aiming for a surface plane enough to land on. Various alarms were blaring in the cockpit, one of them literally screaming “you're screwed!” If they got out of this alive, Peter would have a word with Rocket about that. Not funny, dude.
The ship finally touched ground with violence, ricocheted a few times and then carried on sliding on the rocky surface, shaking and shrieking, until it stopped only a few inches away from a very pointy and very deadly branch of a gigantic petrified tree. Peter's brain choose not to register the fact that if the ship had continued to slide in that direction, he would have become a Quill-kebab and focused on the basics like, for instance, breathing very loudly and being relieved that he didn't pee himself.
“Well… That was something. Everyone okay?” For the first time since all Hell broke loose, he glanced at his friends. Drax and Gamora were paler than usual, both still firmly gripping on their armrests. Rocket looked flabbergasted, eyes unfocused and jaw hanging down, and Groot looked uh, like Groot. But a little bit shocked. Apart from that, they all seemed perfectly healthy.
Rocket shook himself and took a deep breath. “Quill… WHAT THE FLARKIN' HELL?”
“I don't know, man. One second we were in space and a second after we were on this planet. I mean...” He tried to access their itinerary on the main computer but the thing wouldn't cooperate. “It's like the planet teleported itself on our way. Have any of you heard of something like that?”
“Planets cannot teleport themselves, Quill.” Gamora said, brushing stray hair out of her face.
“That you know of. That could be an explanation for our situation, because I know I didn't make any mistake with our flight plan. And even if I did, the thing just materialised out of thin air!”
“I did not detect a thinness nor a thickness quality to the air that could…”
“Figure of speech, Drax.”
“It didn't materialise alone.” Rocket's voice sounded distant, as if he was lost in his thoughts.
“What do you mean?” Peter said while crouching under the board to access the main computer's parts and wires.
“There's natural light, moron, and long shadows. That means there's got to be a sun somewhere behind us. And I see at least two moons from here. “
“So… either a solar system jumped right in front of us, or we got somewhat sucked into a wormhole and landed here. Ouch!” Peter shook his newly burnt hand and sucked his finger.
“All this yammering is not getting us out of this place. I suggest we assess the damages the ship sustained in the crash first.” Drax said, stretching his back and arms.  
Peter extricated himself from under the console. “Yeah, you're right. Rocket, see if you can get this damn thing to reboot, while Gamora and I go outside and check the fuselage for breaches. Drax, there's an emergency box with some stuff we might need for the repairs under my bunk, bring it to Rocket and then check if everything is in order.”
“Your bunk is never in order and it is neither the time nor my role to clean it.”
Peter ruffled his hair, sighing. “I meant check if the crash caused any damage inside the ship as well, buddy.”
Drax smiled. “Then I will do it, my friend.”
“I am Groot!”
“No, I didn't forget you, Groot. Would you mind assisting Drax with everything?”
“I am Groot.”
“Thanks. Gamora?” He turned around but she was nowhere to be seen. “Wha...?”
“She's way ahead of you, Star-dork.” Rocket said from under the console.
Peter chuckled on his way out. Gamora's stealth was still a great source of awe for him, even though it had been approximately a year since they defeated Ronan on Xandar and became the Guardians of the Galaxy. He couldn't believe the name had stuck, but it did, and they got quite the reputation.
He stepped out, and was almost blinded by the flaming arc of light which occupied at least one third of the skyline in front of him. Rocket was right; the planet had come with a sun which was either very close to it or very, very big. Through his half closed eyes and shielding hand, he could see the coronal loops dancing on the red star's surface, and that was just the tip of it. Around him, the sky was a reddish gray with three big moons floating above them. As far as he could see in the blinding light, they had crashed on a desert which was not surprising considering the intense heat coming from the star. He hoped the thing was setting instead of rising, or else they'd soon be fried. The landscape reminded him of Morag, minus the rain and geysers. Everything was sharp black rocks, red dry earth and pointy mountains. Hell, even the trees were made of stone. If they didn't get out of here fast, water would become a problem.
“We need to find some water.” Gamora said behind him, echoing his thoughts.
“Yeah. But first, the hull.” He turned over to take a proper look at his beloved ship. The bottom part of the fuselage was badly scraped and bumped, for lack of a better word. Flattened might have been more adequate. “Damn...”
Gamora put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Maybe it is not as bad as it looks. Come with me.”
**
Meanwhile, Rocket was fighting with the cables and circuits composing the Milano's subsystem. The good thing was that the life support system was intact and functioning. The bad thing was that despite his best efforts, he couldn't get the altitude control nor the command and data handling to reboot.
Drax and Groot were back from their investigations with positive news, as it seemed that beside some of his and Peter's personal junk (they were both the hoarders of the team), nothing was broken beyond repair. And Peter's emergency box had proven to be useful. To think of all the bombs he could have built if he had known they had all this stuff was… was… maybe the reason why Peter hadn't told him about the box. Yeah. Stupid hummie could be smart sometimes, go figure.
“I am Groot?”
“Yeah, good idea… Hold this while I put this cable here and...”
“You're screwed! You're screwed! You're screw-”
“Yep, not such a good idea after all.”
“I find this new alarm of yours to be irksome, friend.”
“Oh, come on big guy, that's exactly why it's funny!” Rocket laughed a little. So what if the team didn't like his sense of humor? Life was a joke anyway. If it made him laugh, that's what mattered in the end.
“I am Groot.”
“Okay, okay, I'll change it you big dummies.” He unplugged a wire and plugged it on another slot. “There. Y'all happy now?”
All the lights flickered in the cockpit for a few seconds, and then the main computer made a booting sound. Rocket got up and scratched his head as he watched the screens coming back to life. “Huh.”
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"The Unspoken Truth"
Understandably, I'm a bit hesitant posting my short story on here for the whole world to see. I'm no writer of any sort (obviously) so apologies if the grammar is not 100%. With that out the way, I started this just for myself with no intention other than to be a coping mechanism. However, further down the line I started to realise that this could potentially help other people who go through the same difficulties on a daily basis and most importantly, could raise a huge awareness upon mental illness. Evidently, mental illnesses are not often talked about, but often brushed under the carpet and almost frowned upon. Because of this, this creates a humongous amount of stigma attached to this topic which can result in a person feeling even more embarrassed or ashamed; which of course they should never be made to feel. I hope this gives you an insight into what it's like living with a mental illness on a daily basis, hope you enjoy the read! “It's exhausting having to fight a war inside of your head.” Imagine this. Your heart is racing at what feels like two thousand beats per minute. Both fists clenched into a tight, tight ball. Sweating, from every existing gland in your body. Palms so wet whilst instantaneously losing grip of everything you touch. Confusion, nothing makes sense as thoughts are rushing around in your head from every direction, disturbing your vision as you do everything in your power to see straight. A tight ball like feeling in your throat, so tight that you cannot breath. It’s the feeling you experience when the edge of a crisp gets stuck in your throat, slowly and painfully cutting your glands. A sick like feeling, wanting to let it go but doing what you can to keep it back. Don’t embarrass yourself like this, not if people are watching. Now onto the chest. Feeling so tight and heavy as if someone is standing on top of you, crushing you with every power and strength within them, whilst you pant and gasp for air and catch each and every breath that your body allows you to. Shaking, crying, sweating, tensing, shivering, trembling. And now slowly breathe with every bit of energy that is left in you. You are fine, you are alive and it’s over for now. The brain is a complex thing, just as complex as ones human mentality. The limbic system controls emotions within the human brain, there's no surprise that at the best of times you feel as if you have a complete lack of control over your emotional and mental state. The brain is so incredibly complex that it often even puzzles scientists; the same people who allowed the first human beings into space and onto the moon. The same people who are able to clone living and breathing animals, create satellites for outer space, discover electricity, gravity, evolution, DNA. And yet, they fail to completely understand the human brain and each function that is involved and why they are involved. Many people fail to realise that not everyone thinks in the same way, not one person has the same thought process as another human being walking this earth. What may seem logical and rational to one human being may seem completely and utterly bizarre to another. There is a fine line between feeling lonely and being alone. In the depths of the night when the sun has set and there is nothing to see in the deep sky apart from the twinkling of the bright stars. Hearing the occasional sound of a car passing by, the tree leaves lightly tap-taping against the window due to the slight breeze in the dead of night. The sirens that wake the streets; whilst people question if a life has just been taken from us, or is it that a life is about to enter our world of mystery? At night, when people lay asleep with their heads softly against their pillow, you lay there gazing at the ceiling, unable to sleep, wondering to yourself what you could have done differently that day. Sleep. 7 to 8 hours of sleep they say. But what if you can't sleep due to the constant thoughts and feelings rushing through your head from that day, from weeks, months, even years ago. The mind is a dangerous place, a place that I fear as I know it is stronger and more powerful than I am. Have you ever been surrounded my so many people, so many bodies, but felt so lost. Helpless. Alone. Questioning how the silence can be so loud. Lost in thought, whilst hearing the mummers of those surrounding you. Imagine feeling a prisoner of your own body. The only body you will have for as long as you may live. The body that will grow and cherish into something beautiful at adolescence. The body that will make love to another body, feeling each and every edge and crevice. The body that will see into the eyes of their loved one, touch their hand, smell their recognisable scent, one that comforts them with ease. The body that will taste their sweet lips and the body that will hear their touching and soothing voice gently in their ear. The human body is a remarkable thing, each and every one unique and different in every way, shape and form. But what happens when you start to lose control of your body, the one body that is yours and no one else's. When your bones feel weak and your limbs like jelly. Like you're floating on a cloud, uncertain about those sweet lips you once kissed, those gentle voices you once heard, the feel and warmth of the person you love turn to cold, the smell no longer there and their eyes unfamiliar with fear. You start to lose everything you once remembered, everything you once cared for and everything that your body allowed you to do. Eventually, they all just become distant memories. All the people you have met become lost faces. Time. Time is inevitable. Too little time, or too much time? Should you be too early, or just on time? Time is a concept made up by human beings. The sun rising suggests it is morning time, the sun setting however, you guessed, implies that the day is coming to a close and all is left is the dark night's sky. What if there were no such thing as time? Would people be less stressed, less rushed, less busy? What would people do to insure they are being kept occupied? How would the world go on? When you become lonely, sad, anxious, depressed; time works in two of which ways. Time either stands still or in contrast, goes as fast as lightning and by the time you know it, you lose track of where you are, what you have done, even who you are. On average, it takes a human being 2o muscles to smile and 50 muscles to frown. Yet, why are there so many people spending their days crying, worrying, distressed surrounding themselves in pity and self doubt. If it takes such little muscles to create a smile, how does it become so hard for someone to put one together. Their smile may be imperfect, broken or even jiggered, but it is still a smile that may bring delight into someone's bleak day. A smile has the power to touch someone's heart, touch someone's soul. Imagine, for whatever reason you felt as if you could no longer smile without it feeling fake, like a scam. Seeing another smile, a smile of a friend, a loved one, even a stranger; can bring you so much joy and happiness to someone. Breathing. An essential, necessary part of life. Any life. We all breath, if it wasn't for our power to breath none of us would be here, would exist, the world would be an empty, lonely shell. But what if with every breath you take, your lungs feel like they are filled with water. Like someone is crushing your windpipe, struggling to breath without the aid of another existence. Each breath getting slower, harder, faster, slower, faster, harder. Until you can no longer take it anymore. Until you collapse in a ball, questioning the why's and the what's and the who's. Whoever put me on this earth, whatever is out there, why me? To breath like another human being, that's all that I ask of you. Excuses, excuses, excuses. I can't say I'm anxious, I already said that last week, and the week before, and probably the week before that too. I'll say that I'm ill, yes, just ill. No questions asked, just ill. That way, I won't look lazy to them. I won't have to explain myself, why I'm feeling this way. The reality is, I don't even know myself. How do you explain that to someone when you can't get the right words out? When nothing you say will make sense, when you don't know why you're up and you're down, all day every day. How do you explain that to someone on the outside? That it's a constant cycle of emotions. That, however much you try you cannot leave your bed. That each step you take that day, all you are looking forward to is returning to your room, surrounded by darkness and crawling back into bed. Sleeping. Your safe place, where no one can disturb you, not even the cars outside, the voices echoing the streets, the sound of the metro line, Because you are alone with your thoughts in the darkness, until you slowly drift off into a long sleep. Too little sleep or not enough, there is no in between and no matter what, tiredness always wins. It defeats you, laughs at you and mocks you. Tiredness is a silent killer. It waits until you are energised, finally feeling happy until it creeps out on you from nowhere, like burred treasure among the sands over the blue, clear waters. Panic. What do I do with my day? Slowly awaken, shower to wake up the mind, the body the soul. Get ready and feeling good, quick look in the mirror, today could be a good day. Ready. Panic. What do I do now? When was the last time I ate? Am I eating because I'm hungry, or because I know it's the right thing to do? Because my body needs the nutrients in order to survive. Baby steps. No more routines, I'm free to the world but the freedom is almost suffocating. Procrastinate. Endless hours upon hours doing nothing but everything, trying to eat, trying to breath, trying to be normal. The skies are getting dark and the streets are becoming quieter. Time to sleep, my favourite part. Dreams, dreams about love, romance, the best days of your life so far. Woken up suddenly with what feels like a tonne of bricks hitting against your forehead. Awaken, get ready, repeat. Coldness. It creeps up on you, sending tingles and shivers all throughout your body. From your neck down to the depths of your spine, through your legs, your arms, to the tips of your fingers and your toes until you slowly start to feel like a stray dog, left all alone on a cold winter’s night. No owner, no food, no home, nothing. You are left feeling like nothing, invisible. Invisible to yourself, your neighbours, your friends. Would anyone notice if I were to go? Leave this place, this town, this city, this world and never look back? Who would miss me? No. That isn't me talking, I am fine. I am no longer in control of my emotions; I have been taken over by a rush of coldness and hotness all at one. Confusion. Why is it so hard to think straight, to see straight, to be normal. What is normal, if there is such thing? “Patience is a virtue”, one of my favourite sayings. To have patience with someone shows that you care. You are passionate about what they have to say. Their thoughts, feelings, emotions, ideas, philosophies. It puts things into perspective, indulges you with new knowledge and education. Feeds your brain in more ways than you realise. You almost start to care more about their ideas than your own, as you analyse in explicit detail their body language, every hand gesture, movement. You start to become at one with them. But what if, however, you have an astounding amount of patience with these people, but not with yourself. Not with your emotions, your feelings, your thoughts, even your movements. You brush them under the carpet, pretend they're not there. I mean, they're not visible to the naked eye, so no one would notice otherwise. Right? Wrong. Emotions matter, feelings matter. However big, small, funny, comical. We are human beings and as human beings, we must come together. But what do you do when you no longer recognise yourself? The person standing in front of the mirror, that isn't the same person from a few weeks, months, years ago. That smile. That smile that once lit the room has been replaced with something bleak. I wouldn't call it a smile, just a crook of the face. Those eyes. Those eyes that were once filled with joy, now filled with emptiness and water from the never ending tears that are wept throughout the night. Those hands. Those hands that would be used to ride a bike for the first time, draw, paint, now tremble at the whirlwind of thoughts, sweat among the constant pit of sorrow and anxiety and continue to tremble. What happened to her? The twinkle in her eye has disappeared. She looks sad, bewildered, as she looks out into the huge, never-ending world before her. I couldn't face people today, what if I mess up? What if I embarrass myself? But why should I care, they are strangers who I will most likely never see again. Oh, but what if I do? Would they remember, would they care? Thoughts spinning round in my head. It's wanting to go out, but not wanting to socialise. Wanting to be successful, but being afraid of failure. Wanting long lasting relationships, but not wanting to show people your real self, your self-pity, self-loathing, sad self. It's wanting to eat, but not physically being able to. It's waning to go for a walk, a run, but not having the energy to. It's wanting to go to a party, wanting to get dressed up, but not wanting to make small talk with people, strangers. It's wanting to be productive, but not wanting to get up on a morning. It's wanting to sleep, wanting to shut down, but finding every distraction you can to stop yourself. It's wanting to be happy, but spoiling it for yourself, knowing it won't last for long as the next thing is always around the corner. The next headache, the next bad news, the next anything. It's wanting to be surrounded by people, familiar, comforting faces and places, but wanting nothing but to isolate yourself from the world, alone in your room. It's wanting to travel somewhere new, but not wanting to risk it in case you feel trapped with nowhere to run, no way to get home, no way to get back to your safe haven. It's finding excuses not to do things, not to go places, not to travel, see the world surrounding us. It's finding it easier talking online, through text, as it is in real life. It's feeling not lonely, but alone, with no way to escape the epitome of darkness. It’s an indescribable feeling. A feeling that doesn’t quite go, doesn’t leave your body and is somehow, always there. A feeling I wouldn’t wish upon anyone, not even the most extreme prisoners. I bet they feel alone, too. Not just a prisoner literally, but mentally. Wishing they could turn back time and be surrounded by friends, family and those closest to them. Instead, they are surrounded by the heavy metal bars that keep them away from society, isolated with only their thoughts. Being a prisoner of your own mind is a dangerous thing. It’s always far easier to just tell people “I’m tired” when they ask how you are, how you are feeling. Because it’s the truth. Physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted. It drains the life from your bones, the happiness from your blood and the soul from your veins. You no longer feel human, like a living and breathing being. You just exist, you are just there. Wouldn't it be nice to be young again. To be care free, innocent, knowing nothing but happiness and peace in the world. Cherishing every joyous memory with friends, staying up late watching cartoons. Having no worries, no cares in the world. The only problems we faced were those of the anticipating moments, wondering if we would get our first detention for handing in late homework, or forgetting to underline the date and the title. Oh how clumsy of us! Going home from school wondering if today was the day that the boy from school finally noticed you. Unaware of the evil out there. The violence, the war. The people that were once here, once had families, but lost their battle and couldn't find the light at the end of the darkness. The racism, the religious slurs that leave the mouths of the uneducated, the ignorant. These same mouths that start their day sipping on Chinese tea, getting ready as they put on their Indian shirt and Thai, suede shoes. Wrapping their Swiss watch around their wrist, as time for him is money. Leaving the day behind drinking their Russian vodka, French wine, German beer. Oh the irony. I didn't know about mental illness until twelve years old. Experienced my first panic attack at fourteen years old. Understandably, assuming I was having a fit, heaving a heart attack, dying. What was happening to my body? To my emotions? So powerful and overwhelming that I could not simply control them on my own. If I had known sooner, had a deeper understanding surrounding mental illness; it could have saved me so many sleepless nights. How is it fair that in school, in life, we are only taught about those serious physical illnesses? Broken limbs and body parts, cancer, diabetes, chronic pain, Sclerosis, lung disease, heart disease; the list goes on. However, the views and attitudes towards mental illnesses and disease are not viewed in the same light. Why? Why are they brushed under the carpet so often when they can have such a huge impact upon a person’s life and state of mind? Their ability to enter the real world, form friendships, relationships. Do the simplest of tasks that one with no mental illness would class as the 'norm'. The stigma upon mental illness as a whole is one of the main reasons hundreds, thousands and millions of people are suffering alone, in silence. If I had a broken leg, a broken arm, people would instantly notice me among the crowd. A person's mental complexity is not always recognisable; it can be in any one of us, any 'normal' looking person. Stand a person with a broken limb next to a person with a mental health disorder. Who will get the most empathy, I wonder. The feeling is almost paralysing. It's like learning to walk again, talk again, breath again, live again. I managed to leave the house today. It wasn't for long, but I did it. I managed to eat today, too. It wasn't much, but it filled my stomach and my body later thanked me for it. The feeling is still there, but today as I write this, I feel empowered. I feel positive within myself. Earphones in, ignoring the world. Treasuring every moment I can, as I know it won't last as much as I anticipated. The trembling is back, throughout my whole body. So much so that my whole body is numb, almost as if I have been laid in an ice cold bath for hours, days, weeks. The coldness is almost painful, taking over my body. False persona. We all like to show people how well we are doing. We are all guilty of it without even realising. Sharing our lives with complete strangers across the world, throughout various social networks. It's almost like we seek approval from these strangers, thinking it will someone benefit our character or life after we upload that picture, status, post. When really, we are the same person when we go to sleep that night. We are still the same people. Nothing has changed but our ego. Why do we do this to ourselves? It's like we so desperately crave the attention from strangers when the people who care about us most are surrounded us. But maybe sometimes, that isn't enough. And sometimes, it's almost as if we are all living in a fantasy dream world. I can't do this anymore; I'm giving up, losing hope. I thought people called them happy pills for a reason. So, why am I feeling so low? So much lower than before. I can't sleep at night. I'm scared to sleep at night as I'm afraid of what tomorrow will bring. What if I waste another day? Imagine that, being afraid to sleep, afraid to wake up on a morning. I spent today looking at four walls. In the room I am confined in, cry in, sleep in, and dream in. It's my comfort, but it's also my prison- my enemy. I couldn’t eat today, the lump in my throat was too big, it wouldn’t allow me to. I want to eat, but I can’t. I also want to sleep, but I can’t. “You could be worse” they say. “Just smile” “You will be fine”. Since when was my mental state something to be compared to? Those words are degrading, humiliating and ignorant. Because I am still here, because my scars have healed, because there isn't a noose tied around my neck. That's enough evidence for them. I'm still here. Still breathing, living, showing my face; so I must be fine, right? Oh, they couldn't be more wrong. You cannot simply compare mental illness so lightly, as if you are comparing fractions in a maths equation. We are not numbers, we are human beings. Each person fighting their own battle. Why do we also tend to glamorize mental illness? Why is it seen almost like a new trend? Like they somehow make a person cute, but an awkward cute. There is nothing beautiful about a mental illness. They are ugly, they are evil, they are soul destroying. They keep you awake at night and make you question every aspect about yourself; your mind, appearance, your body. They make you question why you are not good enough. Why you are not like the others your age. I would rather have nothing at all and wake up every morning happy and energised, than carry the weight of a mental illness on my shoulders, weighing me down in all that I do. However, I am not and will not be defined by my mental illness, it is a part of me, my life. Where I go, it will follow, but I refuse to allow it to steal my identity. It makes you fear the world. Fear the future. Even fear yourself; your mind, thoughts, feelings. You isolate yourself from the world, your friends and the people closest to you who you care for the most. It makes you silent. It takes your voice, your passion. Until you are sat there, weak and lifeless. I wonder what it's like. To wake up on a morning, take a shower, put on your clothes and get ready for the day without a thousand and one thoughts whirling around in your head like a never-ending cycle. I wonder what it feels like to wake up on a morning without a headache, without the urge of wanting to vomit. I wonder what it's like to live an ordinary life. One where you don't over think every minuscule detail. One where you are able to leave you house without panic or fear. One where you are able to walk down the street not being paranoid that everyone is staring at you. Do I have toothpaste around my mouth? Food on my chin? I wonder what it's like to be sat in a crowded room, a loud crowded bus without feeling suffocated. Without wanting to leave as quickly and as desecrate as possible. I wonder what it's like to not have to lie. When someone asks how you are doing to not respond with “I'm just tired”, but to tell them exactly how you are feeling. I wonder what it's like to not wake up with eyelids so tired that they struggle to stay open, struggle to stay awake. I wonder what it's like to go about your day, questioning ho much sleep you think you'll be able to have tonight. Will it be 4 hours? 5 hours? Maybe 6 if we're lucky. I wonder what it's like to be optimistic about the future and not dwell on the past. I wonder what it feels like to say you're happy without having to fake a smile. I wonder what it's like to be in love with your body, every curve and edge. I wonder what it's like not crying in the shower, most if not every day. I've forgotten the last time I didn't feel constantly drained, exhausted. To not wake up every day with the same headache, feeling the same as I did the night before. I've forgotten what it feels like to get dressed on a morning, eat breakfast, without it feeling like an accomplishment. I visited my old school the other week. It brought back so many memories. The place I was taught about new ways of thinking, new ideologies. The place I grew, developed and matured. The place I learnt a lot, not just in Maths, Science and English, but about myself. The place I created and developed new, exciting friendships. Friendships that still continue to grow six years later. It's an odd place is school. It's a place where you experience the best time of your life, but to contrast that, the most challenging and difficult times you will face. Isn't it funny how each person is categorised into groups, into status, into 'coolness'. But, in five, ten, twenty years time, the status you once had, the popularity you once gained will no longer mean anything. In the real world, people don't like you for the popular image that you depict of yourself. They like you for being a humble, genuine and kind person. Well, that's how it should be anyway. School can be a challenging time for those who feel alone, feel as if they don't fit in, like the black sheep among the crowd. I remember my first day of my new high school like it was only last week. Year nine, thirteen years old, the age that everyone has already made their friends, already known each other, already knowing the school like the back of their hand. I had never felt so lost. Leaving my friends and family behind. My lovely, beautiful Grandma. Who the next time I would see, would sadly no longer be here. having to start a new life up here, with unfamiliar faces, unfamiliar voices. I hated being the new girl, I never did like drawing attention to myself. What if nobody would like me? What if people were to laugh at my accent and not be able to understand me? A hundred and one thoughts whirled around in my head that morning, as I put on my new white crisp shirt and fastened my long, navy tie. I was lucky. I was treated with kindness, respect and loyalty from these people, these people that had never met me before. For once in my life, I felt apart of something, apart of a bubbly and comical friendship group; I knew it was something I would latch onto. They made my days better, more entertaining. Cheering me up when I would get bursts of anxiety, missing my one best friend back at home who was nearly three hours away; ninety two miles to be exact. One phone call away, that's all it would take. But it would never compare to the comfort of her voice, her being, her warmth. Nine years of friendship to be turned into conversations on Facebook, on text, with just the blur of her photo to be seen. Nothing can compare to the love you have for your closest, dearest friends. Those friends that would do anything to see you happy, see you smile, walk the ends of the earth for you. Keep them close, as their love is eternal and I personally, am eternally grateful. School was going well, my work and understanding of each subject was also going well. But for some reason, there was an unfamiliar cloud of darkness hovering over me, overwhelming me with a mix of emotions that I didn't quite understand. Tears pouring down face at unexpected times, unsure why Embarrassment, as people would show their concern, asking what the matter what, but I simply couldn't reply as I didn't know myself what was wrong. I had nice friends, a support network, great family, a new bigger house with my own huge bedroom, everything I could need. So what was the matter? Why would I come home from school with tears filling my eyes, so sad and confused? What else would I need? What could I do possibly to fill this emptiness in my head, in my stomach, in my life. I was thirteen years old, I knew I shouldn't be feeling like this. I should be out making memories with my friends, not feeing alone, feeling this way. Time passed and my confidence grew. Although I knew at the back of mind something wasn't quite right, I still pushed myself and acted as if things were normal. I didn't want people to see me like this, see me so weak, like a burden to people. I just wanted to be a normal teenage girl, who would go to sleepovers with- friends, eat too much ice-cream at midnight until she felt sick and giggle herself into a deep sleep. I was a joker. Would make people laugh until they could hardly breath. I liked seeing people smile because of me. Laugh at me. Not at me, but with me. I enjoyed bringing happiness into other people's lives, as it made up for the happiness that was absent in my own. While all of my friends would spend their weekends being sociable, visiting cinemas, parks, town, I would spend most of mine alone, in my room. Watching videos, drawing, eating, to pass time. I remember feeling a bitter jealousy inside of my stomach. Jealous of those friends who could go out, into large crowded areas and enjoy themselves without the heart palpitations, the sweated palms or the sick like feeling in the pit of their stomach.
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