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[ruleofvee]

The Pied Piper ‘Krysař’ (1986) dir. Jiří Barta

[ruleofvee]

11.

angel’s share. that’s what you think you are, sometimes the alcohol that vanishes into the wind inside the wooden cask as it ages, the price of refinement.

you aged. you grew. you shone, fingers clutched tight around your sword, your brother’s hand, your father’s fingers eventually, the star, dropped carelessly from the heavens like a tear. like a wish come true. you grew like the sunrise consuming the horizon (the horizon, of course, being lit aflame as you rise.) (the horizon is your-)

(it is your dusk, your twilight, your change.)

the angel’s share. childhood placed at the altar, buried in wood, nails hammered in with every drop of rain every tear shed sunlight vanishes, swallowed by rain and ice and blood. the sun sets. the star is left behind. you throw yourself into the snow for preservation, vengeance, and you burn like the darkest side of dawn.

when the stars turn their back, that’s where you are, spitting light into the dark with nothing but hollow spite and shattered hopes.

three years of brewing. nothing left but embers and a dream and that’s all you are, now, the bitter dregs of once-sweet wine brought back to summer winds and gentle grass

you stare at your hands. they are hard, calloused, with the swing of a sword and all the blood you’ve shed. blood is not red like wine

it is red like burst capillaries in a light-blue eye, father’s hair soaked in the rain and you cannot think of anything else to compare it to other than secrets,

as those are always the ruination of things- blood and lies and untruths. as the dusk’s untold dream, folding yours in tow and the star’s beautiful, picturesque, lie that had begged to be told and had fallen from his lips like overripe grapes from the vine

and now you, burning comet, icarus with no fall or wax wings of your own, your wings have always been written in the stars as-

unmelting things.

now and forever, by your own oath and hands and vision you are what heralds the dawn, the truth, the light shadows in the ion’s tail a dream, flying through dark skies and lighting the way for those behind.

[ruleofvee]

11.

angel’s share. that’s what you think you are, sometimes the alcohol that vanishes into the wind inside the wooden cask as it ages, the price of refinement.

you aged. you grew. you shone, fingers clutched tight around your sword, your brother’s hand, your father’s fingers eventually, the star, dropped carelessly from the heavens like a tear. like a wish come true. you grew like the sunrise consuming the horizon (the horizon, of course, being lit aflame as you rise.) (the horizon is your-)

(it is your dusk, your twilight, your change.)

the angel’s share. childhood placed at the altar, buried in wood, nails hammered in with every drop of rain every tear shed sunlight vanishes, swallowed by rain and ice and blood. the sun sets. the star is left behind. you throw yourself into the snow for preservation, vengeance, and you burn like the darkest side of dawn.

when the stars turn their back, that’s where you are, spitting light into the dark with nothing but hollow spite and shattered hopes.

three years of brewing. nothing left but embers and a dream and that’s all you are, now, the bitter dregs of once-sweet wine brought back to summer winds and gentle grass

you stare at your hands. they are hard, calloused, with the swing of a sword and all the blood you’ve shed. blood is not red like wine

it is red like burst capillaries in a light-blue eye, father’s hair soaked in the rain and you cannot think of anything else to compare it to other than secrets,

as those are always the ruination of things- blood and lies and untruths. as the dusk’s untold dream, folding yours in tow and the star’s beautiful, picturesque, lie that had begged to be told and had fallen from his lips like overripe grapes from the vine

and now you, burning comet, icarus with no fall or wax wings of your own, your wings have always been written in the stars as-

unmelting things.

now and forever, by your own oath and hands and vision you are what heralds the dawn, the truth, the light shadows in the ion’s tail a dream, flying through dark skies and lighting the way for those behind.

[ruleofvee]

11.

angel’s share. that’s what you think you are, sometimes the alcohol that vanishes into the wind inside the wooden cask as it ages, the price of refinement.

you aged. you grew. you shone, fingers clutched tight around your sword, your brother’s hand, your father’s fingers eventually, the star, dropped carelessly from the heavens like a tear. like a wish come true. you grew like the sunrise consuming the horizon (the horizon, of course, being lit aflame as you rise.) (the horizon is your-)

(it is your dusk, your twilight, your change.)

the angel’s share. childhood placed at the altar, buried in wood, nails hammered in with every drop of rain every tear shed sunlight vanishes, swallowed by rain and ice and blood. the sun sets. the star is left behind. you throw yourself into the snow for preservation, vengeance, and you burn like the darkest side of dawn.

when the stars turn their back, that’s where you are, spitting light into the dark with nothing but hollow spite and shattered hopes.

three years of brewing. nothing left but embers and a dream and that’s all you are, now, the bitter dregs of once-sweet wine brought back to summer winds and gentle grass

you stare at your hands. they are hard, calloused, with the swing of a sword and all the blood you’ve shed. blood is not red like wine

it is red like burst capillaries in a light-blue eye, father’s hair soaked in the rain and you cannot think of anything else to compare it to other than secrets,

as those are always the ruination of things- blood and lies and untruths. as the dusk’s untold dream, folding yours in tow and the star’s beautiful, picturesque, lie that had begged to be told and had fallen from his lips like overripe grapes from the vine

and now you, burning comet, icarus with no fall or wax wings of your own, your wings have always been written in the stars as-

unmelting things.

now and forever, by your own oath and hands and vision you are what heralds the dawn, the truth, the light shadows in the ion’s tail a dream, flying through dark skies and lighting the way for those behind.

[ruleofvee]

11.

angel’s share. that’s what you think you are, sometimes the alcohol that vanishes into the wind inside the wooden cask as it ages, the price of refinement.

you aged. you grew. you shone, fingers clutched tight around your sword, your brother’s hand, your father’s fingers eventually, the star, dropped carelessly from the heavens like a tear. like a wish come true. you grew like the sunrise consuming the horizon (the horizon, of course, being lit aflame as you rise.) (the horizon is your-)

(it is your dusk, your twilight, your change.)

the angel’s share. childhood placed at the altar, buried in wood, nails hammered in with every drop of rain every tear shed sunlight vanishes, swallowed by rain and ice and blood. the sun sets. the star is left behind. you throw yourself into the snow for preservation, vengeance, and you burn like the darkest side of dawn.

when the stars turn their back, that’s where you are, spitting light into the dark with nothing but hollow spite and shattered hopes.

three years of brewing. nothing left but embers and a dream and that’s all you are, now, the bitter dregs of once-sweet wine brought back to summer winds and gentle grass

you stare at your hands. they are hard, calloused, with the swing of a sword and all the blood you’ve shed. blood is not red like wine

it is red like burst capillaries in a light-blue eye, father’s hair soaked in the rain and you cannot think of anything else to compare it to other than secrets,

as those are always the ruination of things- blood and lies and untruths. as the dusk’s untold dream, folding yours in tow and the star’s beautiful, picturesque, lie that had begged to be told and had fallen from his lips like overripe grapes from the vine

and now you, burning comet, icarus with no fall or wax wings of your own, your wings have always been written in the stars as-

unmelting things.

now and forever, by your own oath and hands and vision you are what heralds the dawn, the truth, the light shadows in the ion’s tail a dream, flying through dark skies and lighting the way for those behind.

[ruleofvee]

kill the shift manager in your brain

[ruleofvee]

[ruleofvee]

[ruleofvee]

[ruleofvee]

[ruleofvee]

hey did you know??? that if you stop stretching and maintaining mobility in your body then it goes away?? things get tight and you can't move the way that you used to??? and when you decide to try getting a stretch routine going that the first week fucking sucks because you keep going 'damn i used to be able to do this no problem' and then you have to switch gears and be kind to yourself and just focus on getting better from here instead of berating yourself for dropping the good habits in the first place??? and your body never stops aging so you gotta keep taking care of it and sometimes you gotta take care of it extra in certain areas because of things that happened when you were younger and it's boring and sometimes hurts but it's so necessary???

i am yelling this at myself right now i am going through An Experience (trying to get into a routine of body maintenance again for my physical and mental health)

[ruleofvee]

Since Hoyoverse doesn't want to give this man a horse, then I will. Everyone, meet Caeli!

[ruleofvee]

Trauma didn't make me nice, I consciously made me nice because I don't want anyone else to suffer like I did. Trauma didn't make me strong, I made me strong. Don't you dare ever tell me my trauma made me anything but scared, broken, and confused. Don't give credit to the abusers for me being a good person. They didn't make me good, I made myself good.

[ruleofvee]

Finally kaeya is the trumpet boy

[ruleofvee]

Finally kaeya is the trumpet boy

[ruleofvee]

Crepus was not a bad father. If anything, he was too good of one, loved his children just a little too much. Rearing the cuckoo in the nest as diligently as he did his son by blood, doing his best to ensure Kaeya never felt lesser, never felt left out, never felt less valued, less admired, less loved.   That Kaeya could never fully reciprocate was…not Crepus’ fault. The shackles of guilt weigh heavier than any iron could, a veil between him and the man who raised him that was never entirely lifted. Oh, he came close, a handful of times. When he was younger, especially, tongue ready to spill over with the secret. Warm, safe, loved, ready to ruin it all with a handful of scattered words. (Sometimes, he wonders how things would have changed, if he’d been just a little braver, had convictions that held just a little more sway over the need to survive, endure, deceive - It likely would not have changed much, once the mask was lifted. Kaeya knows he is not lovable in his entirety - flames and soaking rainwater and the relief he felt as Crepus was laid to rest all confirm it. Diluc and his father were so similar, mirror images in all the best and worst ways - Kaeya could imagine warmth, arms cradling him close, a soothing baritone, it’s alright, I promise, we love you all the same, we will fix this -  - but it feels like self-deceit. …He is losing focus. What-ifs are not the subject of this rumination. Only what happeneds.) Kaeya knows he was loved. Of that, he has no doubt. The face of him that Crepus saw, that he was taken in by - that, Crepus loved as much as a body loves breathing. Enough to be suffocated by the lack, enough to be killed by the lack. (Kaeya still finds it hard to breathe, sometimes, when he thinks too much about it.)

(lil snippet from a longfic im working on with @satorustan...see im not dead just. busy)

[ruleofvee]

we ask that the defense not say "me when i lie" while the witness testifies