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If you look at the sea, you'll see the raging tides come forth.

The waves tumbling and turning, wrecking stability wherever they go.

Most people would run and hide, when the danger threatens their comfort.

But not the shore, no, not the shore.

The shore stays put, holding their own against the ocean.

And the sea? The sea becomes soft.

The waves get smaller, and smaller, until when it hits the shore...

The water gently greets them.

And the shore? The shore welcomes them with open arms.

Unfazed by the turbulence before them.

The sea asks, "Aren't you afraid of me too? Don't you find me intimidating? Oh, won't you run just like the others?"

But the shore—oh the shore—the shore embraces them even more.

For their actions are enough to reassure their dearest ocean.

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yearning at it's peak.

A shared glance, a longing to be seen.

An exchange of words, a yearning to be heard.

Yet you said goodbye, leaving a trace of your presence.

We meet again, a funny coincidence!

You barely waved, yet your eyes were glowing.

My feet moved on its own, a lingering feeling.

Actions spoke louder, than words barely uttered.

Simple greetings, stolen glances; a mystery to be solved.

I'm trapped inside a maze, that lies inside your head.

Slowly but surely, you allowed me to read your mind.

A mind full of unread books, waiting to be picked.

Picked up from the dusty old shelves, that awaits.

If only you would allow me to dive deeper.

Deeper into the catacombs you desperately hid from the world.

Then it would be an honour, to explore it alongside you.

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seb: well me and mc really had our ups and downs

coworker: oh? big fights huh?

seb, remembering when he spiraled into dark magic and used an unforgivable spell to kill his uncle and she covered it up: yeah something like that

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ominis: put a finger down if you were nice to a girl to use them for your own gain then played yourself, caught feelings, and is now horrendously obsessed with them that you got sick because they chose Amit Thakkar for one charms project

sebastian, on his last finger: i don't like this game

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Every time a snake sheds its skin, a tinge of envy slithers its way into my heart.

It must be nice, being able to take off your skin.

Do snakes feel uncomfortable with their own skin, for them to have the need of a new one?

If they do, then why didn't God grant us humans the same wish?

How great was the guilt that consumed Eve's temptor, for God to give it a second chance?

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How can you say that you cherish God's law, when you love His commandments more than Him? How can you say that you keep His word, when you despise your own neighbours?

You say it's for our own "good" yet, you nag us out of spite; you fear the judgement that comes, if you don't set us into the "right path."

Perhaps, it wasn't about God; all this time, it was all about you. So what if God is above all? You crave to be elevated.

Of course, you deny these accusations, calling it "atheist behaviour." But you forgot one thing; we're all serving the same God. Although, the god you so desperately love is different than ours.

Call it "blasphemous" if you want; do you need a mirror? Isn't worshipping the created instead of the Creator a heresy itself?Wouldn't you say condemning others when you have no right to as the same as playing god?

Reality is often blurred by the lenses of idealism. Others view you as kind, humble, some might say even holy. But the truth is, your heart is filled with such bitterness that you disguise as "being a servant of God."

In a way, that title isn't exactly wrong. It's just, the closest example of your position is the eldest from the Parable of the Prodigal Son. You pout and sulk when the Father welcomes the lost, for you feel that they are undeserving.

Though you have spent your whole life to please God, your heart was never aligned to His will this whole time. You say that what you do is "appealing to the Lord" and you make fun of others who don't keep track of their ministry, who seem like they don't care at all about ministry.

Even so, is what you're doing truly for the sake of glorifying the Lord? Or are you just disguising your lousy attempt on making yourself look good?

Surely, you must've realised this from the start. You just choose to be in denial, for you cower in the face of the meek.

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via Catechesis Memes

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"haunting lament," sort of?

There was something comforting about the silent whispers of the dead.

The way their stares caused the eerie atmosphere surrounding their resting places, and the simple fact that they could only observe their visitors were enough to give comfort to the black sheep of the dead.

Still in her uniform, the black sheep sat at one of the tombstones with her glasses on the ground and a lit cigarette in the middle of her fingers. Her usually tied hair was let loose, allowing her long black hair to breathe in the slightly clean air.

Her earphones, which fit perfectly in both of her ears, played the haunting tunes of Siouxsie and the Banshees from her phone. She couldn't help but tap into the rhythm of "Sweetest Chill" as she took a huff of her Marlboro Red.

The young girl wondered, what would her peers say if they accidentally caught her smoking in a graveyard? Would the perfect student council image she had built crumble down in a single night? What would they say if they saw the responsible teacher's pet hanging around at such an improper place?

She took another puff of her cigarette.

The young girl pondered, what would her teachers say if they accidentally passed by the cemetery? Would the innocent top-ranked student image of hers be destroyed in an instant? What would they say if they saw the elegant young lady spending her precious time with the dead instead of extra credit with the ambitious wolves at her school?

A frustrated sigh escaped her lips as the smoke fluttered into the air.

If other people find comfort in cafes, parks, or even at the edge of a rice field, the young girl finds comfort in the midst of the dead. The dead would never put such high expectations on her, the dead would never find her fascination towards goth culture weird, and the dead would never judge her for liking the bitter taste of cigarettes.

The ghosts of the buried people wouldn't nag at her interests and call it "a sin against God" and even if they would, they couldn't exactly say it to her face anyway.

She grunted as she put out her cigarette and flicked it away, while silently apologising to whoever's grave it landed upon.

Just because she's into the darker aspects of life, doesn't mean she's automatically an atheist. In fact, she likes going to church every Sunday and she enjoys her morning prayers. She just doesn't like the hypocrites who preach about the love of God when they wouldn't hesitate to call her an unbeliever once they found out about her interests.

And seeing how many of her teachers and fellow schoolmates expressed their concern towards goth culture, even classic goth literature for some reason, was enough to remind her that no one can truly accept her for who she is.

That's why she tries so desperately to be respected. She couldn't care less about who likes her or who doesn't, as long as they don't think lowly of her.

As long as they don't see the darker side of her.

Her phone suddenly vibrated, a sign that someone had texted her. She sighed, annoyed by the disturbance. But, when she saw who it was, her eyes slightly lit up at the notification.

got a gig tonight! will u come?

After typing up her response, she packed up her things and left the graveyard, hoping that one day someone will truly accept her for who she is.

We'll see.

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Being a Bard within the group! (Dungeon Meshi)

A/n: I recently watched Dungeon Meshi (I also started playing Baldur's Gate 3) and I have been enjoying everything so far and I had the idea to write a relationship dynamic between a bard reader and the rest of the Dungeon Meshi group (I also might write a Barbarian/Fighter type of reader)

Laios:

He is amazed at how you can compose such lively tunes and respects how much time and effort you put into your craft

Will be amused if you choose to try to write a song about him (He smiles to himself when he overhears you trying to find a word that rhymes with his name)

He will not like it if you were to ever sing about him in front of others (his facial expression will not be a happy one, more of a nervous one since he doesn't like it when he's in the center of attention)

Laios really likes it when everyone is resting at camp after a meal and you play your instrument to pass the time (he likes to tap his foot along to the melody)

Laios is happy to provide you with monster names and rhyming words to help you complete your song (or parts your stuck on)

Marcille:

She is very glad that you are with their group since when you play your instrument for the group it calms her nerves a little with each note you play (her ears slightly twitch when you play a more cheerful songs since her hearing is more sensitive)

Marcille gets as sad as you when you break your instrument, but is just as eager to use her magic to repair the instrument (maybe it fell from a high place or that it took on a bit of water damage, but most likely you smashed it over a monster's/person's head and it broke)

She also likes it when you write songs about their adventures (especially if you sing/write about how powerful she can be with her magic, but like Laios is very flustered if you sing about her in front of a crowd, she will turn red and try to hide behind her staff)

Your soft songs without words, or humming at most, settle her nicely into her sleep (she sometimes gets the tune stuck in her head for hours until she begs you to play that one song for her again)

Chilchuck:

Chilchuck values you as a companion since you sometimes use your skills to get the group out of tough situations (sometimes you use your charms talk your way out tough situations, which is a RELIEF because he has no trust in the others abilities. Laios...)

this one time you talked your way into a free night's stay at the local pub the group frequents in exchange to entertain guest all night long, in which you were happy to since you also sometimes get extra coins from generous people passing by

He probably won't say it directly to you but he really enjoys listening you compose new songs (his ears are also quite sensitive just like Marcille's, so when he hears you trying to figure out which notes sound good together, he has a small smile on his face while he continues to polish and make sure his lockpicks are in good condition)

Chilchuck also can't hold back his laughter when you mock people when they are being disrespectful to someone in your party and you jump in to defend them (He manages to slap his hand over his mouth just before he lets out an ugly laugh since he doesn't expect you to roast your opponent so hard. Sometimes even managing to cry so hard he winds himself)

Senshi:

Doesn't really get why you are traveling in the dungeon in the first place, since this is the last place he would think someone with your skills would ever be

Senshi is not used to hearing the soft melodies coming from your instrument. Instead of the usual noises of whatever creature on the current floor he was on would make or the occasional screaming parties that travel by (or he is so used to the silence that he doesn't notice how much he misses the warmth and sound of another soul)

He admires any carving or engraving you have on your instrument and asks you if there's a story behind it or if it was for aesthetic purpose (wants to ask if he can hold your instrument so that he learn more about you as a person based on how you handle it while asking you how you came to play such an instrument)

Senshi takes note of how well you seem to take care of your work and takes the time compliment you on your hard work (He learns from you how to properly maintain your instrument and keeps an eye out for anything that might help when he gets the chance)

He comes to love when you play songs while he cooks a meal for the group to enjoy, He sometimes gets concentrated in what he's doing that he doesn't realize that he's softly humming along to the melody your currently playing (He likes to slightly sway along with the tune while he dices things or when he's waiting for the dish to finish cooking)

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Cause of my insomnia number one:

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a letter to a dearest friend, hidden beneath the cardboard boxes somewhere in the attic.

My dearest friend, I'm sorry that I could never find the time to ask you how you've been doing over the past few years. I always use the reason of being busy to stop myself from writing to you, but now I realise that I was simply avoiding the uncomfortable feeling that grows inside of me every time I sit down at my desk, whenever I am reminded of you. Of course, that doesn't mean that I do not care for you. In fact, I've always wondered what became of you ever since we last met. I simply didn't want to seem like an overbearing, selfish friend to you by writing you letters every now and then. Of course, I am reminded that you could never think of me that way, and that I shouldn't be afraid of writing you a letter. So, in that case, how have you been doing? I hope you are doing well. That dream of yours, of opening up a coffee shop together, I could never forget. I've always wondered what became of you ever since you left for college. Did you enjoy your studies? Were your professors kind to you? Were there any friends who cared for you? Was there a potential suitor who piqued your interest? I really, truly can't wait to hear from you again, and I can't help but wonder if you're also thinking the same thing. To be frank, I've always wondered if I ever crossed your mind. I understand that you have your own responsibilities now, but I've always checked my mailbox every Sunday in hopes that you've sent me a letter. However, I suppose it's partially my fault for not being able to write you a letter. Perhaps, if I had the courage to do so, we'd be exchanging letters every single week since the day you left. Then again, I've found myself waiting for yours in hopes of a reason to finally face my anxiety of expressing myself through ink and paper. You of all people should know how much I struggle with my emotions, and ever since you left, my condition has worsened. I have become a hermit, I have forgotten how to socialise, and worst of all, I have forgotten what sort of person you were. The line that separates fantasy and reality had grown blurry, and I have found myself mixing the paint of your true character and the idealised version of you that I had created in my memories. Or, I suppose, the distorted version of you that I had convinced myself was your true self. I know that you must've been waiting for me to write to you, and I'm sure that you check your mailbox every Monday to see if I have sent you one. I'm sorry I couldn't be brave enough to do so, for the lingering fear of being forgotten and thrown away by my dearest friend is bigger than the longing and yearning that screams within the depths of my heart. Truly, I tell you, I wish you all the best in life. And truly, I tell you, no words in the English language can describe how much I miss you and how much I still care for you. I'm still waiting for your letter. Sincerely, Your old friend.

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Deepest apologies to the well-thought-out characters that I created but never wrote the stories for.

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Can you try an INFJ Ravenclaw we make up 3% of the population but I would love to see one!

Thanks for the ask! This was also requested by @oureffervescence , @theonetotwopercent , @dreaming-galaxies , @bluever27 , and @ptx-potter-party . Lots of Ravenclaw INFJs out there! 

- More INFJs in Ravenclaw than in any other house, because their passion, distinct moral senses, giving instincts, and connectedness with others are all traits that their house reflects

- VERY perfectionist when they’re doing something they think is important

- Work on their project until oops it’s 2 A.M and I haven’t eaten or drank anything in the past 24 hours

- Always trying to improve things and make life better for others

- Such??Sweet??People??

- It can be difficult to get them to open up about themselves because they’re always thinking about helping other people *sigh*

- But if you can get them to come out of their shell, they’re amazingly fun to be around

- Would probably set up a mock trial system to make sure that Hogwarts disputes are handled fairly

- Sometimes people think they’re extraverted because they spend so much time around other people, but they definitely need to retreat sometimes

- When they do, they love to curl up in their dorms and do whatever they’re passionate about- writing, drawing, reading, petting their cat

- AMAZING public speakers, could probably persuade Voldemort to switch to the good side (unlike Useless Harry Potter)

- The opposite of arrogant, which dispels a lot of Ravenclaw stereotypes

- They like to solve things through non-violence, like Martin Luther King Jr. (who is probably their hero)(and who was an INFJ himself!)

- Finally burn out after their 48th hour of forgetting to sleep because they were thinking about the plight of the endangered unicorns

- And yet they’re always the ones reminding their friends to drink water, wash their robes, and get to sleep!

- In classes they absolutely devote themselves to the subjects they love

- Really creative when it comes to unique ways of solving problems, so they have 12 notebooks full of sketches and plans stuffed under their bed

- They don’t just think about doing what’s right, they actually do it. How?

- Very versatile- they could grow up to make great scientific discoveries, be an influential public speaker, an artist who expresses their ideas through creativity, an impassioned teacher, an eloquent writer, or basically anything

- Round out Ravenclaw’s sharp edges tbh (sorry to end on a sappy note)

Send me an ask requesting headcanons/aesthetics! 

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"how much do you love me?"

If you decide to jump off a cliff, I would gladly join you. But, I suppose that's too extreme.

My love for you is like morning sunlight; warm and comforting during your lazy days.

My love for you is like a puddle after the rain; it stays even after the storm has passed.

My love for you is like the shade of a cloudy afternoon; when you feel weary and tired, I'll be there to cool you down.

My love for you is like the leaves of autumn that fall close to their trees; no matter how far the wind takes me, my heart won't be flown far from yours.

My love for you is like the tides on the shore; no matter how far I go, I will always return to you.

My love for you is like the moon who chases after the sun; even if we have to be apart, I will still follow you wherever you go.

You're like a planet in a sky full of stars; no matter how bright the others shine, my eyes are only glued to yours.

You're like the sound of crickets in the middle of the night; not many hear your voice, but you lull me to the sweetest dreams.

You're like the scent of the soil that comes after the rain; others may not notice your presence, but I find comfort in it.

You're like the leftover paint on a painter's palette; you're too precious to be left dry when just a drop of your love is enough to brighten the whole canvas.

You're like the last guitar string; without you, the world seems to be missing something.

You're like the ink to my pen; my story would be incomplete without you.

That's how much I love you.

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when the lyrics you've been mishearing are more clever than what's actually in the song

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Nocturnal Elegy

How quiet is the evening, when the moon shines bright and the stars would whine.

The weeping owl sings its elegy, even without a funeral in sight.

The petals of the wilted flowers drop to the tombs like dried teardrops, mourning the beauty they once were.

The foggy cemetery is awfully quiet, though we all know that beneath the tombs, the dead are enjoying each others company.

They gather underneath their graves, speaking in words only they could understand, for the living could never comprehend the fractured emotions that they uttered.

How long have they been buried there? They couldn't tell, for their memories are as hazy as the caskets that contain their remains.

Even if they called out in hopes of a genuine conversation with the living, they knew that their cries were just a mere gust of wind with the subtle echo of nostalgia.

Their pleas are considered as eerie, for they speak in a language so foreign, that the living mistook it for the demons that would haunt their nightmares, fearing the ghosts that were the cause of their insomnia.

But what is a ghost if not the surviving essence of a human soul? what is the dead if not the remains of what used to be human?

It's as if the living had forgotten that one day, they would end up just like them, either buried in a proper graveyard or burnt until only their ashes would remain.

It's as if they had forgotten that they were no different than those who they had mourned for:

Dead.

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"but it's not real, and you don't exist"

Was it ever even real?

Laying down on my bed, I stared at the ceiling with empty eyes as the memories came flooding back to me.

All the adventures that we went on, the spontaneous trips we took, the random food we decided to try because of some review we read on Google....

All the heart to heart conversations we had, the meaningful glances that we exchanged, the comforting silence between us....

Were they ever even real?

Images of you popped up inside my head; pictures of your smile, moments of when you were blushing because of something I said, your tear-stained eyes that you tried so hard to hide because you didn't want to appear weak...

My eyes drifted towards the plushie that you gave me on a random Saturday evening, for absolutely no reason at all.

Looking back, I never thought that it would come to this.

It was never real.

The realisation that I tried so hard to hide at the back of my mind appeared so suddenly, that I didn't even have the energy to supress it anymore.

It's so frustrating; the fact that I have so many things to say to you and yet, the words are stuck on the back of my throat. For the fear of hurting your feelings were bigger than the aching in my heart.

Though, I'm sure you didn't even realise the pain your actions had caused me.

Those words of reassurance that you always uttered on times when I felt like I was returning to my lowest...

They were never real.

None of them were ever real.

All the memories start to fade as I shift on my bed, no longer looking at the ceiling. Images of you began to blur, to the point where your silhouette was starting to become unrecognisable.

Did I even knew you? Or was the version of you that I created in my memories were just a way for me to reject the hard truth that was laid down in front of me?

For who was the person that existed inside my hazy mind in the first place?

You were never real.