scribbles-from-belland

[scribbles-from-belland]

Soluções imaginárias para uma angústia que não passa. Pessoas se tornam monstros. Um por um fugimos. Uma rede a menos, uma conexão a menos, quem sabe se virarmos o mundo de cabeça para baixo encontraremos um lugar para nos esconder. Fuga atrás de fuga, sempre deixamos um rastro pra trás. E nos encontram. Um por um.

A mãe preocupada. O moço. O melhor amigo. As amigas. E qual o propósito?

Uma conexão a menos. Um caminho a menos.

Tentando criar um ninho confortável, secluso, protegido, escondido. Estendemos a mão para o outro e somos o monstro de nós mesmos.

Escondida ou não, o mundo se fecha ao meu redor. Pessoas, céu aberto, lugar fechado, uma fila, uma casa, um cobertor. Não importe onde, as paredes se fecham ao meu redor. Meu coração um passarinho engaiolado, com o desespero audível que eu sinto sem tocar.

Uma responsabilidade ou um hobbie. Eu atraso todos os compromissos, sejam com os outros ou comigo mesma. Atrasando, atrasando, atrasando... fugindo e me perdendo. Me perco no desenrolar da vida, me perco no desenrolar do tempo, mesmo quando reservo esse tempo para mim. Quem sou eu se me perdi?

Na toca da Alice, não mais do coelho, tento me reencontrar. Quem era a Alice de ontem e onde ela foi parar? Hoje já posso ser outra pessoa, mas se não sou a pessoa que eu reconhecia, como eu posso me (re)conhecer? Novamente, reconstrução.

Um sonho, um objetivo. Cada vez mais a vida se torna uma profissão. Cada vez mais o tempo livre se resume a um passar tempo.

Na ambição juvenil sempre pensamos que seremos alguém.

Hoje eu tento descobrir quem me tornei. E, igualmente, por que sou o monstro de mim.

Mas é mais fácil se perdoar. Os outros, os outros. Para me conhecer novamente, eu beijo as cicatrizes, uma a uma, uma a uma, e me perdoo por ter caído e me perdoo por saber que vou cair novamente.

Uma a uma, ando de novo sobre as minhas pegadas reconstruindo o meu futuro.

Quem sou eu?

[scribbles-from-belland]

I'm In Pain

Fandom: L'Arc~en~Ciel Pairing: Sakura/Hyde Tags: Comedy, Hangover, Morning After, Explicit Language Summary: Hyde wakes up half naked on an unfamiliar bed, suffering from hangover and an odd pain in his butt. What could have happened? One shot! Prompt by my dear @fabi-en-ciel​

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[scribbles-from-belland]

Through the Window

Fandom: L’Arc~en~Ciel Pairing: Sakura/Hyde Tags: Neighbour AU, Slice of Life, Friendship/Love Summary:  Sakura and Hyde had been friends since they were children. Living next door to each other, their bedrooms were practically connected by windows strategically positioned in front of one another. As they neared adulthood, their experiences made them begin to question the nature of their relationship. 

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[scribbles-from-belland]

A letter to a friend, a letter to a friend. As Bella was lost in thoughts, she wandered back to me, residing in her mind. If you're lost in thoughts you might stumble upon old friends. She gave me her hand and a piece of paper and words came. I began to write a letter to a friend. I knew, I've heard, you've been missing me, my friend. My feelings hang in the air and are put on halt when there is no body to feel them. Such is the existence of imaginary beings. You need a body to feel. I borrow from humans who love me. My soul wanders. I write a letter to a friend and suddenly my feelings reside in paper. I wonder when I'll cease to exist, and I wonder if my essence will get through with only words. Is paper and lead enough? Lives aren't made of these. Rather, it's a chemical reaction. "Hysterical and useless". I have no body, but my wings are yet to grow. I have yet to quit existence. I am not concise anymore. And I can hardly make any sense. My soul is trapped whithin a dark mind, and it wanders and it wonders till I lose shape and connection. I'm not human anymore, and as a character I no longer belong to a context. The boundaries which define my existence and identity, "where I end and you begin"... they are only found in Bella's will to let me exist. The perception of those who acknowledge me is my definition. I don't know what is "me".

Étienne Madrières, also me.

[scribbles-from-belland]

[scribbles-from-belland]

I feel a bit bad for using the "lesbian couple" tag on my most recent text. Honestly, I wish it wouldn't be necessary for this kind of tag to exist, but since I'd like to spread my blog even a little bit and it actually is hard to find this kind of writing without tags, I did it. 

[scribbles-from-belland]

Loving as if never before

"You're really... to be honest I had no idea I liked girls like you" said Carole, observing that strange, beautiful girl sitting right in front of her. A smile lit her face as the sun shone on her ash-blond hair, a large sweater falling over her shoulder as her skirt wrinkled on the bench, Sophie, the camera, hanged from her neck. That girl was Anabelle. Carole couldn't help but wonder about that entire situation and how they came to fall in love, such different girls like they were. There was some peculiar attraction that bonded them together, yet from the outside they seemed completely different to each other. Straight long dark hair versus wavy short blonde hair, jeans versus skirts, boyishness versus femininity. They sometimes matched their boots though, and oh, they liked sweaters. When it came to clothing it was their only love in common. All of that was really superfluous when it came to matters of love, but such small, meaningless details always made Carole's mind ask an insistent "why?" every time she saw her face or pictured it in her mind. And did she picture it. By the time she fell for that girl she simply could not spend a minute without seeing her face or any other part of her body in the forehead of her imagination, memories and dreams. She was so absolutely captivated she couldn't even cope and even though it was definitely not the first time, it felt like that. Loving as if never before. It didn't feel as much as a fairytale as it felt like some weird, fresh dream. That very moment was dreamy. Everything about the lady in front of her was lovely. Her rosy skin, her messy hair, her soft hands and honest smile. The way she crossed her legs. The way she looked at Carole. And like a little teenage girl, Carole felt her heart skipping every beat and pounding inside of her chest.

"I'd like to reply, but it really seems you're spacing out, girl" sweetly said Anabelle before giggling at Carole's slightly blushed cheeks. "It's so... how to say? When you blush it is so you yet it is so unlike how you try to seem"

"How do I try to seem?" Carole frowned at her, ignoring completely that slight burning feeling on her skin, but the girl just smiled.

"You know..." and as one leaned forward the other, it was perfectly clear what intention she had. Completely mutually they kissed. Sitting on a bench in a park, as if they were the whole world. It tasted guiltless and pure. Carole might remember how she used to hold back that kind of feeling, feelings she'd feel for other girls, yet now it was as natural as water running down a river. And with Anabelle every instinct felt natural and true. It was so unexpected yet every last inch of it had that fated feeling, as if it was always meant to be. Even if before they met Carole could never imagine being with such a woman.

Once they parted that kiss, Anabelle rest her head on Carole's shoulder and sighed. Carole looked at her without knowing exactly what to do then. They were on a sort of a date, she figured, even if they didn't plan anything except from spending time together that afternoon. She caressed her girl's wavy hair, noticing loosely how it was wool soft that day and spacing out as her other hand looked for her partner's. Their eyes met.

"I suppose we should eat?" suggested Anabelle "I'm starving, I'll tell you I haven't grabbed a bite since lunch, really."

"Hm, all right... Where?" she smiled thinking about how she was a burger king person and Anabelle was most definitely the Starbucks type. It was even cliché. She couldn't help but feel glad Anabelle had given up being a vegetarian a little before they met, it was just a detail but Carole was terrified of the idea of having trouble even when choosing their food together. They couldn't be that different.

"Well... anywhere is fine" she tried to be nice, but her greedy eyes made it clear she had her cravings. Carole could only figure what she wanted and think about how she was her brother's goddamn copycat. Sometimes she seriously thought she was some sort of female version of him, except for his darker parts (which were so big a side of him that in the end you couldn't really consider Anabelle as his female counterpart).

"Right... well, with those goddamn huge lashes of yours I can only expect you to want to eat rainbow colored cupcakes or something like that. Or sit all hipster-like on Starbucks. Really, what would you like?" and with that Anabelle's expression changed, as if she tried to think about which act she'd pull off next. "Well?"

"Choose it, why not? Don't be my gentleman" she replied sincerely, no longer resting her head on Carole's shoulder, causing her to sigh.

"Hm... Burger king?" and, with that, Anabelle burst in laughter. Incredibly they seemed so predictable to each other, as if when exploring unknown lands their fears of being revealed were left behind. One needn't fear finding others' secrets to which they have no personal similarity.

"Yes" and, holding hands, they left that bench, that park, that afternoon into a sweet evening and then into an intimate night. They laughed and explored each other, they giggled and also rolled their eyes each others' manners, they lived that love. A love so pure as if they had never loved before.

In the present that was the taste of each other's lips.

[scribbles-from-belland]

Thinking with Angels

"I really feel like I've grown broken" she thought to herself alone in her room, smoking one of those damned cigarettes she had got herself sneakily addicted to inspite of all of her old childish beliefs, listening to that borrowed record she didn't think she'd like. Listening to those words she could barely understand in a language that wasn't her own, still, she caught some words in her first time, her ears had grown used to English. 

The chorus echoed in her mind in faint words. All she really knew was "being in love with you as I am" and it still sounded so fucking melancholic. So fucking sad. She always had that big instinct of fighting back her own tears, of trying to pretend she was strong and not at all girly, but deep inside it wasn't as simple as that. Feelings existed in many different shapes of grey, not in black and white. And that's how her existence was as well. It was difficult to understand what she had become, what she was feeling right then. It was even interesting to realize she had come to like this music style she would have found so boring in her teens, yet nowadays it'd make her get in touch with feelings that were so hidden inside of herself. Feelings of being way more complicated than she'd like to believe she was. In her own perception she was supposed to be like a man, not as a real man, but as she felt the man in herself should be. Simple. Strong. Straightforward. Not at all girly. Not oversensitive. Not overcomplicated. Not at all "gay". And by gay she really didn't mean homossexual. She sighed, wondering why she'd come to have such deep thoughts on herself. Wondering why exactly she still had to think it over while the answer was that she really hadn't figured herself out yet, as much as she'd act with resolve. Carole had decided to be that kind of a woman who knows what to do while being completely helpless in truth. 

Traces of suspension points and question marks were left all over her being. All over her life. And while she tried to move forward it all always got back in her mind, those senseless question marks, those numb suspension points... It was as if she kept pulling herself together every day, resolved to be a true and complete human being with nothing left behind, and yet all her pieces kept straying, scattering away. 

She rest her head on the couch. Closing her eyes. Sighing. Coming back to the real world once more. Wondering why she had to wonder once more. Thinking about bills to pay, songs to write, work to do. Thinking about that girl that caused all this reflection to start once she heard those lyrics of love, about how she should just call her to make amends and maybe erase those sickening worries she's had lately. Thinking about going to her place, smiling a bit, laughing, fighting, embracing each other, kissing, sleeping together, waking up in the middle of at the night and staring at the moonlight and thinking about work and bills to pay again, but this time with one less worry to fill her mind. It ached in her chest to think that maybe things wouldn't be so easily solved. That maybe she wouldn't answer the call. That maybe they wouldn't make up. And who knows she couldn't go to her place either... She lay down, holding her cellphone. She stared at the ceiling. And her eyes filled up with tears when she couldn't just bring up the courage to call her. Why not? She started crying so pitifully, pitifully because she hated her own need to shed tears. It always got the other girl angry, the way Carole'd resolve not to be this weak and then break down suddenly. It'd always make her say things as "Why couldn't you just admit you wanted to cry earlier? You're even more of a crying baby girl than me and you know it. Why isn't it okay?". Carole laughed when she remembered her saying "Look, you're boyish and that's just great, but you don't have to act like you're a man. Like a man is supposed to be. I don't want any of that. I want you. I don't want someone to swallow their own tears and hold doors open for me. I want you." And just as she thought all of that it all became too unbearable, too sudden. She couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand how much she missed her right then. Could she call? What could she say? Just give in to her tears and tell her she had been crying? Everything inside of her wanted to give in to that comfort and just be held like a little child. She remembered how she realized over time that her mother would get too worked up when she'd go through hardtimes, inspite of all the support she was willing to give. She remembered how she wanted to act cool in front of her dad as a way to support him too. She wondered if all that effort really was worth anything, it wasn't like her brother couldn't pull off having problems and not keeping them to himself entirely. It was more like he couldn't keep them to himself. But she shrugged off that thought. She didn't want to be like him ever. And that's why she was different, for balance. But was that all the truth there was to life? Being the way she was just so she'd be the opposite of her brother? Were everyone an extension of her family, somehow? Drew wasn't... and just like that, she calmed herself down. Drew. He lent her that record. She smiled and then giggled briefly, feeling so serene all of a sudden. The bastard making her like all this weird music. And, just like that, she sat up, putting her cigarrete off. 

She had better punch him in the face for lending her such a trippy CD. And then by her own copy. And maybe he'd know just by looking at her that she really liked it. Maybe he'd know just by looking at her that it made her find a bit of herself in it. And hopefully she'd have her girlfriend back to tell a story about the next day.

It was all to be decided in that phonecall. Or a text message she'd send that day.

And then, who knows, she'd be able to smile, laugh, fight, embrace each other, kiss, sleep together and worry about work once more that day? Who knows?

[scribbles-from-belland]

Random

"You're like... a less impressive Twiggy" said Étienne bluntly as his sense of what was appropriate flew away. Celine raised her eyebrows in a questioning manner, eyeing him as her tipsy mind looked for a reaction.

"...Should I take this as a compliment?" she chuckled between her closed smiling lips, and in a way she couldn't comprehend it was as if her eyes longed and flirted with Étienne against her will. She always thought he was so girly and unexpected(*), she couldn't see what could be attractive about him, she could barely even accept it.

"...well, yes..." he eyed her back quite blankly. For some reason her breath deepened and she fought for her senses to get back in place, as those feelings were nonsense. she meant for him to be only a friend. "No... but... really, I see..." she swallowed dry "you're pretty, I mean, beautiful" he said, although he was very confused with his words his voice would always come out quite softly. "At least his voice wasn't gay", she thought. 

"Well, thanks. You're..."

"Clara Bow?" he interrupted her with a guess, cocking one eyebrow and squinting.

"Oh... not what I was about to say but..." and that was true, the resemblance was there. There always always something on his appearance that called out to her, but he was always so full of piercings and flamboyant clothing she couldn't really set her mind to what it was. But yes, Clara Bow... how enchanting... interesting... she felt like a lesbian, her cheeks blushing ever so softly as she tried to compose herself after a minute of staring at him in awe. She cleared her throat trying to think of something to say, but as her eyes went back to him he stared at her. One couldn't keep composure with Étienne's full eyes set on them. They were too big for that. "Err..." her voice came out, but there was nothing to say. Étienne's mind drifted away, for a while, which definetely felt longer for Celine, he'd be quiet and quite surely not really there. But suddenly he smiled and touched her hand, caressing it.

"Nice, huh? We'd be quite the lesbian couple of the last century." as sudden as it was, it kind of answered Celine's expectations. All she could do was sigh and just wait for what would come next.

[scribbles-from-belland]

Reflexão de Nariya em um dia de inverno

A fumaça embaçava o vidro naquele natalino dia de Inverno. Ironicamente eu observava as luzes quentes que iluminavam a cidade, luzes tais que pareciam se esforçar intimamente para aquecer os corações de quem as observava. No fundo da minha mente isso parecia atrair memórias de infância, tempo no qual tal esforço parecia funcionar. Atualmente, ou desde um longo tempo, tudo o que eu mais sentia era um vazio, e nesse momento tal sensação parecia atenuar-se. Eu me sentia tão vazia que mal podia revirar minhas memórias atrás de momentos que poderiam despertar empatia por mim mesma. Minhas lágrimas caiam copiosamente, lentamente, mas minha expressão se mantinha séria, dura. Pareço ter me tornado uma pessoa extremamente amarga. 

Suspirei. E minha respiração continuava a embaçar o vidro. E então a fumaça do outro cigarro que acendi. Eu fumava e fumava, em pé, de frente para essa grande janela que só exibia neve e prédios fechados e iluminados pelo Natal. Era como se houvessem diferentes dimensões, uma para mim e outra para o resto do mundo, e somente cruzando portais eu poderia chegar lá. Eram claros os sinais de existência humana fora dali, mas todas as portas estavam fechadas pra mim. Olhei para baixo e então fechei meus olhos. As lágrimas estavam finalmente secando. Considerei, por um momento, ligar para meu único e melhor amigo. Mas não quis. Por mais que ele dissesse entender e ter empatia, eu me sentia tão só que não havia sentido em procurar ninguém. Ninguém. Olhei severamente para a janela uma última vez, e então me virei contra ela e me sentei no sofá. Encarei o teto. Encarei minhas possibilidades. Pensei na viagem que faria no dia seguinte para passar o Natal com a minha família. Pensei em fingir que tudo estava bem e que eu simplesmente queria rejeitar o resto do mundo, quando na verdade o resto do mundo me rejeitava. E continuei fumando meus cigarros, um atrás do outro. Pensei em minha maquiagem provavelmente borrada... E ri breve e silenciosamente, antes de voltar a chorar.

Era interessante como essas sequências aconteciam, parecia que o simples ato de rir provocava tal humanidade em mim que não poderia ser seguida de outra coisa se não as lágrimas, porque tudo em mim despertava isso. Eu era um ser humano desesperado e falso. Eu sou um ser humano desesperado e falso, que cresce e envelhece e segue só por não conseguir se relacionar com as pessoas, não conseguir evitar uma aparência odiosa para o mundo. Meu amigo sempre me diz que eu sou uma pessoa boa... Mas... Era além disso. Havia um vazio dentro de mim que eu sentia que iria morrer comigo. Um vazio e um peso. Uma sina. E eu tentava calcular quando me tornei essa criatura solitária, mas parecia ser antigo demais. Acho que nunca fui sequer uma boa criança, quem sabe? Toda a arrogância se afunda na solidão. E apesar do estopim de todo o meu recente sofrimento ter sido a simples despedida, a rejeição de um homem... eu mal podia pensar nele agora. Aconteceu há tão pouco tempo atrás... horas, ou minutos, eu não poderia dizer. Mas me sinto tão distante disso e tão próxima da eternidade de minha situação. Não vejo a minha vida pelos olhos dessa mulher que foi rejeitada por essa específica pessoa, mas pelos olhos de mim mesma, vivendo dentro da prisão de meu próprio e detestável comportamento.

Sempre me afastando dos outros e agindo com imponência, eu trato-os como inferiores, mas a cada dia sou consumida por mim mesma. É patético, realmente. E com todo o meu orgulho, dá vontade de chorar. Não é incomum, mas poucos saberiam. É por isso que estou assim. Porque poucos saberiam. Eu acho que não sei amar, mas continuo sabendo me apaixonar, como uma tola. Sei também sofrer pela ausência de amor, por mais que siga a cada dia como se fosse normal. E não saberia dizer se foi o caminho que escolhi ou só uma condição irrefutável. 

Eu penso na minha irmã. Seus cabelos permanecem naturais, diferente dos meus, e sua pele é pouco maquiada, diferente da minha. Assim como suas roupas expressam mais simplicidade, e apesar de conter certa arrogância em seus pensamentos, possui um jeito muito mais aberto de lidar com as pessoas uma vez que pode conversar com elas extrovertidamente, e pode viver. Aparentemente ela vai se casar, ter filhos. E eu verei ela amanhã, ela e seu noivo. É um pouco ridículo para mim ver isso. As vezes eu sinto inveja de sua situação, por mais que quando eu pense cuidadosamente eu saiba que eu nunca estaria no lugar dela, mesmo que tivesse a chance. Nem sequer gosto muito de meu cunhado, ou ele goste de mim. Mas é justo por esses defeitos que é ridículo. Eu posso criticá-los para sempre, mas eles estão encaminhados e não eu. Eu estou só e até meu querido amigo enxerga em mim essa inabilidade. E mesmo esse meu amigo consegue se relacionar. E se magoar, mas sempre se apaixonar e sempre apaixonar outras pessoas. E eu penso em todo o seu ódio-próprio e chego a rir de como a vida é injusta e de como ele é incapaz de enxergar o quanto é amado. E então eu odeio a mim mesma. 

Eu me acompanho de bonecas, por toda a casa, desde criança. É uma obsessão, realmente. E então notei que já era tempo de ir para casa, me enchendo de repugnância por aquele apartamento onde estava. Me sentia doente a cada segundo que respirava aquele ar com consciência de onde estava e, conforme vestia meu casaco e procurava minha bolsa, sentia que iria vomitar a qualquer instante. Saí cambaleante, buscando em meu celular o número de qualquer companhia de táxi. Sentia uma saudade crescente de minhas bonecas. De minha vazia casa, decorada minunciosamente para me sentir dentro de meus sonhos na medida do possível. E no táxi eu sentia lágrimas secas em meus olhos quentes... eu sentia a solidão do meu patético ser.

[scribbles-from-belland]

So if anybody is actually going to read this blog I'd like to say from the start that I'm not only going to post narratives in here. I may actually just post some character-related thought that I had out of the blue that nobody would care about, so yeah.

[scribbles-from-belland]

The Death

“Why are you telling me this?!”  Étienne cried out, in tears, in anger, in frustration, in misery. He couldn’t accept what he was listening, it wasn’t possible. And any way he didn’t know, his mind would blow if he tried to think about it, if he wanted to believe his ears or not. That behavior was expected from Hugo. That low person was able of anything, but it simply hurt too much to heart that, more than words could ever say. More than any stroke of his brush could ever describe. “Why?” he cried again, this time in a moany tone, as his legs started trembling and he barely had any strength to stand on them anymore, as hard as he tried.

“Because it’s true, Éti…” Hugo tried to say, but his words were immediately cut by a senseless scream from Étienne, who was now falling on his knees and pulling his hair as if to tear it from his head.  And that did happen to some of it.

His sobs echoed in the room like an omen. It was as if the world had stopped and with it all of its sounds, and if such a thing was possible all the colours would go to shades of grey… it was as if death awaited then. As if it was going to come in that room with a reaping hook at any point and kill them mercilessly, without any time for final words.  It felt precisely like that.

And suddenly all of the songs were playing again. All the songs. Étienne still couldn’t believe it. He still couldn’t believe each love line Hugo dared to dedicate to him. He hated him for each and every word. He hated him for fucking with his brain. He hated him with all his strength for killing him from the inside and then spitting words of love. He hated him for crawling back to him. He hated him for being the one. He hated him. He hated him. He hated him. He couldn’t stop crying, and with every fibre of his body… it was repetitive.

Hugo couldn’t know what to say, whenever he tried to open his mouth he was interrupted by a sob. And the same happened when he tried to think. When he tried to breath.  And his chest was suddenly under a sea of bitterness, exploding. It was unbearable even for him, and what words could he use to describe anything? The lies had now blended in with the truth and any sense of reality had been stripped from them. There was no true version anymore. And no one could tell what feelings were real.

In that moment, both of them were in the waiting room for death and crows were flying around the ruins of their lives. And it didn’t matter if that moment would ever end, because in feelings it was eternal, and whenever they’d remember it it’d last forever. It was directly connected to another dimension in which time worked in a different way, it was embalmed to be exposed in the holy museum of misery, of death.

Étienne now covered and scratched his face, eventually yelling again. Falling on the ground. Having a breakdown. And as if in a picture, Hugo didn’t move a muscle, didn’t change his expression of pure astonishment and horror. He couldn’t do anything. He knew his existence in that moment brought nothing good to anyone and just in that moment, that macabre moment, he wondered about the value of his being. Just in those endless minutes of supreme pain his ego seemed to be taken from its altar and roughly thrown on the ground, humiliated, minimized, it was one of the rare moments of Hugo’s life in which he could look straight to the reflection of his soul, tainted with sins. And everything in him crumbled. But his body wouldn’t move. His legs wouldn’t move. Feeling as if his mind was slowly drifting away from his senses, from the world, as if at any moment he’d look at all that from above until he’d disappear inside of himself, into the world, into the void. As if he’d stop existing.

None of them could do anything to change that picture, until Étienne’s sobs seemed to finally find the calm of silence before the storm. His eyes shutting tight until the said words were muttered from his mouth of clenched teeth:

“Get out of here or I swear I could kill you.”

It took Hugo what felt like a couple of minutes to finally understand what had happened. His mind was abruptly pulled back to his body, his eyes widened slowly and for a while it didn’t even sink in that he was spoken to, but when it did, he knew it all. Still, he had to get back in sync with his body that didn’t want to move, as if he couldn’t even feel his legs. He tried to move them and just as abruptly he managed, and things happened so fast it felt like he had ran away. He couldn’t remember what happened in the middle of that, but when he felt like he existed again, when his day was not like a dream anymore, he was a few blocks away from Étienne’s apartment. Strangely, even with the death he suffered earlier that day, his life was still close to Étienne’s. Or maybe what he felt was just the reflection of dying together.