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A collection of outfits from Otakon 2009

📷tian_shi on egl livejournal https://egl.livejournal.com/13844495.html

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himeizm

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Nia

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Coords!

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Prompt #14: Clear

cw: lots and lots of talk of death, general depressing view on life/death cycle

B'Shira's tired eyes stare into the bowl, the liquid contents rippling from an unknown force, invisible droplets seemingly trickling into it. She's grown so unaffected by her clients' rushes of emotion, the way they'd sob when she'd talk about how their lost ones yearned for their presence again, the twinkle of hope behind misty eyes when she'd tell them their soul will always remain beside them. She felt nothing anymore.

It's not that she lacked empathy, or genuine care for their woes, but it's all become business. They, despite their tragedies, are also not the ones condemned to hearing the cries of the lost. They may stay awake in mourning, she lay awake to the cacophony of life taken away too soon. Even her studies of the dark arts, her desire to move forward with thaumaturgy were affected by this; Lack of sleep, and a general muddied mental space does not do the studying mind good, especially when her spellwork would drain her endurance even without any level of previous lethargy.

She sighed, her ears flat against her copper hair as she gathered the right words. "He doesn't want to see you cry. It just makes him sad. He wants you to be happy. You two… used to visit Limsa, is that correct?" The woman gave a shaky nod, hands gripping a hankerchief. "Mm. He says… you should go back. You shouldn't let your heart ache, heal it instead. He wants you to see the sun on the water, and think of it as his smile." She's taken aback when the woman abruptly hugs her, thanking her profusely, praising her gift of being able to connect to the lost lover. It's one thing she'll never understand, how deeply death would impact them.

Death was freedom, death was breaking free from the chains of Life. She'd seen the beggers in the streets of Ul'Dah, she'd seen the struggles daily life hands those who were not granted comforts of pockets lined with gil. Was it morbid of her? She thinks of the way a body's aether moves on to fuel new life, one who's condemned to the grasps of reality's cruelties given a chance anew, perhaps one with less struggles. That was the Circle of Life, there was no changing that, there was no use crying over it, did the adventurers who shed tears for their fallen comrades also cry when they cut through monsters? Even a Morbol is a living creature, even Morbols have some form of kinship. She pondered what qualifications a life needed in order to deserve sympathy. Was she too qualified for sympathy? She hated going into the details of her own life, she hated being seen as an abandoned kit fending for herself, she supposed she'd never know as result of the walls she built for herself.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she cleared her throat. She sent the woman on her way with a velvet bag of herbs, and prepared the table for the next client.

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Prompt #13: Check

Corner to corner, depths of the closet, under the bed. Hang the bells from the ceiling, quiet enough to not be too much of a bother, but loud enough to ring out a song of welcoming if a gust of energy passed by. She would check for any sign of spirits not unlike a young child checking for monsters before sleeping, though this was done with surges of anticipation, and a want for their presence, not fear for safety.

Bones were placed in position, herbs tied tight with string lay beside in their altar home. B'Shira did this every night, and every morning to ensure that she was well aware if a spirit visited uninvited. It was a comforting act, but one that spun a web of anxieties. She knew the spirits were always beside her, they whispered to her at night, she could feel the way they held her hand in her more somber moments, they would tell her their stories, and she would tell them about her daily activities in the land of the living; Should the bells not ring, objects of the altar untouched by her own hand, those were the days she felt truly alone.

She'd wander about with a guise of nonchalance, ears twitching at the slightest sound in hopes the soothing voices would return to her head. Without them, her mind was a void, an empty cellar who's only company was the uninhabited cobwebs that even the spiders abandoned, it made her stomach turn. She was too proud to ever admit it, but she was lonely, though could never seem to connect with peers, the consolatory songs of the dead uttered into her mind were her savior from such feelings. The spirits were the hand that would guide her through through the dark, the only hands she felt safe in.

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bshira thing

Death and decay, cadaverous smell For us there's neither heaven nor is there a hell And only the stigmata could be able to betray The sombre existence of the former days - Dead Souls by Sopor Aeternus & the Ensemble of Shadows

She is well aware that few understand her, and her power. It'd be hard for her not to, with the rumors that circulate, Krizette, as much as she adores the Elezen, has no filter when it comes to telling the young Miqo’te of things said about her; She's considered delusional, immature, in their eyes, she is not the spirit speaker she knows she is, instead a speaker to the spurious, a child who has not yet relinquished playing make-believe.

She shut others out the day her brother abandoned her, her only ally in an otherwise lonely world. If the one person she could trust, and treated her originally with such warmth turned to icicles that pierced her flesh, leaving behind gelid scars, how could she trust anyone else to not do the same? The spirits understand her, though, the ones who wail as they are locked within limbo, those who perished alone, too early.

She spends her mornings with the innocent caught in the line of fire in war-torn wastelands, and she spends her nights comforting the children who never got to experience the once full life ahead of them. It's not all tranquil conversation, however, she often goes nights barely sleeping, if at all, malevolent spirits who whisper horrid things to her, the ones who tempt her to leave the living, to join them, they guilt her, telling her she has no right to feel lonely when she's still blessed with walking among life. She tries putting herself to sleep with various herbs, mixed concoctions. When she meets Krizette, she practically begs her to induce sleeping through magic, but none of it works, the grip of the spirits are stronger than any remedy she tries, so she lays with eyes stinging from lack of sleep, her body weak, and voices that refuse to stop. Her room littered with notes, as she scrawls down their stories, writing down how to attempt to soothe their woes. She wants to help them, she wants to provide the care she so desperately wishes to have for herself. So she carries the burden of their anguish, the heaviest weight upon her shoulders being the seemingly neverending question of when her time to be amidst them will be.

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‘I have friends who understand me Their names are spider, beetle, bee They don't say much but They have always listened to me ‘  - Boys Will Be Bugs, Cavetown. 

Krizette was a girl of many emotions, usually all crowding her mind, that being said, the flurry of emotions often range from hyper exhilaration, whimsical, to a downwards fall of boredom so intense it somewhat mixes with her ‘higher’ feelings, leaving her knees bouncing, thin fingers awkwardly tapping one another.

There was one emotion that rarely crossed Krizette’s mind, and that was hatred, even genuine, red, hot anger was hard for her to process, at least, for those she had personal relations with, the feelings were definitely there if it were a situation of her people close to her.

When directly she could feel it, just for a moment, until phantom hands hold her back, whispers to her ear ‘Isn’t it your fault?’ She reflects on how angry, and outright embarrassed her parents were when she failed any sort of task they’d give her, how her brothers teased her relentlessly, asking if she was slow in the head, if she knew what her parents said about her to them; She had no reason not to believe them, did she? She knew several things, Her name was Oliviaé Claniere, she was an Elezen part of House Clainiere, and that she was the failure of the family.

Now, it’s been six years since she ran away from home, and sometimes, just sometimes, she thinks of how she misses the manor, the long corridors she could wander at night, when everyone was asleep, she missed the food, she missed her only friend, Ettie, one of the house servants, whom she was told frequently to not form such friend relationships with, but at least one rule was okay to break... right? And it's not even broken! More like, bent, just slightly! And they weren't friends, totally not! She was just treating Ettie with proper respect, although that was something hard to come by in the Clainiere estate.

The house, if you could call it that, moreso a shack in the middle of nowhere than a house, she was currently living in was small, almost suffocatingly so, after all, the only room remotely this small that she could remember, is when she hid in her Grandmother's closet during a game of hide and seek, she remembers how it smelled like general must, although misted with a perfume, which could sum up her entire family well. It has space for a makeshift mattress, and a table to eat at, and also use to place whatever odd things she finds on her daily walks.

She's always liked bugs, although they were hard to come by at home, with constant cleaning comes destroyed webs, and little for ants, and similar bugs to happily eat. She'd play with them in the garden, although even that proved difficult, being scolded for playing in the dirt, when even her brothers were more well behaved in that manner. She had tried to bring up gardening as a hobby with her mother, which was met with an incredulous look; "Now why would want that? Is that not what our gardener" She never really understood it, though figured it similar to the day she was scolded with a tone laced in disgusted confusion as to why she helped the house servants organize the library.

When she looks at her accomplishments, it’s fairly barren. Her brothers are the smart ones, who while live under the same strict rules, and are given the same discipline, had they do something wrong, were given far more praise; They were seen as the ones who would keep the Clainiere linage going strong, with the reasoning behind it not be that they were forced to marry a suitor.

She looks back on that, the path that was laid out for her the moment she was declared the only daughter, her hand forcibly led to play a premade game of marrying before even feeling mature enough to actually fully understand any of it, and she realizes the change of it all, how without her even turning the wheel by her own hand, the path changed. She’s married now! Only, far different than her parents had wanted, and she’s perfectly happy with that. She’s happy now, with a soft love life with no hard edges. Some nights, she wonders how exactly they would respond upon learning of her life now (she also wonders whether or not they believe her to even still be alive,) although she tries her best to seal those thoughts away, just as any related to her life before.

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psych ward au, (krizette, b’shira, satomi)

cw for the obvious hospitalization, themes around mental illness, gaslighting+depersonlization (in response to neglectful childhood), auditory hallucinations

Krizette often wondered if she truly needed this, she didn't exactly hate the unit, it had it's ups and downs; It reminded her of home sometimes, with all the rules, but they had good ice cream! And she was able to make friends!

Even if they weren't allowed to hug, or even hold hands, touching other patients was prohibited, and she while she had to leave her insect friends, sometimes spiders, or centipedes would slip past the nurses' cleaning, she had multiple empty soda bottles, and plastic cups that she'd catch them in.

It's... not like she's actually suicidal, she was ruled to spend time in the unit after a slow downfall after leaving her parent's grasp. She became impulsive, the her she saw, and the her others saw were drastically different.

She wasn't Oliviae, she was Krizette! She didn't have neglectful parents, her parents were two great healers who guided her to a life of helping people! They tell her this is escapism, depersonalisation, they tell her it’s as if she's repeatedly erasing, and rewriting chapters when she should be continuing a new story, that she’s completely denying her past, taking on an entirely new persona.

She became soon friends with her roommate, a girl much smaller than her, although only a few years younger. Her soft features clashed with her narrowed eyes, messy hair that looked as if it wasn't brushed in ages, and her tail was constantly flicking back and forth (a habit former from paranoia, she learned.)

 B'Shira heard voices, they weren't scary, not to her, she learned about auditory hallucinations through movies, demonized issues that drove a person mad, but she wasn't mad. The voices were nice to her, they were hurt, mournful lost souls who needed company. When she met Krizette, she was taken aback, when the other girl invaded her personal space, but threw her off with

"Who's your friend?" This was odd, most everyone in the ward avoided B'Shira, especially once she started murmuring to herself (not to herself, no, but that's their ignorance.) She froze up, staring at Krizette like she had been caught doing something wrong.

"Ah ... Um ... Layna .. that's her name.."

Krizette's eyes sparkles with curiosity, her head darting around. "Well, Layna, I can't see you but hello!"

B'Shira hid her smile with her pajama sleeve, as she felt like perhaps, she might have someone physical to talk to.

Possibly the most interesting of the unit was a woman named Satomi, who was often the source of shouting, whether it be because she wanted to smoke (they /were/ allowed to, if they reached level three, which granted them outside time as long as it was supervised,) or simply because she knew it'd get everyone to stop what they were doing and just *look* at her (ward veterans tone her out, but Krizette was always interested in what she had to say.)

Satomi was littered in scars, Satomi would ramble about how many people she’s slept with, or what substances she would partake in, Satomi would tell stories of how she got weak-minded ‘idiots’ to do whatever she wanted. She wasn’t someone to admire, that’s for sure... but...

Krizette was almost jealous of Satomi, in a way, as she would go on about the evils in life, how the staff wanted her dead, how people are against her.

Krizette could never feel that way, she reflects on how she still felt bad for burdening her parents, still fighting her mind about who was in the right, they most definitely just wanted her to grow up smart, and successful, right? 

...

Right? This is the one thought that makes it hard for her to sleep, long nights, staring up at the ceiling, all other sounds drowned out as her own mind deals cards with itself, trying to win against the poisoning thoughts of guilt.

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satomi drabbles

tw: eating disorders, aftermath of sexual abuse, sexual themes (this is mostly a vent fic :’) )

She’s chewed the food in her mouth about seventy-five times, now it’s flavorless mush that pushes around her teeth, and slowly moves down her throat, no matter how much water she chases it with, it still feels like packed dirt. How many bites did she have left of the meal? She doesn’t bother to think, shoving the bowl aside, she’ll clean it later.

She can still feel hands on her, warm digits grasping her thin arms, her cold bones burn with every connection. She feels bile in her throat at every phantom touch. She lays in bed, bleak eyes stare up at the ceiling, she tells herself to just sleep, this means nothing, tomorrow is a new day, she has a rehearsal for an upcoming production, a story of venturing deep into the shroud, she’ll play the role of the evil witch, who makes it her duty to ruin lives. She thinks it’s the perfect role, there’s so many lives to ruin, so many weak brains, weak brains with corrupt hands, hands that hurt, she thinks how fun it��ll be to break them, to have them wallow in their malevolent cravings.

Tight lingerie clings to her bony body, hugging her in lace. Her fingertips dance across the skin of the man below her, sifting through his messy hair. “You’re beautiful,” he breaths out, and her lips spread into a Cheshire grin. “I bought this for you, cutie, I know you like lace,” she lies, she wears this for nearly every guy she’s with. “I… think I love you, Satomi, I really do.” She feigns surprise, followed by crocodile tears of happiness, clutching the man tight, she whispers sweet things into his ear, and oh, oh how easy he’ll be to play with now.

People are her playthings, from big to small, they’re putty in her hands, food in her web. People accuse her of being unfeeling, so sadistic that she feels nothing, but how can that be true? When she’s given such joy, her own fingers twisting in the puppet strings of her prey, twisting like fingers up inside of her, stroking her core.

This way, she controls how she gets hurt.

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krizette, minds are strange

There’s few things Krizette actively hates, for example: She hates people who hurt bugs, she understands the fear, and uncomfort, but she’s been brought to tears over seeing people squish her creepy-crawly friends, but most of all, Krizette hates boredom.

Staying still is hard, too hard, she thinks back to her childhood, where she was stuck reading for hours, stuffing her brain with knowledge that she wondered if she ever would actually use; sitting at the dinner table, listening to her father calmly say awful things, whilst her mother scolded her for taking more food than she should’ve, telling her that she’ll get fat if she continues doing that.

It’s not like she wants to hate boredom, to constantly need things to do, even in her daily life, far away from her family, her mind is still buzzing, she plays with her hands, with her hair, bouncing long legs until she finds something to occupy her mind, which usually ends up being long hours of her outside, scribbling drawings of different insects she finds.

Krizette also doesn’t hate things she should hate, she doesn’t hate thieves, she’s had friends who resorted to stealing in order to live.

She doesn’t hate rude people, her friend B’Shira started off being awfully rude, but over time, she let herself become more sarcastic than outright rude.

Krizette also doesn’t hate her parents, or does she? It’s a frightening flurry of thoughts.

She hates what they did, the damage they had on her psyche, but she was raised to believe family had the strongest strings, she thinks back to the good times she had, where mother combed her hair, told her stories; her brothers tolerating her existence to let her play with them when they were young (that was often ended by her parents, though, it was awfully unbecoming for a young lady to engage in such behaviors.)

She thinks, maybe they were right all along, perhaps she was best suited to become a Lady of House Clainiere, she thinks about all the people she’s met, those who struggled their entire life, and still are barely making it, would they trade their lives for her's? Is she ungrateful?

Krizette’s buzzing mind, however, is stopped to a more settled stir by a few things, she keeps ant farms, and different bug homes in her room, retiring to her room for a few hours and letting herself become absorbed in watching her  friends build tiny societies helps her from bouncing from one thing to the next.

Krizette has also found mental repose in her friend-to-lover Theo, she recalls the time he found her copies of her favorite book series, to the late nights reading together. When she’s with him, she finds that her mind wanders, although the wandering is more akin to peaceful streams of thoughts, instead of skipping stones, creating chaotic ripples. Her hands locked with his, she finds peace, she finds comfort, and she thinks to herself that she’s found her forever family.

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satomi 2

It wasn’t a picture-perfect family, but it was her family, or more-so, it was her mother, but that was enough family for her.

As far as she knew, fathers did not exist; Most girls her age would have asked her mother by now where her father had gone, why other children have fathers, to which her mother’s already tired eyes would only grow wearier, thin lips pressed together to form a tight line as she’d try to think of the best way to tell her daughter that her father had gotten caught up with the ever-growing violence, leaving the two of them to fend for themselves. She, however, was unaware of the average family build, it wasn’t like she was around other families enough to know how the inner workings often were.

Her mother teaches her many things, from how to hunt enough for them to eat (neither of them were very good, they mostly lived off fish they could get, they had both become masters of making everything out of nothing!)

Her mother also taught her many life lessons, or they were so in her mother’s eyes. “People will hurt you, Satomi,” she’d tell her, as she washed the young girl’s hair, and Satomi winced as her mother’s thin fingers trembled in her tresses. “--People will try to hurt you, but you can stop them, anybody can be stopped if you’re strong enough.”

Those words stuck with Satomi for years, the years as she grew, the years as her mother grew; years that went by and she wishes, wishes that she’d had picked up on how her mother was growing thinner, and weaker, and the years she then spent alone.

...

Alone.

She isn’t alone, not anymore! She’s gorgeous! She’s drop-dead fucking gorgeous! She ogles her reflection every time she passes, people ogle her! She’s learned this now. Mother was indeed right, people will hurt you, people will try to harm you in any way they can. Mother also wasn’t here to help her through anything, she’d had grown so used to being right beside the elder when doing anything, she’d had to learn the difficult way of how to get enough money just for food.

Oh, she’s been hurt! Hurt badly, it stings, stings every time her mind walks over those footsteps.

She’s the predator now, though, she’s the one who controls; She had once thought she was tainting others, until she realized that everyone around her was tainted, she’s only getting rid of the harsh lines that divide what stays hidden, and what is shown.

“I want you to help me,” she tells the man in her grasp, she’s dressed down for once, practically in rags. Her long fingers interlace with his, and she’s batting her eyes until a serious look replaces her usual whimsy.  

“He’s after me... My ex-lover! I had to cut it off with him because... because...” Her eyes blur with warm tears. Her gaze was magnetic, mesmerizing, the charms of a well-trained actress. “You have to do something! Otherwise he’ll... he’ll...!”

The man was well brought to sympathy by her act, clasping her hands in his and nodding. “H-Have you reported this to a guard...?” She shook her head vehemently, tears continuing to run down her face.

It wasn’t long until the man caved in, and ended up caving in the face of her so-called ex-lover.