#waxing gibbous: [musing]

[firstbornsecondchosen]

Okay, kind of inspired by @tenseigcn and a blurb RP I did on discord, I'm going to make a "good ending" type of au. Because Indra deserves to be happy, dammit! And then I will respond to your post!

[thebladesmithmuses]

(I got a little muse bug with this starter. So it's long. lol) Jane just needed a bit of fresh air to clear her head. It had been a long week, and she was restless. She couldn't focus on her paperwork, nor could she focus on watching anything for long. It was late at night, and she had some things she needed to catch up on before she went to bed. However, she had a sudden need to just, go outside for a walk. Probably because she had been cooped up in her office all week with nothing else to do but talk to her patients, order lunch, and hunch over her desk. She hadn't even been able to go to her favorite bar after work. It seemed when she got a moment to herself, a patient would call and she was on the phone for hours trying to bring them down from whatever sort of episode they were having. Jane couldn't ignore them, of course, being their therapist and well, her own personal sense of duty to her clients, but it left her feeling stuck for days.

As much as she tired to ignore it, and distract from it, it persisted. She even tried tapping her foot on the floor in hopes it alleviate it in some way. It just persisted, eating up more of her mental state before she just caved. Jane decided to walk to the convenance store. It wasn't far and she could get a snack, and maybe a coffee.

It was a brisk night, causing Jane to pull her coat in closer to her neck and shiver as she stepped out. Her hand held tightly to the strap of her bag as she made her way down the sidewalk. despite the chill, it was a nice night. The moon was in a waxing gibbous, and though it was a bit cloudy, the stars were visible, or as visible as they could be with all the light pollution. She could feel the restlessness start to fade already, and a small sigh came as she enjoyed the calm night.

At least until she heard to footsteps behind her.

They were soft, attempting to be quiet, but occasional crunch of the snow and slorp of slush gave them away. Jane felt her heartbeat quicken, as this wouldn't be the first time she was attacked. Though, that time was in broad daylight. Even then it was lucky someone arrived in time, and she pulled through. This time, the chances of someone being around and willing to help her was slim. The trauma from that never quite healed right. It took everything in her to remain calm and think rationally. Jane tried to rationalize it. Maybe they were going the same way as her, but, she could hear the footsteps getting closer. They didn't quite gain speed, but they were closing in on her quickly. Jane calmly put a hand in her pocket, holding into a small canister of pepper spray.

Just in case.

It seems her instincts were right this time, as one rounded in front of her, and the other held a knife to her back. Jane willed herself to remain calm, despite hearing her own heartbeat in her ears. Despite the trembling in her hands.

"Well, hello, gentleman," She chimed. "Nice night isn't it?" Her calm demeanor seemed to help her, as the thugs looked at each other. The one in front of her was confused, and she only assumed the other one behind her was too. Jane took this moment of confusion, kicking the one man hard in the knee and turning to spray the other one in the eyes. He swung wildly as he yelped in pain. The knife caught her arm, slicing through her thin jacket and straight to her skin. She hissed, but didn't pause a moment and took off running, back to the safety of her office.

"Hey! Get back you, you bitch!" One of them screamed. At least one was sprinting after her, with the other trying to follow. Both of them unable to really run at first, but soon enough at least one of them was gaining.

Jane wasn't fast, she wasn't athletic, and the only thing keeping her running now was pure adrenaline. Adrenaline could only get her so far though. She was already huffing, and she was barely a block or so away.

Not again.

Please, not again.

Someone, anyone,

"HELP! HELP ME!" Jane was surprised by her own voice. It almost didn't sound like her. The desperation and terror almost felt unreal to her. When was the last time she was actually this scared?

Probably the last time this happened actually. Though, given this happened once already, the terror felt worse. So much worse. Almost cripplingly worse.

[starryknight-dragonarts]

Balen Gender: Male Background: Balen is a Vulvulta Vanis, known more commonly as Miragias, or Miragebolds. They are a little larger than Kobolds but still tiny compared to dragons, however unlike Kobolds who are smart as far as Animals go (Like a Monkey) these are an intelligent sapient race even if some dragons don't recognize them as such. They mostly dwell in hot Arid regions building burrow homes in the side of canyon and cliff walls with their thick digging claws. Miragias are also able to gain an elemental affinity through exposure to Lunar Magic despite not being very closely related to Tannin however they do not have the ability to control their elements and their elements are not as refined as Tannin Elements, so where a Tannin might get Fire or Lightning from the Waxing Gibbous, a Miragias will only get the power of Heat. They have also been known to vanish like a Mirage and in some rare cases of Miragias are also believed to have the power of Foresight but this has not been confirmed and many Dragons think they these claims are simply cons. Ballen is an Orphan who was on a family trip when his parents died. He doesn’t remember what happened to them just that they are dead. He’s far from his desert home. As a Miragias he is broadly disliked with the default assumption being they’ll try to scam you with their "prophecies" and Fortune Readings. Eventually he ran into another Orphan, a young Xerathian named Muse who took Ballen under her wing. Personality: Ballen is an intelligent dragon even from a young age. He’s aware if anyone is to believe his prophecies he needs to back them up. This has made him a massive math nerd to the point he makes up his own complex problems just to solve them. Everything is math after all, so any problem has some kind of solution if you can take the time to figure it out logically, although he has not figured out how to logic his way through most social situations. He tends to be more reserved and awkward around new dragons.

He has absolute faith in his fellow Orphan group: Muse, Apper and Azel Strengths: Intelligence, Stealthy, Foresight Weaknesses: Small, Physically weak, Anxiety Powers: Foresight, Vanishing, Toxin Affinity Stats Stamina: 4/10 He is physically weak and lacks very much magical prowess. Control: 8/10 Can see the foresee and predict events, and make hallucinogenic poisons. Intelligence: 9/10 He has foresight, as well as a great understanding of mathematics and psychology which allows him to understand and validate his predictions better than most Miragias Combat Ability: 1/10 He is very small compared to Dragons. He is not very strong or combative among Miragias and he might get a scratch on a bigger opponent but not much worse than that.

[fawnelith]

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Grasp Her Silhouette!

(𝐚.) Medium, where thoughts find their rhythm.

(𝐛.) Neospring, letting whispers meet echoes.

(𝐜.) Spotify, there go the lullabies for her heart.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Scripting… (07:13) 𓅛⊹ Here With: Tearose

The Ink-Spilled Lamentations of a Wayward Doe-Eyed Lass: Bound in Ribbon & Rue.

When her words, once meant only for the sanctuary of solitude, fall into the hands of an enigmatic stranger, the line betwixt fiction and fate begins to blur. "What if the echoes of her ink-stained heart were not mere wistful murmurs, but a summons — one that the stars had long been waiting to answer?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𖡼

𝟎𝟎𝟏. |

Hue Of Döe, Owning Her Nitty-gritty Recollection Happening?

Inside The Mind Of Waxing Gibbous.

The world, in all its ceaseless clamour, spun far too brusquely for Tearose Döe Fawnelith. A realm of stark obligations and hollow courtesies, wherein time marched with an unfeeling tread, heedless of the gentle cadence she so dearly wished to keep. Yet within her own carefully wrought sanctuaries — her ink-strewn journal, the honeyed croon of a crackling phonograph, the whisper of pages kissed by centuries past. Ah, therein lay the dulcet harmonies of a life she could bear to call her own.

Love, longing, the exquisite pang of beauty just beyond reach, these dwelt within the margins of her pages, safe from the indelicate grasp of the waking world. And should ever the din of life press too cruelly upon her, she need only place the needle to a record, unfurl the gilt-edged spine of a cherished tome, and slip away into a realm spun of lilac whispers and dulcet dreams, where time bowed to her heart’s own tender tempo.

Keyword | Cancer-Sun; Sagittarius-Moon; INFP

𝟎𝟎𝟐. |

“Her garden untended is soon overtaken, and so too is a heart given without all the measure.”

July 13, Wherein Lie Her Musing…

Affection, like a rose upon a trellis, may climb and flourish, but never without the lattice of restraint. For where there is liking, there too must be a boundary; lest fondness grow wild and unbridled, entangling where it was only meant to adorn.

/ Tearose-Döe.

To truly know Tearose is not to count the world’s endless fineries, but rather to trace the delicate stitches of her heart’s own embroidery. Nay, her soul is best read in subtler things; writing, baking, her endearing kitties (Liliput & Siska), reading, and drifting to her most loved RnB and jazz songs. Not grand proclamations nor the fickle dazzle of fleeting pleasures, but the quiet, steady things that make life something tender, something worth lingering for.

Yet, as there are things that she cherishes, there are those she abhors — bigotry in its many vile cloaks, ignorance parading as wisdom, and the poison of closed minds clinging stubbornly to falsehoods. Zionists, misogynists, homophobes, flat-earthers, and all whose tongues drip with venomous folly; let them keep their shadows far from her threshold, for the air she breathes is meant for kindness and wonder, not for the stale stench of minds rusted shut.

Her dwelling shall ever remain a safe harbor, a place unmarred by shadows unfit for young hearts. Yet, let it be known; hers is a mind steeped in the proses of a soul well into its twenties (21+), where conversations may meander through intricate corridors, brushing upon the delicate and the daring alike. To step into her world is to do so with open eyes, for while she shall keep her place untarnished for the tender-aged, she will not temper her thoughts nor dull the richness of her discourse. Follow, if you will — but at your own discretion.

Time, ever the fickle maestro, turns its pages without pause, yet she remains unbowed.

[curseplay]

UNUSUAL MUSE ASSOCIATIONS.

spice : black pepper.

weather event / natural disaster: hailstorm.

color : navy blue.

magical power : regeneration.

shoe : new balance sneakers.

plant :  three leaf clover.

animal :  dog / bernedoodle mutt.

weapon : meat cleaver.

subject / major : mid - century modern american history.

gemstone / mineral : tanzanite.

makeup product : vaseline lip therapy chapstick.

candy : nerds rope.

fear : stagnation.

sport ﹙ traditional or extreme ) : (american) football.

method of long–distance travel : big ass truck.

hour: ten thirty pm.

wood: redwood.

mythological creature : werewolf.

three emojis : 🤙🌧️🍔

moon phase : waxing gibbous.

tagged by: my loves @deatheless and @shivcomplex <3 tagging: @trainedmutt, @bnjmin, whoever else sees and wants 2 !

[wornkindness]

UNUSUAL MUSE ASSOCIATIONS.

animal: horse / deer spice: cinnamon weather event / natural disaster: snow storm / blizzards color: blue / pink song: daughter-sleeping at last number: 12 hour: dawn (6am-7am) plant: edelweiss wood: cedar smell: jasmine & vanilla crystal: rose quartz moon phase: waxing gibbous gemstone / mineral: pink tourmaline candy: strawberry puffs makeup product: blush / lipstick season: spring place: gardens fear: tightly enclosed spaces sport: ballet / figure skating / ice dancing word: light emotion: love, hope magical power: elemental magic university subject: english, history, art, music, criminology, psychology mythological creature: unicorn major arcana tarot: the star minor arcana tarot: queen of wands literary genre: fantasy, romance, historical star sign: scorpio sun, taurus moon, scorpio rising element: water weapon: knives / daggers three emojis: 🌸 ✨ 💕

tagged by: @detectivechandler (thank you friend!!) but i found another meme on the dash that was super similar so i just combined them kfjhg tagging: you!

[nightfall-by-jacqui-natla]

3. VICTORIA

AS I ARRIVED AT THE DESERTED STREETS, the absence of stars and the waxing gibbous moon above Seattle indicated that it must have been midnight, as Fred had informed me.

The air was thick with tension as I made my way towards the designated meeting spot. The dimly lit street lamps cast eerie shadows on the crumbling buildings, adding to the sense of foreboding that hung in the air. I could feel the weight of responsibility on my shoulders, knowing that the fate of our group rested on the decisions I was about to make.

As I approached the abandoned warehouse where the meeting was to take place, I couldn't help but feel a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. The stakes were high, and the outcome of this confrontation would determine the future of our army. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what lay ahead.

Pushing open the creaking doors, I stepped into the dimly lit interior of the warehouse. The sound of my footsteps echoed through the empty space, amplifying the tension that hung in the air. I could see Victoria and Riley standing at the far end of the room, their silhouettes illuminated by a single flickering light bulb.

Their piercing glowing red gaze met mine as I approached, and I could see a flicker of amusement in Victoria's eyes. As I stood before them, I could feel the weight of the difficult choices I had to make pressing down on me. The lives of my comrades, the safety of Bree, all depended on the decisions I was about to make. I took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage within me.

"Victoria," I began, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside me. "We need to have a talk about—."

"If it's regarding tonight, Riley has already informed me," Victoria interjected.

I shifted my attention to Riley. He stood beside Victoria, his expression unreadable.

"He mentioned your bond with the newest vampire," she added, referring to Bree.

I nodded, relieved that Riley had already filled her in. "Yes, I want to ensure her safety. I know she's new to this world, and I want to make sure she's protected."

Victoria's lips curled into a small smile, her amusement evident. "You care for her, don't you?"

I hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Bree had quickly become a dear friend, and I couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to her. "Yes, I do. She's... Like a little baby. She needs a bit of nurturing, that's all."

Victoria's smile widened, and she placed a hand on my shoulder. "I understand. I will make sure she is taken care of. But remember, in this world, choices have consequences. Are you prepared to face them?"

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. "I am. I will do whatever it takes to protect those I care about."

Victoria's eyes softened, and she nodded in approval. "Good." Then, her deamour changed. "Riley also mentioned your unique approach with the newborns."

My eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"He said you've been quite motherly towards them."

I blinked in surprise, not expecting Riley to have shared that information with Victoria. "Well, I've been gentle with them if that what you mean," I admitted, feeling a mix of pride and apprehension. "I just went for a soft approach to them. They're just trying to navigate this new world, after all."

Victoria's expression turned thoughtful, her fingers tapping against her chin. "It's an interesting strategy," she mused. "Most would opt for a more aggressive approach, seeing them as threats to be eliminated."

I shook my head, a determined glint in my eyes. "I just think that showing them kindness and understanding might lead to a different outcome. These newborns didn't choose to be vampires, and they're still trying to figure out how to control their instincts. If we can guide them and help them find a way to coexist peacefully, maybe we can prevent unnecessary bloodshed."

Victoria's eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze piercing through me. "And what if they prove to be uncontrollable? What if they pose a threat to our kind?"

I took a deep breath, my voice steady as I responded. "If that happens, then we'll have to deal with it accordingly. But until then, I think it's worth giving them a chance."

Victoria's lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "You have a compassionate heart, it seems. It's a rare quality among our kind."

I felt a surge of gratitude at her words, knowing that Victoria was not one to easily give compliments. "Thanks," I replied, my voice filled with sincerity.

But then, without warning, Victoria's demeanor shifted even more darkly. "But kindness can also be a downfall," she growled, her grip on my hair tightening.

I felt a surge of fear as her words sunk in. The smile that had been on her face moments ago was now replaced with a cold, calculating expression. I tried to pull away, but her grip was too strong.

"Kindness can make you weak, vulnerable," she continued, her voice low and menacing. "It can be exploited by those who seek to manipulate and control you."

I struggled to find my voice, her grip in my hair strengthened. Victoria's words struck a nerve, awakening a fear that had always lingered in the back of my mind. Was my kindness truly a weakness, a flaw that could be used against me?

But as I looked into Victoria's eyes, I saw something else lurking beneath the surface. A darkness that I had never noticed before, a ruthlessness that sent a chill down my spine.

In that moment, I realized that Victoria's words were not just a warning, but a threat. And as she tightened her grip even further, I knew that I was in danger. Kindness may be a virtue, but in Victoria's world, it was a liability. And I was about to pay the price for it.

"Let me enlighten you about kindness," Victoria seethed through clenched teeth. "Kindness won't lead you to victory in a battle. And I have no use for weaklings in my army."

As her words sank in, I felt a surge of fear and anger rise within me. I refused to be cowed by her threats, to let her darkness consume me.

"I will not allow you to become a flaw in my grand design," Victoria sneered as she forcefully threw me to the ground.

I landed with a thud, the impact jolting through my body. Fortunately, as a vampire, pain held no dominion over me.

I slowly rose to my feet, brushing off the dirt from my clothes, and met Victoria's cold gaze with unwavering determination.

"She looked at me, her voice now calm and composed. "Do you understand me?" she asked, her tone almost mocking.

"Yes," I replied, my voice steady and resolute. "I understand you, Victoria."

Victoria's eyes narrowed, a glint of satisfaction in her gaze. "Good," she said, a hint of approval in her voice. "Because in my world, only the strong survive. And if you wish to stand by my side, you must prove yourself worthy."

I nodded, accepting the challenge she laid before me. I knew that in order to earn her respect, I would have to show her my strength, my loyalty, and my unwavering determination. And as I stood before her, ready to face whatever trials she had in store, I knew that I would not back down. I would prove to Victoria that kindness may be seen as a weakness in her eyes, but in mine, it was a strength that would guide me through the darkness that lay ahead.

Riley, who had been observing the whole scene, couldn't help but smirk at the display of defiance. He had always admired my strength and refusal to back down, even in the face of someone as formidable as Victoria.

Victoria's sneer deepened as she noticed Riley's reaction. "You find this amusing, do you?" she spat, her voice dripping with venom once again. "Perhaps you would like to join her on the ground."

Riley's smirk faded, replaced by a look of apprehension. He knew better than to challenge Victoria directly, but he also knew that his allegiance to her was strong. He glanced at me, silently pleading me not to do or say anything that would make it worse.

I held his gaze for a moment, conveying my unspoken message. With a nod, Riley replied. "No, my love. I can't help but wonder if Violet would be a good fit for a leader."

Victoria's gaze hardened at Riley's words, her hand tightening around the hilt of her weapon. "Are you questioning my authority?" she demanded, her fury evident in her voice.

"No, I simply wonder if she is worthy of standing alongside us," Riley clarified.

Victoria's expression twisted into a mix of anger and disbelief. The tension in the air grew palpable as the two locked eyes, their unspoken battle of wills threatening to erupt into something far more dangerous.

"You dare to question my judgment?" Victoria seethed, her voice dripping with venom. "After all we've been through, after all I've done for you, you have the audacity to doubt me?"

Riley's unease deepened, but he stood his ground, his loyalty to both Victoria and me warring within him. "I do not doubt your judgment, Victoria," he replied, his voice steady but tinged with regret. "But perhaps it is time to consider that Violet has the potential to bring something new to our cause. Something that could benefit us all."

Victoria's fists tightened even further. The room seemed to grow colder as the silence stretched between them, the weight of their unspoken conflict threatening to shatter the fragile peace that had been carefully maintained.

Finally, Victoria's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "You think she can replace me? Is that what you're suggesting?" Her words were laced with a mix of hurt and anger, her vulnerability momentarily breaking through her hardened exterior.

Riley's eyes softened, his resolve faltering for a moment. "No, Victoria. I would never suggest such a thing," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "But perhaps it is time to consider that there is room for both of you. That together, you could be an unstoppable force."

Victoria's expression softened slightly, her anger giving way to a flicker of contemplation. The room seemed to hold its breath as she weighed Riley's words, her mind grappling with the possibility of a different path, a different future.

After what felt like an eternity, Victoria released her grip on her weapon, her hand falling to her side. "Fine," she said, her voice laced with resignation. "But if she proves to be unworthy, if she betrays us in any way, I will hold you responsible."

Riley nodded, his relief evident in his eyes. "I understand, Victoria. I will do everything to ensure that doesn't happen."

As the tension in the room began to dissipate, I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, with time, Victoria would come to see that unity and collaboration were the keys to our success. And perhaps, together, we could win this battle. Whatever it may be.

Victoria then directed her attention towards Riley. "Darling, please wait outside. I need to have another conversation with Violet."

Subsequently, their lips met, producing a faint brushing and ticking sound. Initially, I couldn't discern the source of the noise, but soon realized it emanated from Victoria and Riley's kiss. I had never before witnessed vampires engaging in such an act, and the peculiar sound only reinforced my reluctance to ever engage in a vampire's embrace.

It dawned on me that kissing would not hold the same resonance with vampires as it did with humans. No soft, pliable flesh to meld against one another, just unyielding stone lips, devoid of complexity.

As Riley freed his lips from her and left the room, I turned my attention back to Victoria, who now wore a contemplative expression. "Violet, have I ever regaled you with the tale of my transformation into a vampire?"

I shook my head, realizing that in the mere span of three weeks since my own transformation, Victoria had never divulged any details about her own history.

Curiosity piqued, I leaned in closer to Victoria, eager to hear her story. Her red eyes seemed distant, as if she was transported back to a different time and place. With a sigh, she began recounting her journey, her voice carrying a hint of melancholy.

"Picture this," Victoria started. "London, England, in the 1550s. Born to a scullery maid and the master of the house. I was the second illegitimate child, after my sister, Anne."

Wow. I didn't think she was that old. I knew she was older than me, but not that old. Victoria continued to tell her tale. "We worked hard as servants from early childhood. Anne was quite pretty, with mahogany hair and a cream and rose complexion, but little me was the green-eyed, bright red-haired, and freckled. Although I had nice features as well, I was considered 'witchy'.

"When we grew up, my sister and I got jobs together, Anne as a lady's maid, and I as a kitchen drudge. Our father mistreated them; he was not a kind man, quick to beat a servant for any perceived fault—and lecherous as well. We grew adept at disappearing whenever possible. With my red hair, it was more difficult for me to avoid notice than most, and I received extra beatings simply for being visible.

"Though our jobs kept us fed, we fled the house when I was twelve. To avoid living in the streets during winter season, Anne agreed to work for a local pimp, on the condition that I would receive free lodging with the other working girls."

My eyes widened and I pursed my lips at that part, lowering my head, and I was so sorry for Victoria. I still listened to her story.

"The situation was worse for Anne and nearly as bad for me as the house we'd run from, but it was better than the streets," she admitted. "I perfected my ability to evade during my time here. One night, Anne went out to find a client—but she never returned. Afterwards the pimp kept me locked up—determined to make me learn my place, but I managed to escape shortly thereafter.

"I spent two years in the streets and survived on my own, sleeping in small, hidden places and stealing as little food as possible to keep the others from being noticed and moved from house to house, leaving no trace behind. My evasion had been perfected to the point that even dogs could not react to my presence.

"Then, when I was fifteen, a scullery maid was fired and I took the opportunity to get the job. Though it was hard, it was at least stable. I wasn't hit as often, and was content for most of the part. Three years later, the pimp spotted me buying groceries in the streets and tried to follow me home, but I managed to escape. I realized it would only be a matter of time before he found me, but I wasn't sure if I could make a living in the country if she left her job. That was when Anne found me."

Relief filled me when I heard her sister finally found her after all these years.

"I woke in the night to see Anne in her attic room, standing over me," Victoria then looked up to the ceiling. "Anne was more beautiful than I could remember her, though she'd lost all the pink in her cheeks. I was ecstatic and wanted to embrace her, but Anne kept her distance, moving at a speed that shocked and silenced me. She wanted to know if I was happy and safe and she wasn't satisfied by my predicament. Anne asked me if I trusted her judgement. I immediately agreed and Anne picked me up as if I were a doll, carried me out the window, and bit me."

I blinked and let out a little gasp. Anne was a vampire and that was why she disappeared. Her sister was the one who turned her. I remained silent for Victoria to carry on. "After my transformation, she was introduced to my sister's creator, Hilda, and two other vampires, Mary and Heidi. I led a perfectly happy life with my coven for two years, and then we were joined by another vampire named Noela. Shortly after that, a powerful vampire coven called the Volturi came to us, claiming that we were drawing too much attention from society and they executed Hilda for the crime. Heidi was immediately taken in by the Volturi, and she is still there to this day."

Intrigued by the mention of the Volturi, my curiosity was heightened. With my arms folded, I couldn't help but ask, "The Volturi?"

Victoria, with her vast knowledge, began to explain, "They are the ruling coven, the largest and most powerful of all vampires. They are the enforcers of our world's laws."

As she spoke, I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and fear at the same time. The Volturi sounded like a force to be reckoned with, and I couldn't help but wonder what kind of power they wielded to maintain their position at the top of the vampire hierarchy.

"I sensed that the rest of them will be slaughtered whether we surrendered or not and screamed for them to run. We all ran in different directions, but only I managed to escape their slaughter. I lost my only sister that day. Since then, I had avoided all vampires."

Victoria's words sent a chill down my spine as I listened intently to her story. The thought of such a powerful coven capable of such destruction was both terrifying and fascinating. I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to come face to face with the Volturi, to witness their power firsthand.

Curiosity compelled me to inquire, "Is this why you're creating this army? To seek vengeance against the Volturi?" 

To my astonishment, Victoria shook her head and turned her entire body towards me. "No, actually, my perspective on vampires changed completely when I met my mate, James." 

Her revelation left me bewildered and perplexed. "What? I thought Riley was your mate."

Victoria chuckled softly, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and longing. "Riley is... a companion, a partner in crime as one might put it. But James... James was different. He was the one who truly understood me, who saw past my facade and accepted me for who I truly am." 

As she spoke, I could see the genuine affection and admiration in her eyes, a stark contrast to the cold and calculating persona she often portrayed. It was clear that James had left a lasting impact on her, changing her perspective on her own kind and the world around her.

Curiosity burning within me, I couldn't help but inquire further. "What happened to James?" 

Victoria's lips tightened, her eyes ablaze with fury. "A heartless vampire took his life. Without mercy."

The pain of losing her true love was still fresh in her crimson eyes. It was a side of Victoria I had never seen before, vulnerable and raw, stripped of her usual composed exterior.

In that moment, I realized that there was so much more to Victoria than met the eye. Behind the cold and aloof facade was a woman who had loved and lost, who had experienced heartbreak and betrayal. And as she shared her story with me, I couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of empathy and understanding towards her.

Victoria's revelation had opened my eyes to a side of her I had never known, and I couldn't help but wonder what other secrets she held within her. But one thing was for certain - her love for James had left an indelible mark on her soul, shaping her in ways I could never have imagined.

As the truth sank in, I realized that this army she had assembled was solely for James. Victoria's silent confirmation only solidified my suspicions.

Suddenly, she swiftly approached me, gripping my chin tightly with her fingers digging into my skin.

"Keep this between us," she warned in a hushed tone. "Or you'll regret it."

The intensity in her eyes made it clear that she was not to be trifled with. After witnessing the brutal scene of newborns tearing each other apart, I knew better than to cross her.

As I nodded in silent agreement, I couldn't help but feel a mix of fear and awe for Victoria. Her love for James had transformed her into a formidable leader, capable of unspeakable acts in the name of avenging him. It was a revelation that had forever changed my perspective on her, leaving me pondering the depths of her hidden secrets and the lengths she would go to for the one she loved.

[juat-another-card-reader]

Cardinal Card Reading August 31st 2024

#Core-II-of-Wands: The inspiration, the drive, it is born and screeching for use. Do not give up this momentum, whatever inspiration or muse speaks to you, grasp it tight and follow its guidance.

#Woe-The-Waxing-Gibbous: There will be difficulties, there will be setbacks, but to quit is the only way to absolutely fail. Grit your teeth and continue on this path, there is no promise of success, but you must continue.

#Weal-The-Omphalion-Reversed: Succeed or fail, this is not the end of the world, the greatest of travesties would be not trying at all. Yes disappointment might brew within, but you will learn important lessons from this endeavo regardless.

#Within-Reverse-V-of-Swords: Pick your battles, while it might seem necessary to become someone wholly new, this is not something you can simply do without some often times cataclysmic change in one’s life. Be steady, be discerning in what you choose to tackle and change. Take it one step at a time and evolve into that new you you wish to be.

#Without-Reverse-VIII-Strength: It’s all crumbling down around us, I wish I could say things aren’t as bad as they seem but that would be a lie. Just remember you are not Atlas, you cannot and have no responsibility to hold up the world entire. This is not to say ignore it entirely, but merely, focus your scope. Devote time to the things and people you can tangible help in your vicinity. Every little bit helps.

It’s time for something new, strike while the iron is hot, and work on whatever has caught your interest. Not to change the world, but merely because it brings you joy, and if that brightens the day of those around you? Well then that’s just a happy bonus.

[warwaited]

UNUSUAL MUSE ASSOCIATIONS

SPICE. ginger WEATHER EVENT / NATURAL DISASTER. flood COLOUR. red and white MAGICAL POWER. precognition SHOE. flat-soled work shoes PLANT. ginseng ANIMAL. black cat WEAPON. quarterstaff SUBJECT / MAJOR. language arts GEMSTONE / MINERAL. cobalt MAKEUP PRODUCT. foundation to cover bruises CANDY. toffee chews FEAR. futility SPORT (TRADITIONAL OR EXTREME). kung fu (obviously) METHOD OF LONG-DISTANCE TRAVEL. taking the train HOUR. 8 PM WOOD. mahogany MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE. banshee MOON PHASE. waxing gibbous

tagged by:@bubblybabins

[hereisleo]

from/ ‘All Hallows’ Eve’

w/ k.hj & reader

g/ inspired by “persona 3”: angst, friendship, supernatural

w.c/ 1k

a.n/ hello~ it’s me~ it’s been a while since i stepped foot in tumblr! sorry for disappearing without notice but i’ve not been in the writing mood for some time, life too has been busy. in honour of spoop month, here’s another piece to the series. i don’t know how many of you are still around but enjoy! happy halloween!

t.w/ ghost, blood, death

[First Quarter]

“Don’t.”

You stop in your tracks. Why? He warns you out of good nature but never is able to explain more. He doesn’t know either, he tells you it’s a bad time to go and you might see something you wish to forget. There’s no turning back when it happens. Unfortunately, the inevitable already happened. You’ve seen him, an anomaly in your usually normal life. Kim Hongjoong. A dead man. A ghost in your apartment.

“Have you gone out there? In the hidden hour?”

Hongjoong shakes his head. He doesn’t remember anything related to his death. As a ghost, he feels everything that living humans doesn’t feel. The danger, the restlessness, the wailing, the torment. He calls it the hidden hour, a secret hour where those without potentials turn into coffins and those with are preys. The hidden hour is where the dead become the living. Yet Hongjoong is still a ghost and you, a human, apparently with potential, are now sitting on your bed. The dark blue sky is tinted green with the half golden moon, so big and close to Earth almost as if the distance is reduced by half.

The coffins, water turning into blood, the gigantic moon are nothing compared to the lofty skyscraper of a tower appearing out of nowhere. A pseudo gothic edifice formed with the surrounding buildings pierce through the moon. It’s horrifyingly beautiful and Hongjoong agrees with your musing.

“I don’t know. Maybe I have. I can never seem to remember anything after a certain time. I can feel it nearing again, crawling under my skin.”

You look over at him, Hongjoong appears with his black and white striped polo shirt. Your first wild guess was a dead runaway prisoner but he miffly shut down the idea. No prisoner is as fashionable as he is. His hair matches his polo, black and white, cleanly split in half. Your second guess was Cruella cosplay which he took more graciously. A trailblazer of their own.

“You should sleep. There’s not much we can do at this time. If they sense you, you might as well be food for the dead.”

You tuck yourself in and Hongjoong too because he keeps you company while he contemplates life. The blanket goes through him but it's the thought that counts.

“Goodnight, Joong.”

[Waxing Gibbous]

“Joong? Hongjoong?”

Silence greets you in the hidden hour's eerie ambiance. You can hear the guttural noises the shadows are making down the street, louder than what you’re used to. Perhaps it's the moon phases, slowly but surely getting fuller each day, and each day, Hongjoong seems to disappear longer or have trouble appearing. Are ghosts affected by the phases? Why are you the only one who can see him? You’ve asked the apartment staff and none seem to know the existence of Kim Hongjoong.

“I’m here…”

Hongjoong looks a bit worse for wear. Did he lose weight? There are telltale of dark shadows under his eyes and his cheeks look slightly sunken in. The hidden hour. Where the dead becomes the living.

“Are the shadows giving you trouble?”

He slightly winced at your comment, it seems to hit the mark. He shut your window when the groaning of the shadows grew louder, clutching his forehead as if he had a very painful headache. You urge him to sit down, the blanket goes through him again but he never goes through your bed, what an interesting ghostly concept. He sinks further into your pillow, burying half of his face into it.

“That and my head feels like they’re splitting in half. I have dreams that don't feel like dreams. It’s always the same, it gets clearer each time.”

You reach forward to brush his fringes in comfort and your fingers painfully buzz with sharp static electricity. Well, that never happened before, your fingers usually pass through him with goosebumps trailing up your arms. He gives you an apologetic frown, too spent for another word.

“It’s alright, Joong, though I do wish I could see your dream so you don’t have to shoulder it yourself.”

His brows furrowed and he shakes his head. You should have been careful with what you wished for. It wouldn’t be long until you wished that his dream didn’t come true because that will be the last time you see your friendly ghost roommate.

[Full Moon]

Dreams do come true. The ear splitting roar you hear in your shared dream with Hongjoong becomes a reality. The bridge shakes and your footing is unstable. He can’t hear you, he’s too far. No, you couldn’t get close. There are instances where you are scared but this… This is fear.

Hongjoong is solid, he has pushed you away from him, his hands warm and strong against your shoulders. He drops to his knees, clawing at his head and letting out a heart wrenching scream. You feel suffocated within his presence.

“Make it stop! I just want to be free! I don’t want to hurt anyone!”

You jump, ignoring the handing in your ribcage, the twisting in your stomach and the cold sweat dripping down. Hongjoong, your ghost roommate, is alive. Your arms wrap around him, coughing when his elbow struck your chest but you held him. He burns inhumanly hot.

“It’s okay, Joongie. I’m right here. Be free.”

You didn’t know the implication of your statement, you didn’t know until Hongjoong looked at you with desperation, pain and guilt. But in that moment, he’s relieved and so are you. In an instant you feel bone chilling coldness seeping into you, so cold it burns. You hear shadows roaring and closing all around you, blood thick and pungent soaking your trousers, and coffins towering over you. Hongjoong starts to disappear, lighter and more translucent with each passing second.

“You must survive.”

Hongjoong’s parting word brings a specific memory. Those with potential are food for the living dead. The frantic rushing and jumping of shadows to feast, they were close enough for you to feel their teeth before you heard something shatter. The bell from the tower in the middle of the chime with intensity that rattles your teeth and eardrums.

Just like that the hidden hour ends. The twisted skyscraper disappears in a blink. The coffins towering over you turn into pedestrians, yelling and screaming at your state. You probably look similar to a notorious serial killer caught in the bloody act. In your arms is the cold body of Kim Hongjoong.

I must survive.

[firstbornsecondchosen]

"My, my, those eyes like fire

I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre

Come now, bite through these wires

I'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired"

-Sleep Token

[gothprentiss]

this is too long to even try to pass off as a short wip so anyway here's a wh13 bering & wells fic i started ages ago that i don't think i'm going to finish. teehee

Reflected upside down, and faint in the low light of the warehouse was what appeared to be a head of dark hair. Miniature and warped, it could have been anyone, but it was slowly turning towards Myka, and she saw emerging, like a moon waxing gibbous, a familiar face.

A smile seemed to break across it, for a second, pulling pink and concave. It moved in a word unaccompanied by sound— but even in the warped mirror of the bowl of a spoon, she could recognize her own name.

For a second, she thought the Regents were impossibly stupid, and in that stupidity had imprisoned Helena in an artifact within the warehouse. It would have been like trying to imprison Odysseus in a wooden horse. Then she saw the label, which identified it as Emanuel Swedenborg’s cutlery set.

That raised new problems.

What she recalled about the artifact was that Swedenborg’s first out-of-body experience had been over a meal, which disappeared before him. His visionary dreams began that night. Those who handled his cutlery were, so long as they held contact with it, transported, and found themselves face to face with—

What the manual said was what they desired most. But that couldn’t be right. What mattered most to their journey, she thought, must be the case. Where they thought closure, or meaning, resided. 

It would have been one of the more benign artifacts, were it not for its nasty tendency to show its users visions of their lost loved ones or long-dead idols and muses, in whose company they would inevitably choose to surrender themselves.

She was in no danger of that.

But she was, ultimately, really curious. Swedenborg’s visions had been of Heaven and Hell. Her vision was of a woman whose trapped consciousness had urged her to live without hate. Myka stared at the face in the spoon, so hard that her eyes began to hurt and her vision lost meaning to her.

Huh, she thought. Shit. I’m going to do this, aren’t I?

[we-eternal-rp]

☽  𝟭𝟵.𝟭𝟯𝟴𝟱° 𝗦,  𝟭𝟰𝟲.𝟴𝟯𝟯𝟵° 𝗘   →   𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐈.                𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 !       📍 𝗠𝗔𝗚𝗡𝗘𝗧𝗜𝗖 𝗜𝗦𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗗, 𝗤𝗟𝗗, 𝗔𝗨𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗔

   𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 —              𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐒.

since the late 1700s we have known the april full moon as the pink moon, as listed in the old farmer’s almanac. named for the early springtime blooms of a certain wildflower native to eastern north america, the creeping phlox or moss phlox, which also went by the name moss pink.    many indigenous peoples and tribes of eastern north america know this moon by other names, such as breaking ice moon by the algonquin people of eastern canada, or budding moon of plants and shrubs, as called by the tlingit; indigenous peoples of the pacific northwest north america — or, by the anishinaabeg; sucker moon, which bespeaks part of the legend of the sucker fish returning from the spirit world to purify bodies of water and the creatures living in them.

        —  you can spy it on the horizon on the evening of 16TH OF APRIL, 2021 !!

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍?

while your mortal muse might notice and enjoy the visual spectacle, by and large unless they are working or studying or have a particular hobby that involves astronomy, astrology, planetary bodies, etc. — this event will only really impact the immortal inside your muse.

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 : any deities who have lore surrounding the moon and also those who are linked to the stars or planetary bodies, deities connected to spring, growth, flowers, etc., deities who have an affinity for the night time, sea deities due to lunar influence on the tides. 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄 : deities connected specifically to the sun itself, deities who are expressly linked to the other three seasons as this is a springtime moon.

             —  all powers, abilities and traits are individually muse & deity dependent !         these are for inspiration and example, take your own spin on it where possible.

𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 : sustained periods of maintaining a tangible connection with the deity, longer periods of accessing ability (eg; breathing under water longer, climbing faster), clarity to vision, perception or sight abilities (eg; seeing future, visions, the dead, intention, etc.), brief flashes of past lives or even of their lives as immortals, temporary and minor physiological changes in the body specifically to do with eye hues and temperature of the skin, and any sort of power trait may be clarified or amplified to a degree. 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 : you cannot continuously access powers as the mortal body can’t handle it at this stage; the powers accessed will be intermittent.  no ones powers cancel out the others but your powers may be mitigated to a degree by another deities only if the two deities are canonly opposites (such as damiona äte and the group of daimones known as the litae, use theoi to check!).    all powers and traits must be relative to the deity, you cannot sustain the strength to fight anyone with powers or traits, the only exception would be cases with deities explicitly ‘fighters’, such as hercules or perses, and these would be brief experiences no longer than a minute.  only deities explicitly related to sources of light may experience any sort of very minor ‘glow.’

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆...

𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘 : a waxing gibbous moon, the day before the full pink moon.   for the last few days your muse may have been feeling antsy, distracted, overwhelmed, having minor flickers of their power catching them off guard, feeling confused, having restless or very deep sleep, or even feeling weirdly powerful... it depends on your muse. by friday it would have boiled up to its crescendo, whatever that may look like for your muse.

— ☽ 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐘 ! : a full moon, the night of the pink moon.    tonight is the night, from the moment the full moon is visible in the sky, the second those beams of light reach your muses skin, they will experience a weakness in the barrier between the mortal and immortal.   what they experience, and how intense this connection is, is up to what your muse has already laid out in the application and biography, and will also fluctuate in strength depending on proximity to the right environment (sea deities; ocean, nymphs to their native spaces, night time deities when the sun has set, etc.), as well as potentially interacting with deities that your muse knows from their immortal life (check canon related deities page!), or being around their sacred planet or animal. they may be drawn to places where their power is strongest, they may tap into power traits they haven’t yet understood or experienced.  all of this will be muse and deity dependent!

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 : a waning gibbous moon, the day after the pink full moon.  now your muse would feel a potential inverse of anything they felt before; if your muse slept soundly they may now find sleep difficult, if they felt powerful they may now experience a feeling of vulnerability, powerlessness or maybe just a neutral kind of emptiness. whatever flashes of power that were building up prior to the full moon would now disappear. note that; most, if not all, muses accessing powers will experience a level of tiredness and fatigue, relative to powers used, how long and to what degree. if your deity was especially influenced by the moon they will have a kind of cool-off period where they will actually not experience any sort of power traits... this will last for about a week in game. if thats the case, perhaps use this to explore the in game knowledge of how in tune or aware your muse is of their powers.

       𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓:  𝐎𝐎𝐂 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒 & 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒                 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐔𝐓.

have fun and make sure you plot for the event !

— 𝐎𝐎𝐂 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 : the only powers available to you are the ones you have previously selected and explained, you may not add or change your muses abilities without admin clearance so please ask questions if you are confused, you know we love to help!    you may not ‘come across’ anyone using their powers unless you have plotted this with the other mun, and inversely, we ask that you do not post an open starter with another muse ‘stumbling across’ your muse using any sort of powers; keep those for plotted closed starters only.     of course, you must pre-plot any muse using or displaying their powers on another, aka. no power god-modding, and lastly remember that no deities powers are nessicarily stronger than another's (regardless of the pantheons hierarchy) as all the immortals are trapped inside mortal bodies and limited by that... BUT you may have a certain and slight advantage depending on the context: such as environment, sacred plant or animal proximity, or the time of the day.

keep in mind : while this is happening your mortal muse will be dealing with this also, and the more powers accessed and used may indeed cause physical, mental and emotional fatigue in the mortal themselves. they will not lose touch with reality, this is a merging of the two beings, mortal and immortal, not a case of one forcing out the other !   their reaction will depend on how you have established their understanding of their immortal reincarnation.

— 𝐎𝐎𝐂 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒 :

all threads, in game, take place over the weekend of FRIDAY, SATURDAY, SUNDAY — april 15th - april 17th, as this is the peak of the pink moon.

ooc, on dash, this event will begin at 8:30 am EST / 12:30 pm GMT on SATURDAY, april 16th until 7 pm EST / 11:00pm GMT on SUNDAY, april 24th.

event starters, closer or open, may be posted within this time under the hashtag #eternal! eventstarter and all event threads should be tagged with #eternal! pinkmoon

once the event ends on april 24th, event starters are not allowed anymore and we will post a note in the starter blog for you. however, you may continue with your event threads as long as you’d like, and you are welcome to post any headcanon summaries of the event as well !

[astra-stellaris-a]

based off this post!

bold the words that always apply to your muse and italicize the words that sometime apply to your muse.

__________________________________

moon phases;

new moon: elaborate skin care routine, planning your outfit for the next day, looking for constellations, setting your alarm, sleeping in complete darkness, peacefulness

waxing crescent moon: lighting candles, keeping a journal by your bed, wishing on shooting stars, the sound of rain against a window, violet tones, lucky charms

first quarter moon: late night to meet your deadlines, glittering city lights, oversleeping, caffeine, the relief of falling into bed, coming home past midnight

waxing gibbous moon: anticipation for tomorrow, earphones in to relax, wild imagination, midnight storms, restlessness, talking on the phone in bed, checking the fridge at 1am

full moon: deep sleep, dreams that seem real, silk pillows, ice cream in bed, fresh sheets, bubble baths, a night in for yourself, the smell of lavender

___________________________________________

Astra embodies the first quarter moon/full moon.

tagged by:

tagging: @tsukkiakarii @kunokata @uppertwo @kin-the-fae @senjuhashirama @historias-multorum @umbralrosa @pxisonous @kagami--uchiha @vvisteria and anyone that sees this!

[chews-erotically]

Waxing Gibbous 

Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader

Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

       * Warnings: Assault/violence/ mentions of masturbation/ blood/ gore/ comfort/ injury

      * Summary: In the field, you are found. Ezra reveals his duality.

      * Word Count: 1611

      * I cannot begin to thank all of you enough for reading this. It means absolutely everything in the entire universe. For the first time in so very long I feel as though I’m doing something that makes me happy. I love you!! 

 PART THREE

     “Shit!”

    Acrid steam poured from the ruined sac before you. Unsure of how you could be so adept at harvesting while practicing in the tent, yet so clumsy in the actual field, you stood and stretched your back. It was unbearably hot today; your suit was clinging to your skin like cling film. It was stifling and you were tired.

    Ezra was soon to return with replenished water bottles, you supposed, having trekked south of you to a stream you’d come across a few days prior. You estimated he’d been gone around twenty minutes.

    Since the events with the Sater had transpired the tension between you had seemed to grow exponentially. You’d found yourself idling on Ezra’s face more than you cared to admit to yourself. You’d unintentionally begun cataloguing the nuances of movement contained in his hands, the reactions on his expressive face to the things you said. More often now, you took note of that dark intensity returning to flash across his features when he thought you weren’t looking. This did not scare you; rather, it left your skin feeling too tight for your body, your core aching and burning until you had no choice but to shut yourself in the refresher and furiously bring yourself off, biting at your sleeve to muffle your guttural scream when you came seizing and shaking on your fingers. Something you’d once thought shameful now left you somehow ravenous. When you’d re-entered the common space of the tent you’d done nothing to hide the flush in your face or mussed hair. You’d shot Ezra a wide smile as he’d quirked his brow, his expression otherwise unreadable. You’d exited the tent as you felt suddenly faint- is this who you were now? Ezra made you feel wild and alive, like you had finally managed to snap out of a trance. Or wake up from an unending, uninspired dream of safe decisions and mediocrity.

    You mused on this in your suit on the Green, the suit still bearing faint tepid stains from your original sin. You were not paying attention, having almost certainly made up your mind to make Ezra aware of your feelings when you returned from the day’s work.

    Thus, you were doubly taken aback when the stone connected with the side of your helmet. With a dull cracking noise you fell to the dust. Your head ricocheted against the interior of your dome. Your ears rang; you tasted blood. How did you get here?

    A steel-toed boot connected with your ribs, forcing the air from your lungs. You gasped, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t force air in. Pain exploded once again, exquisite in its intensity. A cracking sound- bone or helmet? You curled in on yourself, stunned, trying to process what this was that was happening to you. 

    Get. Up.

    Part of you wanted this whole farce to be over. The Green, the tent, this unseen assailant. Just end it. If this is how it’s supposed to happen, who are you to challenge fate? You could only hope for quickness, the pain is too much, this life is too much, you are a fool, how could you even consider someone like Ezra could want you. You are a weak, sniveling, invisible slug. You are going to die. You will rot and fester and become toxic, like the air on this cursed moon. Unknown and forgotten.

    Get. Up.

    Another kick, this time to your kidney. This time you found your air, cried out. It was weak, pathetic. You noted the mist of blood across the window of your helmet, so similar to before, except this time it was on the inside. It was yours. It caused a switch to flip on in you, sudden panic blooming in your chest. All at once your body called back to its evolutionary directive to survive. 

    It took everything within you to move. Blinding pain behind your eyes like needles as you rolled onto your front, then onto your knees. Your stomach roiled- you swallowed bile as you craned your head upward to finally view your assailant.

    It was the Sater. Of course. The dose of sedative you’d shot into his thigh had not been enough to kill him, merely incapacitate him long enough for you to escape with the precious med kit. He had recovered and now he had found you, and he was going to kill you. This so perfectly encapsulated life on the Green that you could have laughed. It was almost poetic.

    You could not hear his words, but you could see his sneer. He cocked his leg back to land another blow to you as you squeezed your eyes shut and waited. The blow did not come.

    Instead, you heard the sound of bodies connecting, and an unearthly snarl.

    Ezra.

    You opened your eyes and Ezra was upon him, a frenzy of fists landing over and over wherever he could reach. The Sater was overcome, had no time to react. The sounds that escaped Ezra’s mouth through your connected channel were almost inhuman in their ferocity.

You watched through the pain of each shuddering breath as he yanked the air hose from the Sater’s helmet, then grasped wildly at the connecting clasps of the helmet. Finding the seal, he pried frantically, finally freeing the dome and exposing the Sater’s face to the atmosphere. His fists connected with whatever was revealed, ruining and rupturing. 

    You had known that Ezra had sometimes had to be brutal in order to survive here. You knew that you had had to do the same. But seeing him like this, the unleashed rabidity of his rage unleashed on another was almost too much. As Ezra exhausted himself upon the Sater’s demolished face you found yourself having to turn away. The blows finally slowed in frequency and intensity when it became increasingly apparent that the Sater was no longer breathing.

    Ezra stood and gazed down at the body of the Sater, his lip curled. He turned to you, to where you knelt in the dust, and his expression melted into a mask of pain. It was almost as if the Sater had been pummeling him. You blinked and then he was beside you, his hands were on you, so unbelievably gentle as he swept up your stomach, moved carefully across your shoulders and down your arms. You met his gaze, mortally exhausted, and thought that perhaps you could still die here. Your ears rang and your head throbbed. Your stomach and chest ached, and you wondered from a faraway place if you could be bleeding internally.

    Ezra was crying, his eyes were red and swollen. He must have been crying while he killed.

    Through the beating static in your brain, you heard his voice asking if you thought you could stand. 

    You had tried, but a wave of nausea and vertigo had you swooning back toward the ground almost immediately. Ezra caught you and held you close against the breast of his suit until you felt a bit steadied. His heart thrummed wildly in his chest, and it served to center you.

    “We have only to trek back to the tent, sweet Dove. I will carry you if need be, but we cannot negotiate an alternative option.” Your nod was almost imperceptible, and you began a stumbling, shambling walk back to your tent. Ezra kept his arm close around your waist and draped your own limb across his shoulders. When you finally entered the interior he assisted you onto your cot. He helped to divest you of your helmet and suit before hastily removing his own, his eyes never leaving yours. Each wince of pain was answered by his own sympathetic sounds and mumbled apologies.

    “I am so sorry, sweet girl. My Dove, my Star...I will spend the rest of my life and whatever is beyond making it up to you….”

    You were too sore and numb to be embarrassed as he undressed you, carefully inspecting every inch of your skin before covering you back up. He carefully cleaned the dried blood from your nose and mouth, pausing briefly to cradle your face in his large, warm hands. He rested his forehead against yours before placing the ghost of a kiss at your hairline.

    You knew you were concussed, and so Ezra kept you awake. Kneeling on the floor He used dulcet tones and soft inflections to keep you engaged. He told you what he knew of the ancient Greek myths and incestuous dealings between gods and men. He expounded on the constellations and how the old prospectors would time their harvests according to the position of the stars in the sky. He told you of his childhood home on Earth and growing up in a poor parish in Louisiana. He talked about his only sibling, his older brother Isaiah, who he’d worshipped and followed blindly into the realm of prospecting before drink and women left him dead in some back-planet alleyway, robbed and stabbed.

    Finally you begged in mumbling tones to sleep, your eyes weighed down and feeling full of sand. Ezra acquiesced, but not before pulling his cot to join with yours. He lay on his side next to you, grasping your hand carefully as if it were glass. He moved his thumb over your skin in circles that soothed you as your eyes closed and eased you into dreamless slumber while Ezra’s deep, even breathing anchored you to his side.

Tags: @yespolkadotkitty, @rzrcrst, @mrpascals, @cyaredindjarin, @ifimayhaveaword, @lackofhonor, @giselatropicana

[jebazzled]

it ain’t your muse! (shut up & write, ft. rihanna)

You nerds are always talking about your muse. My muse this, my muse that, I have no muse, my muse went the way of the dinosaurs, if my muse comes out of its burrow and sees its shadow I won’t be able to write for six weeks.

Shut up about your fucking muse!

It is true that you might go through periods where it is hard to find time and energy to write, or negative experiences in a writing community might leave you with anxiety surrounding writing. But by and large, writers block is something you can overcome! 

Please, for the love of god, let me help you. 

Writing is a muscle, and you’ve got to exercise it if you don’t want it to atrophy. 

This tutorial is a bit of tough love about y’all and y’all’s diddly-darn muses, and some advice for snapping yourself out of it!

So here’s the thing about writing, my loves. You have to actually do it. 

TERRIBLY inconvenient, I know.

I’m not here to tell you how to manage your work-life balance or how to manage your time. If you’re not writing much because you straight up don’t have time to write much, my advice is simple: pare down on your characters, focus on the plots that matter most to you, and spend some mental health juice on reminding yourself that there isn’t an RP Prom Queen, and even if there were, it’s better not to live or die by that bizarro crown. 

But if you’re having trouble writing because of Your Muse... I’m cracking my knuckles. 

We’ve all written with folks before - or been that folk before - who need a very specific set of circumstances if they’re going to write: they need time to Pinterest, need to listen to a specific playlist, need to get in the mindset, need the thread to scratch a very specific itch and need all of it to come together before the moon passes out of a waxing gibbous. As a fellow dev ho, I understand the appeal of writing to suit a mood, of vibing to a playlist, of prioritizing the stuff you’re going fucking feral for, of having the stars align while you do the thing. But if you’re like this when you’re writing for other people - 

well, you’re making things difficult for both you and your writing partners! We can’t control the external constraints on our time, e.g. work and school, and we can’t always control the nonsense our psychology spins to keep us from writing. But some things are within our control, and by god, if there is any control to be had in the year of Mother Sappho 2021, don’t you want it? 

At least some of your writers block is probably dumb as hell. So let’s beat the shit out of that part.

Anyway, if you’re yakking on and on about how your muse demands a bottle of red wine and a scented candle and fairy lights and soft socks and the blood of the servant, willfully given in order to spit out 200 words, or whatever... 

it’s not that fucking deep.

Writing is a muscle. It’s like any other muscle: you need to exercise it. 

If you’re training for a 5k, you don’t sit on your couch listening to “Eye of the Tiger” until race day. You get your ass off the cushion and pound the pavement. You probably start by alternating walks with short bursts of running. You probably don’t work your way up to actually running 5k at a time for a few weeks. And once you’ve run that first 5k, you don’t go sit on your couch to listen to “Eye of the Tiger” until the next race. You keep running to stay in shape for the next race.

Writing is like that. 

What you write does not have to be perfect. 

You can work on the post for six weeks and there will still be things you could change. You know what change your writing partner would have appreciated most? If you’d posted it for them three weeks ago. Don’t let perfect be the enemy of good. 

Cut yourself the same slack you cut for your writing partners. Do you yearn to keelhaul them if their reply isn’t worth a National Book Award? No, because you’re not an asshole. They’re also not an asshole. Everyone is reasonable here. Write something that responds to what they gave you and that gives them something to work with. Not every single post has to be capital-I Inspired. ✨

What you write does not have to be a vibe ready for the Goop newsletter. 

I was a creative writing major in college, and I was always having to turn stuff in for class that wasn’t exactly what I wanted to work on: a short story set in another country when I just wanted to write a play with puppets, an essay about food when I would rather write one about a weekend drive, etc. 

Sometimes, you write what you write when you write it not because it’s getting you hot and bothered but because you’ve owed a reply for A While and you feel bad about keeping someone waiting. It will still be fun, because you chose to do that thread with your character and someone else’s character for a reason, and that reason stands, even if your monkey brain is yearning to play with that slime that makes fart noises when you put it away. 

(Pro tip, here: don’t do threads you don’t actually have any interest in writing! It is less awkward to tell someone, “I am not interested in my character weed whacking your character’s lawn” than to waste their time with 10 posts of it before telling them, “I am not interested in my character weed whacking your character’s lawn.”) 

The more you write, the easier it is. 

Let’s talk about running again. A couple of years ago, I went on a bit of a kick with the running. I ran at least three times a week. I would bring my running shit with me to work so I could run in the park near my office. I would make running dates with friends. I would reward myself with a bagel from my favorite cafe if I did a run. And you know what? Once I got myself past the hurdle of pulling on my running clothes and lacing up my shoes, I enjoyed myself. When I ran 5k without slowing to a walk, I was proud of myself. When I told myself, “let’s do another loop at the park!” and stopped to take a photo of the sunset, I enjoyed myself. I would not have enjoyed myself if I hadn’t hit the goddamn pavement.

Put your ass in your fucking chair. I don’t care if you don’t have the right scented candle. Write 50 words. Right fucking now. I’ll wait.

Write another 50.

Now write another 100.

How long did that take you? Some days, it might take you 90 minutes to write 200 words. But that’s 200 more words than you would have written in 90 minutes of browsing Pinterest waiting for an angel to come down from heaven and write this post for you. 

All that bullshit you do to Feed Your Muse? It’s stalling, you idiot. 

The more you make yourself write instead of just thinking about writing, the easier it will be to actually fucking write. 

I used to sit and stare at posts for hours and hours and hours before submitting them, so worried about the post being good enough. When I moved to a neighborhood with an aboveground train line, I was able to write on my morning commute, and writing every morning - even if only the 200 words I could crank out on mobile in 30 minutes before work - got me out of my weird writers block crutches and security blankets. It didn’t take as much effort to write, anymore. I wrote over 200,000 words in 2019, and over 300,000 words in 2020, when I had barely any commute at all to use on writing. I didn’t magically have endless hours of free time. I just wasn’t wasting my free time pretending that being on Tumblr counted as writing. 

Tough love: doled out. And now:

TIPS & TRICKS FOR BEATING “””Writers Block”””

Stop acting like Writers Block is real. It’s not that it’s not real, but by telling yourself that you have Writers Block, you’re making it worse for yourself. You’re making excuses for yourself. I used Writers Block to stall writing my Topics in Creative Writing: Folktales portfolio for 3 months, and you know what happened? I still had to turn in the fucking portfolio, because the person I was writing for didn’t fucking care about my fucking Writers Block. And you know who had to sit her ass in a chair and write 30 pages of folktales in a 24 hour period? Me. It’s almost like my Writers Block was just PROCRASTINATION. 

Set a timer. If you’re looking at your list of replies owed and you’re feeling like it might be easier to “do character dev” and “build a playlist” than to write your posts, break the task into smaller pieces. If your server has a sprint bot, use it. If not, set your own timer.  Organize your list of threads with the ones you’ve owed replies on the longest at the top. Set your timer for 20 minutes and see how much you can write for the oldest post you owe. Not done? Set the timer for another 20 minutes. Keep setting that timer until that post is done and you can drop it in the tags channel. Now do the same for the second oldest.  CRANK! THEM! OUT! If you find that it’s depleting your creative energy, that’s not unusual! When I get to this point in my own posting habits, my oldest replies owed are usually for Albus Dumbledore, a character I write specifically because I hate him. It is often easier to knock out all his posts in one chunk rather than shift voice, so this ends up working out nicely. 

Don’t indulge your stupid stalling tactics. Do you typically get sidetracked by Pinterest? Put your phone away and close that tab. Do you get absorbed in lining up the perfect music for writing a post? Write in silence, asshole. Do you need to be in your favorite chair with the right lighting? Go sit on a park bench and write on mobile.  It’s nice to write in idealized environments. I rented a treehouse last summer to write 10k on a novel! I get it! But you absolutely can write in other environments, if you have to. And if you can get yourself to write on a dark skin on your iPad at an airport in the Midwest while waiting for a flight - well, shit, think of how much you’ll be able to write on a laptop when your diva ass demands are properly met!

Don’t take on shit you don’t want to write. I fully admit that these tactics feel a bit like homework/chores/a to-do list for what is of course a fun hobby. You know how they say “love what you do and you’ll never work a day in your life?” If you don’t take on plots, characters, and threads that don’t have a lick of interest or excitement for you, this shit won’t feel like a hassle. 

Hope this whips all you little miscreants (myself included) into shape! Now quit your yapping and start writing.