aelnare

[aelnare]

Jack Lowden as Collins in Dunkirk (2017)

[aelnare]

@meinliied​ sent:  “ your bones were never meant to nearly crack with crushing burdens ” (wil!!) 

Poetry Prompts -- Always accepting 

His head turned so fast it made him dizzy. He heard the words spoken to him but it took too long to process them. He was tired, so damn tired he swayed like a boat on the waves. These terrible waves, he heard them crashing, saw them whenever he turned around. There had been a time when Tristan enjoyed being at the beach, a time in which his uncle taught him how to swim, how to never be afraid of the water. But what treacherous thing this water had become, being so wide he could not cross over and being so small he knew the same waves were crushing at his own country’s shore. On the other side. Home. And the memories came and went, just like these dammned waves. He stopped, feet sinking into the wet sand of this French beach, hair twisted and clotted by salt and sea foam. They had no time for goodbyes, for such words. They needed to hurry if Tristan was to escape, to live. To survive.  He had never agreed to do this. He had never wanted to allow this stranger, this man, to help him and risk his own life in the process. But Wilhelm had dragged him out here, late in the day, forced him to witness how the sun drowned herself in watery death, all fire exctinguished. Quite fitting, Tristan thought to himself as the fatigue lifted enough for him to think at all, to string more than a few words together in this almost unconscious state of desperation and desolation.  Why was he so tired? He could not remember, he begged God would allow him to forget.  “Then tell me, who was meant for a time like this? Who deserves something like this, Onkel?”, it felt so strange, this single word, on lips that were used to its taste but not to its sound. He had used it throughout his entire childhood, had called out for Bain so often and at so many occassions uncle had become something more than father, something bigger and more true. But now, in this different language that was supposed to feel like home but felt like hell, it sounded so different. Different but close enough. For he knew on the other side of the canal Bain would do just the same. He would try to help, try to be a hero, he would sacrifice his own life for Tristan. Just like Wilhelm was attempting in this very moment. And Tristan hated them both for it. He hated that he had almost died in his burning spitfire. He hated that he was shot from the sky and his precious plane was nothing but smoke and ruins. He hated how he had spend days - or had it been weeks? - beaten bloody by his enemies. He hated how this war destroyed them all and that sleep could never come because the pain was too much. He hated how tired he was.  He hated so much and so strongly, in those few heartbeats where it was just the two of them, alone on a desolated beach in France, that it felt as if he was too burst open with it all. Maybe he would have exploded, like a grenade, leaving Wilhelm shell-shocked like the rest of them if only he had not been so tired. Tristan had to focus so he would not collapse on the sand, his vision was blurry and it seemed as if the entire beach was now swaying. He could not remember the last time he had been on his feet for this long and his stomach turned with hunger. He fed it more anger. “You should not have stolen that boat. You should not have gotten me out of there”, his words were a whisper and he was not sure if he gave them to Wilhelm or to the waves. Maybe the wind would carry them home, to his mother. For Tristan himself was sure he would not survive the journey. “There might be a storm coming. I shall drown and it will be all for nothing”, he turned his head to finally look the other soldier in the eye, “They will find out that it was you. And you will be shot. For nothing” There was no survival. And that knowledge was the burden that had crushed Tristan a long, long time ago. 

[aelnare]

[aelnare]

POETRY PROMPTS

quotes from Radiant Souls by Lenee H.  “  you’ll see there is one thing they’re scared of and it’s love   ” “  i don’t need to be a hero,  but perhaps i’ll learn to be heroic  ”  “  maybe, all we are is broken  ” “  my body longs to touch yours,  the same way your soul has touched mine  ” “  let me fix you,  so you can heal me  ” “ you shoulders were not meant to bear such overwhelming weights  ” “  your bones were never meant to nearly crack with crushing burdens  ” “  your heart was never meant to bleed for anyone other than yourself  ” “  i could spend forever in their arms  ” “  i love you because you are as broken as i  ” “  we are two tragedies,  stories that are destined to end apart  ” “  he sought to destroy her simply because she was not pliable to his hands  ” “  i wish you to know you are my world and my every dream  ” “  i knew you were the one for me, not from a rush of emotion in your presence, but from the overwhelming ache brought by your absence  ” “  be gentle with this heart, for it is the only one i have  ” “  let me be consumed by pain or pleasure, let me feel again  ” “  you were not brought into this world just to minimize your presence in it  ” “  i have not yet found the solution to break this spell you have cast upon me  ” “  this silence which lies between us is an overwhelming suffocation  ” “  not a drop of water on their skin and yet they are drowning  ” “  she was not made of fragile things  ” “  when will it be enough?  ” “  you are like a burst of light in a shadowed room  ” “  warriors are not born they are made, and so are broken souls  ” “  all that is left of us will be memories  ” “  the greatest thing i could create is whatever our fingers make together  ” “  there is a loneliness rooted in my soul  ” “  all i wish is to memorize your skin  ” “  what they did to you, is not you  ” “  i knew they were not good for me and i knew i was not a fit for them and maybe that is why we wanted each other a little too much  ” “  lift your hands and touch my heart, maybe you can make it start  ” “  let me fill the pages of your book with nothing but happy endings  ” “  falling is the easy part  ” “  i think i simply am too hard to love  ” “  i think the blood flow in my veins is filled with traces of you.  i wonder if i cut open this skin, will a piece of you pour out?  ” “  i wish their eyes did not hold so much sadness i cannot touch  ” “  i am in a state of unbecoming  ” “  i am a temple with a forsaken religion  ” “  i think of you when the sun sets, i long for you when the sun rises  ” “  i can’t grow if i try to keep my flowers hidden in the shadows  ” “  curl up beside me and breathe deep, i’ll keep the nightmares away, love  ” “  i’ll keep you warm until the sun returns  ” “  the universe whispered for me to let go  ” “  loving you is a like a bruise  ” “  the stars do not tell you where to go, only how to get there ” “  who were you before the world laid the shadow of grief at your feet?  ”  “  darling, i hope you know the tide would reverse before i could ever dream of giving up on you  ” “  how long must i wait for a hand to touch me, without leaving more scars in its wake  ” “  i will not wait for a sign to tell myself i can grow  ” “  every time a thought of you comes drifting along to me, i wonder if a remembrance of myself comes floating to you  ” “ so many will come to you for life, willing to draw upon that warmth in your soul. they will glean from your generosity until you are cold  ” “  do not let others take the chains which you have already melted, and try to reshape them into bindings to trap you within their hold again  ” “  tell me what you dream of  ” “ tell me what you dream of, for all that ever fills my mind is her/him/them  ” “  i am alive and some days i think that must be enough for me  ” “

[aelnare]

;;Gebrochene Flügel

The boy fell from the sky in a burning Spitfire, no sign of his squadron in the white clouds above. He crashed not far from their trail and stumbled out of the wreckage. First he fell onto his knees, then he collapsed entirely into the mud, his blood mixing with rain.  Wilhelm was the first to reach him. The German soldier had a knot in his stomach, his own heartbeat echoing in his ear like a wardrum. It had been a good shot, the Flak pounding out volley after volley. But there was no taste of victory on his tongue as he turned the fallen enemy onto his back, ripping off the aviator hat.  Blond curls spilled forward, tainted with blood and not unlike Wilhelm's own brown hair. He was young, this enemy, this foe, far younger than expected. But Wilhelm knew he should not be surprised. This war had taken so many lives, who else was there to fight it but the young?  Blood dripped onto his hand from a wound over the young man’s left eye, as Wilhelm reached for the other’s neck and throat to find a pulse, a breath, any sign of life. Instead the dog tag fell into his hand and he turned it to read the name. Girion, Tristan. The service number and the rest of the so vital information on that little piece of metal blurred in front of Wilhelm’s eyes as the information sank in.  Boots thundered on the dirt road behind him as his fellow soldiers closed in on them. “Atmet der noch?”, one of them called out, but Wilhelm did not turn around. The boy before him, his nephew long lost on the other side of the channel began to move, to stir. A groan left his lips as Wilhelm moved to steady his head, the German’s gaze quickly drifting over the still bleeding wound. His eyelashes fluttered and the boy blinked. Wilhelm cursed under his breath, of course his brother's blue eyes looked at him, disoriented and filled with pain. The stranger's face became even more familiar. A shadow over his shoulder, the voice of one of his comrades in his ear, "Lass gut sein, Reuß, der ist doch schon so gut wie tot" This was a twist of fate crueler than he would have ever imagined.  "Wir nehmen ihn mit", the dog tag slipped out of his fingers, as Wilhelm spoke. "Was bringt uns ein halb toter Gefangener? Dadurch werden wir nur langsamer. Willst du dafür gerade stehen?" "Mein Bruder wird dafür gerade stehen", he could only hope it was true, he could only pray that the war had not yet destroyed the little bit of heart Heinrich called his own.

[aelnare]

@nirgama​ plotted starter

The happy chattering of tourists drifted towards him from the staircase. Up there people were enjoying the view from the top of the lighthouse, oblivious to all the things these bricks had seen, had endured. And Drystan felt how his lungs filled with smoke long gone, his ears listening to echos long faded. The past had stopped haunting him centuries ago, replaced by the fear of something more dangerous, more vicious. But until this day the minutes, hours spend within this lighthouse still returned to him at night, still kept him awake.  He stopped in his tracks on one of the upper floors, where a simple badge and a little text of information tried to lure the eyes of visitors towards the truth. They had renovated the lighthouse, but they had not dared to repaint history itself. He stepped through a small opening in the wall, left behind so people could see the former outer walls of the lighthouse. He reached out, his hand gently touching the bullet holes, scars left behind for him to find and his own skin itched at the memory.  A sigh left Drystan’s lips. There was no use to dwell on the pain and the longing of back then. He had returned to this island, to this place, to pay his respects to fallen friends and foes alike. He would do no more. One hand raised to ruffle through his salt-stained hair he turned around, suddenly face to face with a stranger. A girl. The air of magic so clearly around her it was as if he could reach out and touch the mists covering her soul. That old part of him, the one created by his father’s magick, his mother’s curse, roared to life and he stumbled back. Confused and shoked at the same time. Where had she come from? Why had he not sensed her sooner? She stood in the opening as if she had appeared out of thin air, through some kind of strange door. And he felt the hairs on his arms raise.  Magic was dangerous. The knights could sense magic. The knights would come and hunt them both. “What are you doing here?”, his voice was filled with accusation, brows furrowed as he caught himself, “You should not sneak up on people like this”

[aelnare]

For years he had been a soldier, unused to gentle touch. His hands had learned to kill, to survive, and nothing more. Whenever he looked at Liona, memories of better times - warmer times - stirred in his chest and when she was so close to him he could not bear to say no to her, even if he knew all this was too stupid and too dangerous. Even for them. She had been wounded. He had watched her collapse, blood spilling from somewhere underneath her armor, dripping through the cracks.  And it had been his fault.  He had allowed all this to happen.  Drystan had no memory of what happened afterwards, of the rest of their attack, the end of the battle. It was all a blur of fear, pain, and his anger flaring to life like the terrible dragon his ancestors were said to have killed. He woke up in the tent for the wounded, face hurting from a bloody gash above his brow, muscles sore and aching. Half his body was numb, for a heartbeat he feared his legs were gone all together. And she sat beside him, pale and thin, but still wearing her armor, still wearing her disguise. It had worked. No one had noticed. He thanked God for that at least. Drystan wanted to move, to sit up and look at her, at the woman he loved. But as soon as he stirred his entire body cried out in agony, a small groan left his lips as his muscles contracted and his lungs refused to work. Her hand pressed upon his sternum, gentle, warm, reassuring. He could not bear the thought of losing her.  “Do not move”, her voice commanded and he obeyed. What else could he do? As long as she held his heart in her small but strong hands he had no choice but to obey her. “What happened?”, his voice was only a whisper, even his throat was sore. “You were acting stupid”, Liona’s voice was scolding, he could see that she was angry. But he had not been the only one acting stupid in that fight. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe they would end up destroying each other one day. Drystan was sure he would love nothing more than being destroyed by her hands.

@meinliied

[aelnare]

I am saving icons and Drystan makes a very stupid face right after someone kisses him. Just a heads up.

[aelnare]

meinliied·:

@aelnare·· bc i can ❤

Perhaps it was improper for her to stand here alone with one of the mercenaries, but Liona couldn’t care less. And after all this was Drystan, her Drystan, the boy she had once shared every secret and so many hours of laughter and joy with. The memories feel so far away and yet like a beacon of light in these dark times. 

“My aunt locked herself in her room for days.” Of course he had offered his condolences for their recent loss and asked about how they were faring. Talking about the duchess was much easier than talking about her own grief and the many different emotions she could barely process. “But she is strong. I can only admire how she returned and continued to be the centre of this court. My mother invited us to Urbino, but we both didn’t feel like leaving. And it would’ve been a true loss had I missed you.” Liona managed a small smile to support the honesty of her words.

Seeing the half-smile she gave him, the sadness so clearly painted upon her features, made his heart shiver and shake where it had bounced with joy only mere heartbeats ago. Drystan had been happy, knowing he was to see her again. After so many years, after all the turns and twists his life had taken it felt a little like coming home. To the warm sun of Tuscany, the green Medici gardens, the safe Palazzo hallways. To a childhood he missed, even if the memory was tainted in shadows now. But her grief had changed her and he wondered - how far where they both from the children that once laughed and whispered with each other? Constantly stealing moments of affection, pinching skin in mockery and squealing while their bare feet ran over green gras. He wanted to reach for her now but he was so painfully aware of all the eyes and ears turned in their direction. “I cannot imagine how it must feel for the Duchess and you. But the strength of your family, both bloodlines, flows in your veins, too. I am sure you being here has brought Signora Lucrezia much comfort. I do agree though that it would have been terrible, had I missed this opportunity to speak to you in person”, he returned her smile, stepping a little closer, “Neither you nor your aunt must worry, Liona” His face drifted through the courtyard, to the man readying themselves to protect this city from Della Rovere. It was unfair, that neither the young woman in front of her nor the Duchess in the palazzo behind them were allowed to take their time with grieving. The greed of the men that had ruled their lives since their days in Florence was already stretching towards Ferrara. But he was here now, he would protect the city. He would protect her.

[aelnare]

childrenxofxdale –> aelnare

[aelnare]

THEME 01 : BLOOD-SWORN / this is the first theme i’ve ever made, so please be gentle. some html knowledge is necessary for this code. background image & sidebar image must be added through the html. the sidebar image should have a width of around 275px, but should autoresize.

theme features:

500px posts

rectangular sidebar image

optional background image

stylized text & customizable colors

fixed & easy-to-edit sidebar

header & ask background can be changed in the code

CREDITS.

a big thank you to @OCTOMOOSEY for the in depth coding tutorial… i used your guide to help guide me through the process. your resources are, as always, invaluable to baby coders everywhere.

please like & reblog if using ! check the source link for live preview & pastebin info!

[aelnare]

I am in the process of slowly revamping this blog. It will continue to be low activity and selective. The two things I had in my drafts were dropped and once I have decided on a new url/ a new theme I will post a proper starter call. But please feel free to approach for plotting or to request a starter ♥

[aelnare]

angst night starter/drabble thing for @aelernil​

His hands still shook from the impact of what he had seen so the knight clenched his fists so hard it hurt. Physical pain was becoming a feeling he rather welcomed lately for it brought a haze able to numb the thoughts in his mind, the feelings in his head. The sun burned down on the green gardens of Dale, birds chirping in the sky and a fountain bubbling not far away. This part of the palace was open to no one but the royal family and their most esteemed guests, for it had once been the first patch of ground to feel Princess Sigrid’s love. It was a home and a sanctuary to all of them.  And it was the place Drystan came to when he needed to be alone, far from the barracks of the royal guard, far from all the noise of Lancelot’s training ground. Far from the mistake he had just made.  It was supposed to be an easy mission, scouting the borders after reports of approaching orcs had riled up the city. The king’s orders had been clear. No engagement was to be made. Find the orcs, report back, no risks are to be taken, no blood is too be spilled. Not yet.  And Drystan was loyal to the King.  He had been for all his life. But when he walked through the palace walls these days, after finding out what he now knew, after meeting his father... He was not looking at a king, he was not looking at a leader. He was looking at his uncle, the liar. And the anger had flared up inside him, a torch to guide him through this night, a fire so hot it burned him again and again. When they finally found the orcs Drystan had been aware of his orders. And he ignored them completely. It had been his decision, made in a state of despair and confusion. It was not just about disobeying his uncle, it was not just about killing something - anything. But if he thought back on it now, he could not even say what it had been about. He only knew that he gave an order and now one of his men was dead, another terribly wounded. He knew their names. He had served with them for years, met their families. And now he had killed them. With his words, his actions, with the speers of these terrible creatures. The knights of Dale had been victorious that day but that did not matter to Drystan. It mattered as little as the knife that had pierced his own skin, forced him to return home drenched in blood and wounded. A failure in every regard.  His eyes were half closed, as he sat on the bench, being devoured by his own anger and hatred. Steps approached, determined and fast. Strong. Not his mother, no she would not come to his aid now. No comfort could be found in her cold hands. Maybe Wilhelm, the man that called himself is stepfather. Or worse, the King himself. Uncle Bain.  “I cannot talk”, he did not even turn to look upon the other fearing if it was indeed the king, he would lash out in anger and confusion, attack the very man he was sworn to protect. What happened to my father? Why did you watch me grieve for so long if you knew he was still alive? Why did you allow all this pain to consume my heart for nothing? Why is my father still alive? Why did you chase him away? “I know what I have done”, he said instead, “And I shall bear the consequences of my actions. I shall pay for it. But I will not talk”

[aelnare]

[aelnare]

meinliied·:

@aelsell·· said: “Father?”, the word tasted strange upon his lips and he could feel his heart ripping open once more, pain crashed over him like a wave, dragging him under and to a place he never wished to return to, “Father is this really you?”, Drystan fell onto his knees as he realized the hooded figure in front of him was indeed Heinrich.

“it is me, my boy.”, he confirmed. Between the usual sharpness of Heinrich’s voice lingered an unusual tenderness, reserved only for his son. Drystan could still be molded, persuaded to join his side, where he was supposed to be. In a gesture of comfort he laid a hand on his son’s curls. “You see now, that they all lied to you. For all these years.” 

His curls are still there, but everything else has grown and changed since they last saw each other, including his anger - his pain - that has clawed its way into Drystan’s heart, becoming a beast too terrible for him to tame. The touch on his head, his father’s hand, is light and gentle, surely meant to be comforting. Yet it shatters him completely, rips him apart from his core on outward. He shakes, a sob building up in his throat, daring to break free. But he fights back the tears. He is a man now, almost, a soldier of Dale, a knight of this kingdom. He is a servant to these liars and he will not allow himself to show weakness in front of his father, not now.  He cannot believe it. Yet Drystan has never dared to question his father, he was raised to follow what the older man told him and now, a decade and a half later, that old part of him wakes up, shivers and shakes with the rest of him, and anwers to Heinrich’s call as natural as the beach greets the ocean, begging to be devoured entirely. “Forgive me father, for I have believed these lies. I...”, his tongue stumbles over every word as he tries to make sense of the chaotic thoughts flying through his head, “I mourned you for so long, the grief became a sword I wielded against them. Please father, forgive me. Tell me what has happened. Tell me the truth” He needs to know. He needs to understand why his mother, of all people, commit such an act of atrocity. Tears he can no longer hold back burn his cheeks, a painful reminder of the hot shame he feels, knowing that in believing them, in not questioning them, he too has betrayed his father.

[aelnare]

"Uncle Bain?", a small boy flops down in front of him, "Do you think we can go and play something?" (from drys ♥)

  @aelsell // @childrenxofxdale

Basic things are basic: When did this boy started to outdo Brandon in surprising him? And yeah, this would be the most perfect time to throw the cigarette (He’s in his garden okay! And he’s going to stop for Ida and the new baby)

“Its a little bit late for you, to be awake kiddo.” Bain’s tone of voice is nonchalant--hissing a bit at squishing the ‘cancer stick’ (His wife’s words. Not his) with his left hand. 

And a little bit later for them to play, if someone asks....

But, he’ll give a better offer to his nephew.

“How about this?” Getting off the grass, while carrying Tristan like a sack of potatoes (It makes the kids laugh, and he dotes on them), “I have a hidden stash of cookie ice cream that we can share, but dont tell your Auntie, or Brand.”

“Do we have a deal?”

[aelnare]

Maria Ehrich

Saphirblau