#The Boulders In my Life That Shaped My Journey | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whosingsofjoy · 11 months

Text

In a Sunroom of My Own Design

This is a very unstructured, stream of consciousness...thing! I wrote last night, just feel like sharing!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It's a weird feeling when you realize that you're becoming someone who you've never known you wanted to. It's a weird feeling to know myself, be myself, without feeling like I really really know myself. It's a certain kind of detachment, hard to describe. Who am I? I don't know. I guess I'm nice, and funny, sometimes overly passionate or enthusiastic, I'd do anything for my friends.

I like art, and by that I mean patterns and colors and stories. I like music, and by that I mean I feel invincible flying along the freeway with all the windows down. Sometimes, I feel like there is a ball of chaos wound tightly in my chest. And in some cases, the ball unwinds and that passion comes at the wrong time and I make mistakes, or feel like wandering the streets like a stray dog. And, I know that's okay. Sometimes. I sit in a sunroom of my own design and think of wishes.

I like stars, but not the real looking kind, the childish ones. And definitely not the ones my childhood neighbor taught me to draw. I am me by design. I am me by the choices I've made, and that's heavy sometimes. But, I make apple pie to share with my families, and sometimes just for myself. Or because I heard a song I really liked. I can make any place a home, I've done it so many times. Maybe it's easier, letting myself, my body, be my stable home. I cover the walls of my green apartment with love, on accident or maybe not.

I love change, and by that I mean I love getting to decorate and learn and become more of who I am. There's pain sometimes, of course, everyone feels it. I'm not sure if there is a way to fumigate those crawling worms. So maybe, I just move them outside. I can hold that pain gently, despite. I am grateful to experience what shapes me. I am grateful for the reminder that I am bigger than my mistakes, I am bigger than what has hurt me, I've made my life beautiful and I sit in a sunroom of my own design.

I am surrounded by color, everything I have is mine. It is me. I made this, and I made who I am. It was not my mother, or my father, or any of the other uncountable adult figures that have passed through my life. I decided to be kind. I decided to do what's right. I decided to care for myself even when its hard, I decided to stick it through with the people I love, especially when it's hard. I still make mistakes, and I wouldn't claim to be a saint, or even correct about most things. But I am good, and I don't think I ever cared too much about being bad. And by that I mean, not when someone or something I love is on the line. It's all relative. And I'm happy to have come to a place where I am glad to be who I am most of the time, and no one can make me feel ashamed for that. I've suffered my share, I have fought that sickly doubt. I am so much bigger than lazy expectations.

I am here on this earth to be me, recklessly. I am here to love, recklessly. I give everything my all and I will see it through. I used to describe myself as a boulder, but that doesn't really seem right. Too stagnant, when all I do is move. What is resilient, but not unmoving? Not predator, not prey? Maybe I'm more like the moss, that grows and lives, finds its way in so many places. Brings life where there might not be. Yeah, I guess that seems more right.

I think the simple fact is that I am me, I made me, and I might not know exactly who that is but there is so much joy to be found on this journey and until I know for sure, i'll just keep on going. Going and growing and loving and persisting and I'm gonna do it all.

In a sunroom of my own design

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

#poetry #journal #rambles #love #growth

5 notes · View notes

taetown410 · 1 year

Text

The Little Prince | W. Junhui

- Drabble

- Not Requested

- Not Beta-Read

Little Prince!Junhui is mysterious, to say the least. You met him in a dream you had. He would meet you in a garden of roses and lead you to a magical world in the clouds. But, right before you could see it, you would wake up. Then, things in your life started to remind you of him. Like when you look at the stars every night, you can only imagine how that world in your dreams would look.

As you drift off to sleep one night, you see the faint figure of a man through your window. You quickly clear your eyes and see that this man is familiar to you.

'Do you remember me?' The man asks. You see now that this is The Little Prince from your dreams. He's come to take you away to the world in the skies. He only approaches you once you give the okay, then he takes your hand, and you're suddenly flying on a tiny boulder in the shape of a planet.

Little Prince!Junhui doesn't ask you any further questions on the journey, but he turns to you smiling.

'You are my new friend. We will be together forever, and after that, too.' He looks at you as if he had known you for years.

Which he technically has, through dreams. Similar to you, he had dreams of a person who will make him feel less lonely. He had been very sad after the departure of his friend Rose!Minghao, but with you he would have a new friend.

All of a sudden, you come to an abrupt stop in between the clouds. You, confused, start to question what was happening. Little Prince!Junhui however, looks as calm as ever. In fact he steadily reaches a hand over one of the clouds and blows on it. As he does this, the clouds then disperse in a flurry of star dust and magic. He looks back at your bewildered face and takes your hand gently as he steps off the rock and begins walking through the clouds.

This is usually the part of your dream where you wake up, so you pinch your arm to check if you're still conscious. Little Prince!Junhui assures you that you aren't asleep, and that this is very real.

The two of you keep walking and are met with a giant gate that protects the world in which he resides. He gives you a quick affirming glance and calls in a special language that you wouldn't even try to understand.

'Let us in!' He calls, 'I bring a friend'. The gates then open with the sound of faeries singing through them.

You are met by an officer by the name of Seungcheol, and are being led to a castle. Then you feel fuzzy as you wake up in a strange place.

The land from you deam was real, and you now resided in it. The doors to the room or opened attentively, whoever was on the other end must be considerate of who they might be waking.

You are met with Storyteller!Seungkwan as he slight opens the door.

'The Little Prince', he starts, 'He requests your presence in the hall' He then waits for you to get your barings and accompanies you down to the hall.

Little Prince!Junhui looks at you with soft eyes and says, 'I've waited for your return to our home .'

To Be Continued...

a/n: she lives! This was something that came into my head today and thought, why not. I usually save bigger writings (in my standards) like this to be written over time, but I squeezed this out in one (two) days. should i make this a series, i lowkey like the concept (I would actually write about this one, as it's shorter, and I have more free reign with storytelling).

ps: i might hold off on the dream of me in wonderland story, because it's a really big project, and i get intimidated by lots of writing. so until further notice, dream of me in wonderland is to be determined.

#taetown410 #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #jun imagines #jun fluff

5 notes · View notes

mightyaphrodytee · 1 year

Text

There were a few times in my life when music changed for me—what I responded to changed slowly over time, but yeah, there were definite infusions of NEW that veered off on paths maybe not so well-trodden, but that nonetheless stood out as touchstones in my ~~~dramatic half-whisper~~~ journey through 🎶MUSIC 🎼

1977: Heard the best of what’s now considered “classic rock” as it existed at the time, when it was just called “Rock” or “Heavy Metal” or “Prog.” Bands like Rush, Boston, Yes, Queen, Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Pink Floyd, that didn’t get a lot of airplay on the Top 40 stations I’d exclusively listened to. It was thrilling. I caught up on ten years of ignorance in like, 9 months. But I kinda missed out on punk because of that immersion, thanks to my new besties.

1982: Heard my first indie/alternative (“new wave” to some) music and fell hard. The Cure, The English Beat, Joy Division, Kim Wilde, Elvis Costello, U2, Talking Heads, etc. when we moved to Colorado. The availability of some truly esoteric indie music via the Boulder station KBCO was legendary. We had three or four stations in addition to that one! Spoiled! The eighties, man. R.E.M.!!! The music in the clubs was what was on the radio was what was on MTV—you couldn’t escape it, so this huge subset of the rock-listening population were all listening to the big hits at the same time. Madonna, Dire Straits, The Eurythmics, Prince, Duran Duran, Pretenders, Bon Jovi. EVERYBODY knew the hits of the eighties.

1991: Heard “Smells Like Teen Spirit” on the car radio driving through Austin, and both my companion and I were immediately silenced by that intro, and by the end, we were like “What just happened?” just in total delight/light shock…did he really just scream about a mulatto? Who talks like that in 1991, sir? But we just immediately knew this was gonna be huge, and it was, and then came grunge and grunge-lite for the rest of the decade. Soundgarden, STP, Bush, Incubus, Alice In Chains, Pearl Jam, Nirvana (for such a goddamned short time, it’s insane to look back and realize we had so few years with him!)

For some people, life is unbearable without having their consciousness altered in some way. Drugs being one of those ways.

2003: Heard “Caring Is Creepy” by The Shins on a 4-hour “New Alternative” loop XM Radio had handed out as a free trial. Those songs on that loop woke me up to the possibility of new sounds that hit that same place in me as the best of the 80’s and 90’s. I remember Doves “Pounding”, which was used in an episode of The Consultant on Amazon Prime just this week (I shrieked!), “Silver Spoon” by Bis, “Shapes” by The Long Winters, The Postal Service, Death Cab For Cutie…wish I could remember them all. Bruce Springsteen’s Magic album had a song that was my most played for a few years in the aughts—“Radio Nowhere”, which I first heard on that XM trial loop and loved so much I bought the whole album. On iTunes. Still have it. Saw Garden State, heard “Caring Is Creepy” on the soundtrack (again—i shrieked!), and “New Slang,” and fell for them even harder.

Now I listen to what I used to hate (classic rock), but my fairly narrow preference window means I don’t SAY I listen to classic rock, because except for YouTube, I only listen to Radiohead, some Tool, some Metallica most days.

My life is now just mainly Radiohead with a few dollops of all the songs I’ve loved before, from every decade that rock and roll has been rock and roll with ALL its subgenres, heavy on Tool and Metallica as of late.

I can’t even tell what popular music today even is. It all sounds like video game background to me.

Will you still need me

Will you still feed me

When I’m 64?

3 notes · View notes

shukuchiisms · 1 year

Text

The fabled mountain (HuaHuo)

In my many travels on these lands of magic and beauty, I saw my fair share of fantastique myths, some turned out to be real and some turned out to be an exceptional waste of time. But None intrigued me more than the myth of a living mountain capable of walking.

The fable tells of a warrior goddess that sculpted a whole mountain in the resemblance of a fox using nothing but her sword, then using her mighty magic, breathed life into her creation by summoning an ancient spirit to dwell in it. The part with the goddess and stuff sounds a bit too over the top to me, but who knows? I've seen weird stuff before…

I packed my equipment and started my trip to the southern area where locals claimed the Living Mountain has been most recently sighted, so I could investigate this so-fabled place.

Took me a week to arrive at the valley from my previous position, fortunately, I was not that distant when I received the reports. Even at this distance, I can already confirm that the majestic mountain indeed has the shape of a giant fox. I'm so excited to explore it that I will set camp here for the night just so I can sketch it!

It took me two more days of journey to arrive at the foot of the mountain from my previous campsite, When I arrived at the dark basalt pathway that lead to the summit, it was already night. Strange fox statues dotted the whole path, each one with a lantern in its mouth. Red flames ignited by themselves each time I approached one…

I kept following up the dark basalt stone path till the next morning, and to my surprise, I had stumbled into a paradise! The giant cherry trees in full bloom had flowers and leaves made of pure crystal that looked more like handcrafted jewels. When the sun passed through them a pink-reddish glow took over the landscape with a blinding shine. [Probably what causes the characteristic color of the mountain when looked at from afar]. Approaching those magnificent trees I had yet another surprise, even their fruits are made of pure crystal. I obviously, took my time to take with me as many flowers and cherries as I could carry! Imagine if I had brought my crew with me. I would be a rich man by now!

Moving further into the mountain, with my backpack full of riches, I found a lake as red as blood, at the beginning I was afraid it was indeed blood but with further inspection, I noticed the color was coming from both the plants growing into the lake as well as from the water reflecting the diffused light coming from the crystal cherry trees.

From among those exotic plants growing in the waters, there was one that stood out more than the others, a 'blood lotus' it's natural shine, like little flames, coming from the black pattern on the petals drew me in like some kind of spell and I couldn't move my gaze from them until a soft, velvety voice called for me in the distance. and the next thing I knew I was about to fall into the lake!

And this is where I meet the beauty that would be my guide, that revealed to me the first secret of this place, those Lotus were carnivorous, and uses a pheromone to attract their prey, that's why I was completely drawn in by them. Good thing this woman was there to save my life!

With her help, my journey became much safer and smoother…

Mythrila moon crystals:

Giant red floating crystals beaming with an energy I can only describe as magical. My guide told me they are capable of storing both energy and information and are the backbone of this place's technology. Connecting both the security system as well as all the many devices around the mountain and powering the diverse constructs.

Mythrila golems:

Yue told me the mistress of this mountain constructed those with her own hands, to serve as a security system. With their unique design, I almost confused one with a stone boulder. They're sculpted from a substance called mythrila and brought to 'life' by infusing the fragments of moon crystal on their inside with something called 'command memories'. Capable of both immensurable physical strength on melee as well as attacks at distance using a stunning magic beam, they are formidable indeed. [Although Yue told me that they are prone to a failure that causes them to explode if they overheat during their functioning].

Fox-fire moths:

At first glance, one could swear those are just part of the place's ecosystem, just regular moths. It was only after meeting my guide that I discovered that those are in fact energy constructs, that just like the golems, are powered by those giant crystals dotting the landscape. Those are used both as distraction towards possible intruders [very effective if I say so myself] as well as a form of silent alarm to awaken the golems. I never thought such refined constructs are possible, even more ones made of pure energy without any physical parts…It's INCREDIBLE!

Teburo Ikkaris:

A ghost, Jellyfish-like creatu- I mean, construct. (They are so impressive I keep forgetting they are not a product of nature but made by the hands of a woman)Programmed to perform manutention and simple day-to-day tasks, like cleaning the place, etc. But don't underestimate those, as they can and will protect themselves just like an actual Jellyfish. (My fingers still burn from trying to touch one of those earlier).

Luminescent birds:

It was still night when I first approached the fabled living mountain. My eyes were bombarded with traces of red-pinkish lights. At first, I thought I was being attacked by some kind of weapon, but after close inspection, I could notice those lights seemed to dance around before perching on nearby trees. It was only then that I could see that those lights that moved so fast were nothing but birds! My guide later told me that those birds are native to this mountain, and since they always return home no matter how far they travel, the locals tend to use them as both 'message birds' as well as guides to find their way back.

Sakura [Three-tailed spirit]:

It was not the first time I have seen those three-tailed foxes in my life. They're rather common around the northern plains of this land, even if they didn't have marble-colored fur like this one. What surprised me about this specific one is that instead of using its shape-shifting abilities to try to run or hide from me, it just stood there looking at me with a curious gaze, a very uncommon behavior for this species. Miss Yue told me then, that this particular fox was named Sakura, and that even though it was still wild, it acted like a kind of familiar for the mistress of the mountain, never straying too far from her in any situation. And that its strange behavior was the fruit of this relationship.

Quin Yue:

Not long after I set foot on the mountain, I was greeted by a beauty! Her silver and black long wavy hair and those blue cat-like eyes were mesmerizing. She had tiger-like features the most prominent ones being a tail and ears, it took me some time to snap back to reality and wave back to her. After speaking to her, she finally conceded me her name, Quin Yue. She offered to be my guide while I visited the mountain, an offer that I was more than glad to take. During our stroll around Huahuo [that's what the locals call the fabled living mountain] She not only imparted invaluable information about the place but also told me her story. Being a half-blood her life was not easy, her tribe [that's what they call their clans here] banished her while she was still a kid, and she was later captured by bandits and sold as an attraction for a circus, thanks to her shapeshifting powers. And that she was later saved by the mistress of this mountain, now she serves as a confident, and as a steward of said mistress.

My previous notes got all messed up, all thanks to me having to rewrite some portions of them, but I will not complain. With My good looks and conversation skills, I managed to not only make Miss Yue more affectionate towards me but also to reveal secrets about this place's defenses. When my crew arrives, I might keep her around after I overthrow the so-called mistress of the mountain, then when this place becomes mine. I will explore every natural resource until I can count money no more!

Finally, I can meet this so-called "mistress of the mountain" From the way Miss Yue talks about her, one might think she is some kind of local divinity instead of a person. [Maybe she is the fount of the goddess bits of the myths?]

Anyway, I and Miss Yue followed Sakura till its mistress, then I was introduced to a woman even more beautiful than Miss Yue herself! Green eyes that could make any emerald crumble in jealousy, Her aqua-silver hair silkier than fresh snow into a lake. Those fox features compliment her stunning appearance even more, And her voice is so soft and velvet-like that she sounds like a dream! Maybe I should reconsider my first plan of selling her and Yue for the slave market, those two have some potential, after all.

She's vain and proud of her accomplishments, while we chatted away, Miss Luna [that's was the name of the so-called mistress of the mountain], told me more about the constructs and machinery I saw around the mountain with Miss Yue, talking to her feels no different than talking to a high scholar from back my hometown, a true genius [It would be no surprise whatsoever if this mountain actually could move itself thanks to one of her machines], too bad all her realizations will be mine in just some days…bad for her that is!

My curiosity got the better of me during our conversation and I asked if she was truly alright with her Stewart revealing so many of her secrets to a complete stranger like me, She just smirked and replied that it was fine, after all, I wouldn't be able to remember a thing after that night. Yeah, Like it would happen! And even if she poisoned me with alcoholic drinks all night, I have it all registered in my notes! Either way, I better keep my guard up this night.

She indeed came to visit me in my camp that same night, but the way she was dressed, I don't think she wants trouble, she motioned to me to be quiet, and th---

The next day:

Good Morning Lady Luna, I take it that the dinner I prepared was meet your refined tastes, right?

Perfect work as always, the taste was just right, and the amount of knowledge was just impeccable! One of the best meals you ever brought. I just need one more favor, darling

Yes, Lady Luna?

When you get to throw the trash out, remember to keep the scrolls, I liked the art on them~

Of course, But what about our other guests? Should I be meeting with them too?

No need, I will take care of them myself later, thank you.

#long post #long #hc #lore #luna #huahuo #home #followers

5 notes · View notes

tictoctattoo · 6 months

Text

Transform Your Pond into an Oasis

Transforming your pond into an oasis is a gratifying endeavor that combines creativity, ingenuity, and a touch of nature's magic. Whether you're envisioning a serene retreat, a vibrant ecosystem, or a picturesque focal point for your garden, this guide will equip you with the knowledge and inspiration to realize your vision.

Understanding Your Pond's Potential

Before diving into the transformation process, it's crucial to assess your pond's current state and potential. Consider its size, shape, surroundings, and existing flora and fauna. Understanding these elements will guide your design decisions and ensure harmonious integration with the landscape.

Planning Your Oasis

Choosing the Right Plants

Bold, lush vegetation is the cornerstone of any pond oasis. Opt for a diverse selection of aquatic plants, including water lilies, lotus, water hyacinths, and cattails. These plants not only enhance the aesthetic appeal but also provide vital habitat and oxygenation for aquatic life.

Incorporating Natural Elements

Integrating natural elements such as rocks, boulders, and driftwood adds texture, depth, and authenticity to your oasis. Arrange these elements strategically to mimic the natural landscape and create visually captivating focal points.

Enhancing Water Quality

Installing a Filtration System

A reliable filtration system is essential for maintaining optimal water quality and clarity in your pond oasis. Consider investing in a high-quality biofilter or UV clarifier to remove impurities and prevent algae growth, ensuring a healthy ecosystem for your aquatic inhabitants.

Monitoring Water Parameters

Regularly monitor water parameters such as pH, ammonia levels, and dissolved oxygen to ensure a balanced and thriving ecosystem. Test kits are readily available and provide valuable insights into the health of your pond.

Adding Aquatic Life

Introducing Fish and Wildlife

Adding fish such as koi, goldfish, or mosquito fish not only adds vibrancy and movement to your pond but also helps control algae and mosquito populations. Additionally, consider attracting beneficial wildlife such as frogs, dragonflies, and turtles to further enhance the ecological balance of your oasis.

Creating Habitat Zones

Designate specific areas within your pond to serve as habitat zones for different species. Incorporate shallow shelves for marginal plants, deeper areas for fish and aquatic mammals, and floating platforms for amphibians and waterfowl.

Maintaining Your Oasis

Regular Maintenance Tasks

Maintaining your pond oasis is essential for preserving its beauty and functionality. Schedule routine tasks such as water testing, plant pruning, and debris removal to prevent nutrient buildup and maintain water clarity.

Seasonal Considerations

Be mindful of seasonal changes and their impact on your pond oasis. Adjust maintenance routines, feeding schedules, and plant care practices accordingly to ensure year-round enjoyment and sustainability.

Transforming your pond into an oasis is a rewarding journey that requires careful planning, creativity, and ongoing maintenance. By following the guidelines outlined in this comprehensive guide, you can create a captivating sanctuary that enriches your outdoor space and fosters a deeper connection with nature.

FAQs

1. How do I prevent algae growth in my pond oasis?

To prevent algae growth, ensure proper filtration, limit nutrient runoff from surrounding areas, and consider adding algae-eating fish such as koi or goldfish. Additionally, incorporate shade-providing plants and maintain balanced water parameters to discourage algae proliferation.

2. What are the benefits of incorporating wildlife into my pond oasis?

Introducing wildlife such as frogs, dragonflies, and turtles not only adds biodiversity and natural beauty to your oasis but also helps control pest populations and promote a healthy ecosystem. These species contribute to nutrient cycling, pollination, and pest management, enhancing the overall sustainability of your pond.

3. How can I make my pond oasis more energy-efficient?

To make your pond oasis more energy-efficient, consider investing in solar-powered pumps and aerators, which reduce reliance on traditional energy sources and minimize operating costs. Additionally, opt for energy-efficient LED lighting and implement water-saving practices such as rainwater harvesting and drip irrigation to conserve resources and reduce environmental impact.

#backyard waterfalls #water feature #pond #backyard pond

0 notes

claylowe · 1 year

Text

Sunday morning contemplation

The house is quiet. I’m drinking coffee and eating Lotus Biscoff biscuits. I’m ruminating on a quest I’ve been on for years. A quest no less significant than Homer’s own. Yet somehow I feel more like Sisyphus pushing his boulder up the hill than Odysseus trying to find his way home. I feel stuck in a cosmic game of hide-and-seek with my soul.

My soul has been a fugitive for years, expertly hidden in the house of mirrors that is my subconscious. I can sense it lurking somewhere between dream and daylight, coyly peeking around the corners of consciousness like a child aware of its inherent value, aware that the game is meaningless if it’s too easily won.

I’m in search of a fuller comprehension of the universe, but it’s not just intellectual satisfaction I’m after. When I say I’m seeking a ‘lifeline,’ I mean a thread of wisdom, a trail of breadcrumbs that not only informs but transforms. I’m yearning for experiences that shift my paradigm, that turn my understanding inside out and force me to see the world differently. This is not merely about accumulating facts or philosophies; it’s about internal change, like a caterpillar metamorphosing into a butterfly. I’m hunting for those ah-ha moments where I can almost hear the audible click of a puzzle piece snapping into place, where suddenly the abstract becomes tangible, and I find myself a step closer to the spiritual wholeness I’ve been chasing.

Between language and thought falls the shadow for me, a gap where words often fail to capture the full essence of my contemplations. It’s like trying to paint the complexities of a sunset with only primary colours; the palette of human language sometimes feels insufficient. This shadow is both frustrating and fascinating. It’s frustrating because it represents the limits of my ability to articulate these vast concepts I grapple with. Yet, it’s fascinating because it’s within this shadowy realm that the inexpressible resides–emotions, realisations, and epiphanies that defy straightforward explanation. This shadow becomes a sanctuary of nuance, a space that invites me to dig deeper, to refine my understanding, and to stretch the boundaries of both thought and expression.

Each layer of complexity I unravel in the quest for my elusive soul adds a new hue to the spectrum of my understanding. This journey collapses time in a way that defies the linear constraints we often associate with life’s progressions. Each moment of search, every flicker of insight, isn’t just a point on a timeline; it’s a layer, an overlapping of past, present, and future possibilities. It’s as if every question I ask in my quest unearths memories that shape my present understanding while simultaneously casting ripples into the future, creating a complex tapestry of interconnected experiences. Time, in this sense, becomes more of a spiral than a straight line, each loop a revisitation and refinement of what has been and what is yet to come..

In the end, I’ve come to understand that the heart of this cosmic game isn’t just about finding; it’s about the ceaseless, relentless act of seeking itself. The thrill of the quest doesn’t reside in a final ‘eureka’ moment but in the myriad ‘almost-there’ instances that propel me forward. As long as the ink continues to flow from the wellspring of my soul, as long as words continue to fill the vast emptiness with echoes of meaning, the search will not just continue–it will evolve. I am forever an explorer of the mind, mapping out uncharted territories within and vast landscapes far beyond the self. The terrain may change, but the quest is eternal. And so, like Sisyphus, I take joy in the journey, in the eternal push upwards, because therein lies the essence of existence itself I believe.

0 notes

ajuliejewelssmootphotograhy-blog · 5 years

Text

The Pain is Constantly There

The pain is constantly there in my left ankle, right knee and small of my back,

It never stops and reminds me

Of all of the traumas I have been through

It makes me feel all of the pain from being abused,

It reminds me of the surgery that I had on my ankle,

It reminds me of the trauma that happened at the same time,

My knee reminds me of the fights that I had

With my chain of…

View On WordPress

#courage #Dark #light #Poem #Speak your truth #The Boulders In my Life That Shaped My Journey #Write to Heal

0 notes

thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Filterless

Corpse Husband x Plus-sized Reader (Female)

Warnings: Body Image Insecurities, Low self-esteem, Swearing

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Feeling comfortable in her skin has hardly ever been the case for Y/N who’s been struggling with body image issues all her life. However, they only get worse when she sees the ‘type’ of girls her crush is into.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your request (hits close to home 😅) I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to fulfill it and post it but here it finally is and if you’ve stuck around long enough to read it, I hope you enjoy! ALSO! - Never forget how beautiful and amazing you are. Never compare your beauty to someone else’s. We’re all beautiful people and we all shine so brightly and uniquely. No one deserves to be compared to anyone when we’re all so different yet so incredible. Love you and appreciate you with all my heart, Vy ❤

If I ever need my ego taken down a few notches - it never does, it’s barely even present, to be honest - all I have to do is go on Instagram. To be honest, regardless of how I’m feeling, opening that app is bound to make my mood plummet and come crashing into the ground so hard it drives a hole in it - probably in the form of a broken heart.

Being a content creator myself, I often get asked questions about my absence on that social platform specifically. I mean, the questions are based and rational I guess, considering I’m not a faceless YouTuber and yet my Instagram account is void of any photos. It’s not like I don’t post at all - I do! I post on my story often but it’s more often than not scenery I find pretty or a poster I’ve made for a movie/video game. Bottom line is: I barely ever allow a picture of me to make it online. The most my fans are ever gonna get of me is a selfie which is also a super rare occurrence because of how long it takes me to take and choose one I don’t hate.

Ok, but how am I supposed to find the motivation to post any sort of picture of myself when on my timeline I’m always faced with people worthy of posting pictures of themselves. People with such perfect bodies and beautiful faces. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not jealous or envious of those people - good for them! They know what they’re working with and they’re working it well. I have nothing against them, in fact, I love seeing people proud of their bodies no matter their size, shape or weight. Those are my role-models: people who are proud of themselves, their bodies, their attributes and capabilities and don’t hesitate to show them off. Those are the people I look up to but, deep down inside I know I’ll never be like.

Insecure about my body, having been referred to as ‘chubby’ and ‘squishy’ all my life. Inappreciative of the stuff I do: starting from my job as a graphic designer leading towards my job on YouTube - nothing I do, professionally or otherwise, satisfies me. Nothing I do is enough in my eyes because I feel incapable of ever being able to do enough. I’ve been called lazy and a half-asser a few too many times to be able to brush it off as a meaningless insult.

With these problems I’ve had with myself and my own perception of who I am and the work I do, I’ve never had the time for romance or romantic relationships. I second-guess the intentions of everyone who ever shows any interest in me because in my mind I’m nothing special and I have nothing to offer - nothing attractive or likable at least. That being said, I haven’t even been one to make heart eyes at others either. I busy myself with my job and some side-gigs, brushing off any relationship questions with the excuse that I’m ‘just too busy to be in a relationship’ which is technically true.

Having spent twenty plus years with that mindset, one can imagine how surprised I was when I found myself catching feelings for someone. And that someone just couldn’t be any other than the biggest YouTube sensation at the moment - Corpse Husband.

I’m close friends with Poki - her and I were roommates at one point too - so her inviting me to play Among Us with them wasn’t so strange. One or two games, I thought, nothing unusual there, just friendly curtesy. I wasn’t expecting to warm up to the group of famous streamers nor did I expect them to welcome me among them so easily, mostly because my channel is so small and practically invisible to the YouTube algorithm. But soon enough, I became a permanent member of the team, making friends with every single one of those YouTubers I practically thought of a celebrities.

This journey of branching out to other content creators has proven itself to be surprisingly pleasant and has packed my book of friendships to the brim. All of that came unexpectedly, along with a wave of new subs and a higher view count. However, as I mentioned, it hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows. I came to finally understand what my high school friends were talking about when they were head over heels for a boy - the butterflies in the stomach whenever he speaks your name; the importance of the laugh you share with him, how special and different it is; how cool it is to be impostors with him - ok they never said that, obviously, but it’s what I have as a substitute to the ‘when the two of you make eye-contact’ bullshit since Corpse and I have never seen each other in person. That is, of course, because of him being a faceless YouTuber and me being a self-conscious and insecure girl.

We do talk all the time though - texting, calling, chilling on Discord, you name it. Our conversations range from deeply philosophical to ones that might mislead someone into thinking we’re high. There’s no topic we haven’t touched upon and yet we still manage to find something new to talk about. We have plenty of similarities but we also never seem to run out of differences we slowly come across as we keep getting to know each other better and better.

And somewhere along that journey I ended up catching feelings.

Human nature of wanting to connect with other people, I curse you for what you’ve done to me.

You might think I’m being overdramatic about the whole ordeal and that this is just a normal, natural occurrence many people experience in their life - some even daily. Well, not only am I far from used to it, but it’s also taking a toll of a different kind on me.

It’s like a constant slap to the face.

That slap turned into a punch when Corpse and I started following each other on Instagram and I started getting daily reminders of how out of my depth I am with this crush on him. In over my head, especially when you look at all those girls whose pics and videos he reposts on his story. Imagine how that makes me feel, what that does to me - puts me back into the ‘Constantly not good enough‘ basket, the one I’ve been fighting to get out of all my life. In the past and in different contexts I could easily say that it was all just my mind hating me intensely but now - now that I know for a fact I’m not good enough and don’t fit Corpse’s criteria - it hurts ten times as much. I’m not one to do shit for someone’s attention or to attract someone’s eyes, but it really hurts my feelings. Often times, it also leads me to doing dumb things and making rash decisions.

Like the one I made two days ago.

Imagine me cringing and shaking my head at my own stupidity as I admit this: I, in a frenzy, ordered a whole e-girl getup with overnight delivery.

Wait, hold up, it gets worse.

I received it yesterday and spent the whole day regretting that decision, but then, in my most insecure hours - which was somewhere around midnight - I equipped the get-up, took a picture and posted it on my Instagram page. First full body pic I’ve ever posted on there. First pic I’ve posted there of any kind. There to stay, not to be gone in twenty four hours. First pic, and it’s not even of me. It’s of who I want to be in order to fit someone’s criteria. And that fucking stings.

As you might imagine, I’ve spent today’s day regretting that decision as well. Recently my mood’s been nothing but regretting rash decisions that have surfaced under the influence of my ridiculous, constantly-present insecurities. And I would’ve probably gotten over it rather quickly had I not received a message from Corpse that read:

“Didn’t think of you with an e-girl aesthetic“

I didn’t open the message, I peeped at it as it was a notification on my lock screen. It’s still there, an unread notification. It’s been two hours since I received it and I cannot think of a single thing to say in response to that.

Truth is, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of so many things right now.

I’m afraid of becoming that girl in the photo, cause I’m most definitely not her.

I’m afraid of letting Corpse down by admitting I’m not her.

I’m afraid of what my own mind has made me do because it hates me so much and I’m terrified of what it might do in the future.

I’m afraid and stranded on things to do.

You can’t be her forever, you know. Being her won’t make your insecurities go away, it’ll only make them worse. Haven’t you learned that by now?

I sigh, frustrated and irritated with myself as I grab my phone and tap on the notification, finally deciding to face the music and allow my instincts to carry me through the interaction. Improvisation, that’s one of the few things I’m good at. Let’s hope it doesn’t fail me.

I’m just about to type out my response - not sure what it’s gonna say - when I give the message Corpse has sent me a second glance. I furrow my brows, finding there’s more to it than that peep through the notification let me see.

“Didn’t think of you with an e-girl aesthetic. You’re personality is so bright and colorful, I could’ve never imagined you were into the darks and blacks“

Because I’m not

I fail to realize until the message has been sent that my thoughts are exactly what I typed out and sent.

And honestly, I’m glad. It feels like I’ve spoken my truth, like I’ve lifted a huge boulder off my chest.

With that rare confidence in mind I go on and delete the picture.

In its spot, I post a picture I just now took - a mirror selfie in my homey get-up consisting of hot pink sweatpants and an oversized blue tee, my hair in a messy bun, my face free of make-up.

I caption it: ‘Oops, had the e-girl filter on for the last one. This is filterless me tho so...Hi 🥴’

A lot better, I’m surprised to hear my inner voice say. I hope I don’t get used to all this kindness on my brain’s part, probably won’t last, but damn if I don’t milk every second of it.

Just then, I receive a new message from non other than Corpse.

“Now that’s the girl I see when I think of you. She’s super cute 😉“

My, oh my, who would’ve guessed Corpse has a game like that - and by that I mean the ability to make me blush so intensely with only a text message.

Now ain’t that better than being someone else, Y/N?

It sure is, it sure is.

@maat-the-prescriptive @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @itsminniekat @hacker-ghost @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus @loraleiix @letsloveimagines @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help @enigmaticmaze @divine-artemis @waterlilypat @idontknowwhatthisisfam @evi-ka @classyandfabulous00 @redperson58 @lilysdaydreams @solowheein @mythicalamphitrite @axen-gers @luckygirl144 @nj01 @buddyemily @the-albino-lioness @stardream14 @gdhdkfnn @nomadicgypsyy @preciousskye @fluffysuicideunicornsworld @o-kaelin @manacharlotte @awkward-youtube-trash @lolalee24 @bonky-beerns @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian @strawbrinkofdeath @teenloves @tams0527 @browneyespinkhair @starstruckllamapuppy @daisychains012 @y0ulooked @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life @jula-pauline @melodykitty @just-that-bi-girl @crazybutconfidentaf @lowellshade @alphakees @bellero @weallneednamjesus @starryhanji @boiled-onionrings @husherstan @fockingwhore @melaningoddessthings @prettypastelpetals @haleypearce @godwhyamiawkward @y-napotat @daisychainyoonmin @little-miss-rebel3 @free-wheelin-bi-sexual @redmoon261 @darkacademic2 @wiseflamingoqueen @into-the-end @namikhai-i @nastiablr @thelittleplantlover @mirktuan @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny @vintagegothlover @easygoingtheatre @itsrandombooklover @miiaivi @emmybaybee @befourgolden @jjk-is-my-shit @eternalteaaars @spacebadgerx @princesslunalight @acequinn14 @samm48 @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa @fo-love @marishimomura-blog @therealglenncoco @cinnamonbun332 @killtherandomness @sanshinexxxsan @fee-btheweeb @press-lay @cathleenpotgieter16 @jazzydoesstuff @moonlxghtbay @forestrain2000 @hyunjinhugs @blood-of-fandoms @lovellylies @ukiyolixx @simpforhpcharacters @chrisdylan17 @parkerjisung @pedernille @theodonyous @wineandionysus @malfoystilinskii05 @morbid-x @coryisagee @jessewa26 @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365 @raeanneinwonderland @indecisive-empanada @gluttonypalace @loriane2503 @btsiguess-kpop @khaoticbunny @lucidlycactus @smiithys @rottenroyalebooks @kpopgirlbtssvt @fangirl-tc27 @fr0z3n-1 @notmesimpingfortechno @shotarosleftpinky @kunoi-chan @idk-whats-wrong-with-me @yikeroonie @goldenstarofthunderclan @poetry-and-tea @ama-do-writing-stuff @wishbonewolf @emeraldxhope @t0xick1tty @kusuinko @speakyourselfloveyourself @sophia902103 @lo-manburg @classsykittykat @dmgama @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee @btsiguess-kpop @akaashi-baby @gun-jong-simp @geschichtenfee @yerapotato-wp @browneyedgirl365 @thysagclub @sparklycloudnight @helloatomicshadow @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal @lucy-bunny17 @aaliyahh0 @katluckybear @boyleanti @straybids @franchesca-791 @cosmicstorm19 @averyisbackinthetrashcan @aomi-nabi @xlanawriter @allensimpsforcorpse

274 notes · View notes

pillage-and-lute · 4 years

Text

The Courting Ways of Wolves (Part 2)

It’s back! Dumb boys in love! Also Grandpa Vesemir gets some feels and Geralt does some math. Part 1, (here) Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Watching Winter at Kaer Morhen melt into early spring was always a beautiful process, but this year brought Geralt trepidation as well. Watching Ciri train had been wonderful, helping her learn the basics kept all the wolves on their toes, for the first time in many years actually thinking about motions that normally came from muscle memory.

Yennefer had flourished into her role as “Aunty Yen,” not sweetly nurturing, the way one often thought about with children, but a clever tongue and tough love that Ciri, granddaughter of the Lioness, seemed completely at home with.

Geralt was doing his best too. Ciri had started calling him dad about halfway through the winter, the first time happening at dinner and he’d very nearly choked on his ale. It sent something warm running through his veins every time, like good brandy that burned all the way down.

He was trying, words still didn’t come naturally, but somehow Ciri always seemed to be able to see exactly what he meant. Maybe it was Destiny, maybe just a hurt, lost child clinging to whoever was consistent in her life, but Geralt hoped it was more. More than anything, he hoped Ciri truly understood how cared for she was, not just by himself, but all the wolves, Jaskier, and Yennefer.

Ciri had whispered to him one day, still panting after training, asking if he thought Yen would mind if she called her mom.

Geralt had replied that he didn’t think Yennefer would mind at all.

Yennefer came to him later, a tender look in her eyes. There was something, not fragile in her eyes, but Jaskier had pointed out in a marketplace once, a beautiful porcelain vase that had been broken and artfully repaired with gold. Yen’s expression reminded him of that.

They sat for a while, then Yennefer said, “Will you be able to let go of her in the spring?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, although he was less than sure that parting from Ciri would be so easy. “She needs you, and time away from me. And to be around women.”

Yennefer nodded, gave Geralt a pat on the shoulder, and left. Geralt stayed, cloak wrapped around him as he sat looking out over the walls.

There was much that would happen in the spring, and his life, which had been pretty stagnant before, was changing more in these past few years than it ever had. He felt like Kaer Morhen itself, built to last and yet crumbling still, the weight of change and time and destiny tearing down walls.

He watched the sun go down.

Vesemir joined him, carrying two bowls of stew. Geralt took a bite of his and winced. It had been Eskel’s turn to cook. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Vesemir’s mustache twitch with a hint of a smile. They ate the oversalted meal in silence.

“You know,” Vesemir said, and in the starlight the crags on his face looked carved in. “I come up here to think too.”

Geralt knew, but Vesemir wasn’t interested in talking about the battlements, he could tell.

“I think, most nights, about the ghosts within these walls. All of the little boys who died so that the School of the Wolf could be.” The wind picked up, howling like, with an excellent sense of the dramatic, a wolf.

“The Trials haunt me, Geralt. More than anything in my life, and it has been a long life indeed.”

“You saved me,” Geralt said. “Saved Eskel.” But he too remembered the still bodies carried out and buried in the night. How few boys remained. Remembered the screaming in the night, unsure how much of the sound was torn from his own throat, and what came from his brothers dying around him.

“I let them put you through it twice. That wasn’t salvation, lad.” Vesemir sighed. “I couldn’t have put a stop to the Trials, don’t know if I would have if it were possible, there have to be Trials to be witchers, and the world needs us, whatever it may believe. But maybe there was a better way. A kinder way. You were boys, little lads who went through so much pain.”

Geralt was startled to see a tear fall down the craggy face, burying in the moustache. Witchers could cry, but it happened rarely, tears could blur vision in a fight, and only very strong emotion, the sort they had been taught to suppress, could override the mutations.

And then Vesemir put an arm around Geralt’s shoulder and gave him an oddly nice hug. It could have cracked a boulder.

“Someone should have held you boys more,” Vesemir said, a touch abashedly. They looked out over the walls some more and Geralt wondered if the conversation was over, but Vesemir didn’t take the arm away.

“Ciri called me Grandpa today.”

Ah. That would explain a lot. Watching Vesemir interact with Ciri over the winter had been a delight and a surprise to the wolves. He’d even sat her on his knee and told her stories of when Lambert, Eskel, and Geralt were young like a, well, like a doting grandfather. Jaskier had been enthralled as well, naturally, but seeing Vesemir so soft, and sometimes looking a little sad, around Ciri, had been an education for the men who would always think of themselves as ‘Vesemir’s Little Lads’.

“She won’t be a witcher,” Vesemir said. “Couldn’t be even if we would want it, and I never would.”

“No,” Geralt said.

No,” agreed Vesemir. They looked out over the darkened landscape.

“I never wanted a family,” Vesemir said after a while where their breaths hung in the air before them. “‘O course, witchers aren’t supposed to, but you’ve built a nice little family for yourself, laddie. It’s not as may be, not like you’d find in villages or in your pet bard’s fancy songs. But you’ve a brave and rather headstrong daughter, and she has a mum, and a dad, and two already very protective uncles.”

“And a grandpa,” Geralt cut in.

“And a grandpa,” Vesemir agreed. “But a family needs a little more than that. There’s gotta be someone to teach the lass how to love.”

Geralt was about to protest that he’d seen plenty of loveless marriages, but then considered the results in the children. Jaskier was one, he knew. The sort of lost way Jaskier sucked up approval, when they’d first met, the way he’d drank up compliments like a man with water in the desert, whenever Geralt thought on it there was a sort of humming ache. He’d consulted with Eskel on the feeling, concerned it was illness. Apparently, it was just what happened when someone you loved was hurting and it wasn’t something you could kill or fix.

“It doesn’t need to be romantic love,” Vesemir said, obviously seeing Geralt’s face. “And she’ll know how to love family fine, and how to love friends, as you and Yennefer figure that out between the two of you. But your bard loves you, and the way you love him can teach her how to love others and herself. And if Ciri has another dad maybe you can worry less.”

Geralt chuckled. Ciri could have fifty parents, and Geralt would still lose sleep worrying. Vesemir smiled back at him, eyes crinkling and moustache lifting like a bristle brush that had learned to fly. Then he slapped Geralt on the back, and Geralt, the White Wolf of Rivia, Butcher of Blaviken, the witcher who had twice survived the Trials, felt his spine compress like a spring and he was sure he felt a rib creak.

“Love Jaskier, lad. Hold tight to him. We rarely get good things.”

Then Vesemir walked back inside and Geralt stared after him. There weren’t many old witchers, dangers of the job and all that, but Vesemir was proof that witchers, like oak wood, only solidified with age.

Geralt followed him inside.

The next days passed in a flurry of activity. Ciri had been let off of training with the wolves to pack for her journey with Yennefer, and to be quickly given the rundown of the basics of magic. The wolves were packing as well, preparing to leave Kaer Morhen. In between final preparations and weapon repair, Geralt checked over The List.

The List was supposed to help him court Jaskier. It was the combined brainchild of everyone (except Jaskier, of course) at Kaer Morhen. More importantly, his intention to court Jaskier met with Ciri’s approval.

When the day arrived, Geralt felt a curious lump in his throat. He watched Ciri say goodbye to Eskel and Lambert, the latter picking her up and swinging her in an arc, letting her joyful whoop echo about the courtyard. Then she hugged Vesemir, and he crushed her very gently to him. And then she turned to him and Jaskier.

He was thankful that Ciri bade Jaskier goodbye first, watching the bard wipe a surupticious tear away as he held the blonde girl. It was Geralt’s turn and he didn’t know what to do. He cleared his throat.

“Follow Yennefer’s instructions,” he said. That didn’t seem like enough. “And don’t talk to strangers,” he said. It still seemed insufficient but he was out of advice so he stuck out his hand to shake. Ciri laughed and leapt at him, throwing her arms around his neck.

He held her there, reveling in hugging his daughter, his child surprise, who was so full of surprises and he felt, for the first time in many years, the feeling of rather full tear ducts. He blinked them away.

“Good luck,” Ciri whispered in his ear. Jaskier wouldn’t have heard, but the witchers with their enhanced hearing surely had. Geralt nodded and set her down.

He coughed awkwardly and pulled out a little packet wrapped in burlap and some rough twine. Ciri beamed and pulled at the string so that the packaging fell away. A long piece of metal, bent into a thin U shape lay in his palm, the ends were surprisingly sharp. Ciri picked it up and examined it, then looked up at him questioningly.

“Hair pin,” Geralt said gruffly. “For your hair. And stabbing.” He mimed a clumsy, underhanded stab. “Eskel helped me silver plate it. For monsters. But also men, if they’re close enough.” He trailed off, knowing he sounded awkward. Who gave a self defense implement as a gift?

Ciri beamed at him again. “I love it,” she said, also miming a few stabs. He supposed that as a parent he shouldn’t be so proud of the light in his daughter’s eyes when she talked about stabbing, but he was almost certain that she got that trait from Jaskier, who tended to get...pointed about disagreements in pubs.

Yennefer stepped forward and carefully took the hair pin from their daughter, swooping her silver blonde hair back into a twist and sliding it in place. She placed a hand on Ciri’s shoulder and smiled at Geralt, and he was reminded again of that vase, stronger and more beautiful for the cracks in the facade. She then gave him a quick side hug and and even one for Jaskier, and opened a portal.

Geralt stared after his friend and his daughter long after the portal closed, until Jaskier, hand wrapped in a heavy mitten, gently took his wrist. They waved to the other wolves, and left, Roach walking obediently alongside.

And then it was just the two of them. Again. Just like the last twenty years. That thought occupied him as they made it down the Killer. The path down from Kaer Morhen was deadly, but that year Geralt made it down without thinking, keeping half a thought to Jaskier’s ambling form as he went.

How old was Jaskier?

He’d been eighteen or so when they met. Eighteen plus twenty-two was forty. Forty wasn’t that old for a human but Jaskier didn’t look too much different than he had at...Geralt did the math. Twenty-five? But there were signs. A few lines here and there, although Jaskier was insistent about his skincare. A line of silver, just a few hairs, probably unnoticable except to Geralt’s enhanced eyes. He was aging better than a human should.

Or perhaps not. Time was tricky for witchers, never staying in one place, never knowing people long enough to watch them age, he didn’t really know what to compare Jaskier to.

He did know how long humans lived though. And at the base of the mountain he came to a resolution, felt it settle in to his bones as deep as his mutations, deeper, even.

Twenty years, or nearly, where he hadn’t known Jaskier. Twenty more where he hadn’t admitted they were friends, or that he loved him. Eighty years in a human life span. And Geralt would love Jaskier, and make sure he knew he was loved, for the next four decades, give or take. He looked at his companion, paused as they were to give their feet and Roach a rest. The weak, watery sun of the early spring day fell on Jaskier’s face, dappled through the branches, which as of yet held no buds.

He pictured lines appearing, laugh lines, smile lines, crinkles carving themselves into the landscape of the familiar features. He pictured silver through the hair, more, in thicker streaks at the temples. Geralt saw a lifetime, Jaskier’s lifetime, in an instant. Silver covered warm brown, strong legs grew shakey, lines crowned a forehead and swept about clear eyes.

What would happen, Geralt thought, when Jaskier could no longer keep up? But Geralt knew what would happen. He’d take Jaskier to Kaer Morhen, or go with him to Oxenfurt, and spend his days with him. It had been a few short months since he’d realized he was in love with Jaskier, but that was only because Geralt’s skill with emotions was roughly similar to Jaskier’s apparent self preservation. Why had he let the lad talk to him in a pub? Had he loved him then? He remembered the shock of not being feared, of looking into clear, bright eyes and seeing admiration, the fierce protectiveness that had flared when he woke and saw the fool tied to him in an elven lair. Had it been love?

Watching Jaskier whisper softly to Roach as snow melted around him, Geralt was sure it had been. Destiny, Fate, the two bit tart who kept fucking him over, had given him his greatest blessing in a form that Geralt, up until that very second had considered a myth. Love at first sight. Love had brought him Jaskier, and Ciri, and a fast friendship with the most powerful mage on the Continent. Love had brought him a family in the form of a wayward bard with bread in his pants. And Geralt had forty more years to cherish him.

Step One the list had said in Eskel’s clear writing. Kiss his hand. Being mindful of Step Two, to mind his manners, Geralt crossed the clearing to Jaskier and took the thick woolen mitten in his gloved hand.

“May I?” he said. Jaskier gave him a baffled look, but nodded.

Geralt pressed chapped lips to a palm wrapped in knitted wool, and Jaskier smiled, albeit a little confusedly. It didn’t matter. Geralt wanted to spend the next forty years wrapped in that smile.

Then Jaskier asked him if he was feeling well.

#its a lot #tons of feels #did i shed a tear writing this?#no these falsies dont put up with water #but it was a close thing #grandpa vesemir #good mom yennefer #lowkey buffskier but not yet #geraskier #dyslexic Geralt #he's doing his best but emotions are hard

241 notes · View notes

belleta · 3 years

Text

The Forest - Part One

Consists: Supernatural, SKZ as different SN creatures, adventure, romance, drama, action, ......still trying to figure out all the details....lol XD

"Come on Y/N!", I was racing around the house. Trying to make sure I had everything for this trip. "Omg Y/N, let's GO~!" I swear to the universe she's going to thank me later. " I'm coming child!" I screamed back. Alrighty I just need my retainer. I bounded up the stairs and glided down the hallway with my cotton socks. Bursting into my room, I quickly scanned it for the sparkly emerald case. I caught sight of it out of the corner of my eye, "Boom!" I ran forward and snatched it off my windowsill. While leaping for my door, I paused and turned back to what I call my sanctuary. Call me paranoid but I'm kinda afraid of camping in the middle of the woods. Ever since I watched "The Blair Witch Project", I've been creeped.

It doesn't help that Jazzy forced us to watch the film, previous to this morning. I was drifting in the fairy floss clouds of my mind when a loud honk poured water on them. I sucked in a breath, blowing raspberries. Padding back over to my bedside, I grabbed my Ice Bear plushie. Giving it a quick squeeze and finally deciding that he's coming with me. Galloping back through the house, I made it out, locked the door and hopped in the back seat like a spring rabbit. "What took you so long?" I gazed up through my fringe at my girl bestie Jazmine. She had long beautiful honey blonde hair, and a mousy nose. Her blue eyes were alike with pebbles under a lake, with cheeks connected by a dash of light freckles. "I swear I just aged waiting for you" and Danny, our guy bestie. I've been best friends with Danny, since 3rd grade. Jazzy moved over during the 5th grade. All three of us have been with each other through thick and thin. Daniel was Hawaiian Japanese descent, had perfect colorful nails and absolutely gorgeous eye makeup. We were all dressed in casual, comfy clothes for the trip. Jazmine, or Jazzy as people call her, as the oldest. She was driving Danny's dad's truck. It was spacious and definitely was fit for the environment. Danny, second eldest was in shotgun and I, being the "baby", was in the back. "I was just making sure I have everything." The two rolled their eyes. Danny looked back at me "Girl, you need to chill. We've got everything and more" the boy stated. "I know, I know.....I'm just paranoid, you know.....being in the woods for a week" I looked down at my feet and played with my fingers to cover my embarressedness. "Awww, is the baby scared", Jazzy giggled, imitating a child. I swatted at her, "Let's just...finally go" I grumbled, reaching inside my bag to pull out my headphones. "Fine" they answered teasingly. While Jazzy was pulling out, I fastened myself and slid my headphones on. Bluetoothing them and unlocking my phone, I scrolled through my YouTube Music playlist finding the one named 'Bell Mix'. After that, I went back to the truffula trees and fairy floss. Just listening to my music and thinking about things. There were a couple times, where I thought I might get sick, but I had remembered my motion sickness bracelets. In your face! It's better to set out a little later, rather than having our vehicle reeking of my insides. 2 or 3 hours went by, or something. I'm not really sure, my brain doesn't really have a sense of time when I'm inside of it. We stopped to use the bathroom, get food and fuel at a gas station, maybe 2 hours away from the forest. "Can I, can I, can I, can I PLEASE?!?" I had been begging Jazzy to let me buy a bag of Haribo for 10 minutes now, and she was starting to break. I'm very persuasive as you find out, and I happen to be a very prominent weakness to many throughout my life. She finally gave in and I bounced away to the candy isle with glee and happily picked out a bag, promising to share. Jazzy just rolled her eyes and paid for our things. We trotted back to the car and continued our journey. It was nearing the end of 2pm when we finally arrived at the edge of the forest. It's lushes were absolutely perfectly splendid. The road continued for a hot minute, until it gave away to dirt and rocks. We didn't want to stray too far from the dirt road, so we slowly kept moving in until I suddenly exclaimed at the sight of a pretty little clearing. It had a few little bushes marking the edges, thick but soft looking grass, and a little dirt patch at one side that should be perfect for a firepit. We pulled over to take a look around, flattening a few bushes in the process. As soon as the truck came to a stop I shoved the door open and sprung down onto the flourishing forest floor. The first thing I did was take a deep breath to soak in the sweet scent of the untouched earth. I reached up, stretching and cracking a few of my bones in the process. Then I raced through the trees and undergrowth, toward the beautiful glade. It felt so nice to get away from civilization, I had always loved

getting away like this. Being able to recharge away from annoying people and sounds, my fears of the night were long forgotten. I was two steps away from the grass when I suddenly tripped over something. Tumbling forward and scratching my cheek. I landed on my face, but on the bright side it was luckily with no rocks around. The dirt however spared me at nothing, crawling into my fresh scrapes, was a sharp and quick stinging as I grabbed my face. "Seriously Y/N, we haven't even completely left the car yet and you've already managed to hurt yourself" Jazzy declared. Danny chimed in, "Did you hurt yourself at all?". Quickly inspecting myself, I responded "Yes, a tiny bit on my cheek, hands and knees", I could hear them muttering to themselves about how reckless I was sometimes. They started toward me and as I waited for them to catch up, I decided to look around and figure out where to put things for these next few days. While ogling the decently wide stretch that was conveniently shielded by a mighty sugar maple. I thought I saw something in the undergrowth a few meters away from me. I grabbed my glasses and narrowed my eyes, but right when I thought I saw whatever it was, two flashes shot in the opposite direction between the ferns and disappeared. They were kinda hidden but I could sorta make out one of the shapes was darker and slightly bigger. The other was a little bit easier but still was difficult, it was kinda brown, or maybe reddish? At that moment I felt two hands on my shoulders, "Let me see", it was Jazzy. She inspected my injury. "It'll be fine, just wash it off", "Okie-Dokie-Artichokie", she laughed and ruffled my hair. I gazed back at where I saw the two shapes but not even the bushes were still moving. "Hey!" I cocked my head back to the voice "Can you help me?" Danny was struggling to unpack from the back. "Sure thing Danny-O" I quickly stood up, maybe a little too quick. My vision went funny and I almost stumbled. "Oh my god Y/N! Be careful!" Jazzy scolded, "My bad!" I was a little all over the place at the moment. Finally we were on this trip! I mean, I waited 6 months for this and it's finally here! I'm not all childish, I'm actually very 4D. I'm just really excited okay? I more carefully walked back to the truck, where Danny was struggling to keep ahold of what appeared to be the tent. Over the course of the next hour and a half we set up everything. Goofing around and laughing. Danny had been pulling too hard on our sleeping bags, to wedge them out of the trunk. And had accidentally fallen onto the slightly wet dirt, causing a very prominent brown streak across his gray sweatpants and sky blue tie dye hoodie. I was currently on my way to find the stream that is supposably close by, with a screenshot of google maps and a compass. Service wasn't exactly a 5 star out here, but I didn't mind too much. I brought a portable WiFi router with me, so if Jason Vorhees just decided to pull one, we could call for help. Every so often I would hang a wooden heart ornament on one of the tree's branches, so if this was the correct way then we would never get lost. Also so that I didn't get lost right now. I had been making these last night, for these exact reasons. I swear only dumb people don't mark their surroundings, this is one of the main reasons why people disappear and are never found or get lost. There are no traces of where they've been, like these fruit loops really-...... After about another 20 meters I started hearing the sounds of water. It became louder and louder really quickly. Is there a waterfall here? I pondered, while quickening my pace with curiosity. 35 seconds later I came across a thinning in the trees and beyond a clear water stream. I finally broke out of the shelter provided from the thick leaves, the sun kissed my skin with it's warm touch. I looked around and sure enough, there was a small waterfall that looked straight out of a fairytale. It had multiple uneven levels, with smoothed boulders everywhere. And to top it all off, it had little water plants scattered around it. Absolutely

beautiful.... I scanned around and spotted a few giant boulders poking into the stream. I carefully picked my way over to them, clutching onto Danny's muddy clothes. Hopping onto the sunlight warmed stones, I positioned myself perfectly so that I could reach the water but wouldn't fall in. I reached into my pocket for my zip lock of natural soap, of course I didn't want to hurt this literally untouched land. I leaned down to dunk the fabric into the stream's crystal-like water and kneaded the brown smudge. It was decently cold, just perfect for a stream. I turned back to the small bag with a green bar wrapped with brown paper and a little herb decoration. I unzipped it and reached for a tiny hand towel I brought with me so that I would have a better grip on the soap, even if I got wet. After dunking the clothes in I took the bar of soap and swiped it all over. I dipped it into the water once to help the bubble come, then I started aggressively rubbing it. Once the outfit was foaming with suds, I slapped it into the brook. Holding onto the sleeve I rub it harshly all over to get the stains out. It was relatively still easy because the events of cause were only moments before. I was starting to disappear into my thoughts, getting deeper and deeper and deeper....... And just then a crash and from the trees, followed by snarls and barks. I was so lost in my thought that this jolted me into the canal. The water suddenly became ice cold, my scream had been washed away. A surge of water filled my lungs from the way my mouth was open to yelp. I could still hear the sounds of fighting every so often, when I would surface. My head was hurting, my skin was stinging and my lungs were screaming. Someone.....please help..... It was hurting so much, I was trying not to panic. So I could find the surface and get back to shore. I would break through it's crisp arctic clutches every so often and would cry out for help but then get cut off by the now frosty darkness. I was giving up to the stream and submitting to the coldness. Letting it swallow me whole. I was numb, I couldn't feel my body being thrown around anymore, Is this how my story ends? No! I don't want to! I still have things to do! I need to graduate, and find my passion! I need to find a man who will love me as much as I do! I need to birth young and care for them! I want to grow old with my partner happily! I can't die yet! I just can't! But it was just so cold. I had stopped moving violently, so I guess I had been poured into a lake or something. I didn't care anymore. My blood felt frozen, I couldn't even bend a finger. That's when I felt a force near me, it parted the waters. Moving me in a different direction with its power. Then not long after I felt something grab hold of me in an awkward way. I was starting to be pulled into another direction, as the water streamed around, parting to let me and whatever that was saving me through. Then I broke through the surface and that was the last thing I felt before slipping into a comfy unconsciousness.

51 notes · View notes

witnessourescape · 3 years

Text

On Omega's origins

I'm trying to make some posts on Omega so I don't lose track of what I think about the funny robot. :) What we know about Omega's planet:

It was in a war against the Dragonstar;

It considered Midgardsormr a threat;

It completely destroyed the Dragonstar;

It's presumably gone, having seen a Calamity.

I'll talk about each point. I believe there are already clues to what Omega's original planet is in the game.

1. It was in a war against the Dragonstar

Contrary to common belief, what happened in the Dragonstar was not that Omega alone randomly attacked it for no reason (or to get stronger) -- Omega and its planet were locked in an interplanetary war. We don't know why -- yet.

Midgardsormr: Foolish machine. What hast thou to show for all the years that have passed since the culmination of our war? Naught save thy continued existence. Hast thou no thought for what befalleth thy home star…?

2. It considered Midgardsormr a threat

Omega's objective was to kill Midgardsormr. Not to enslave, not to colonize the planet: to kill the Father of Dragons, paragon of wyrms, because it was a threat.

Omega: Prepare to face Midgardsormr--red-maned wyrm of the Dragonstar, and nemesis of my world.

3. It completely destroyed the Dragonstar.

"By thee and thine was my home laid waste". The Dragonstar as we see in Alphascape 2.0 seems devoid of life, aetherically unbalanced. If those are aether geysers, then something must have gone really wrong. Omega's planet didn't enslave the dragons or something like that -- they killed the Dragonstar itself.

4. It's presumably gone, having seen a Calamity.

Let's get back to this piece of dialogue.

What did befell Omega's home star, after all? Why does Midgardsormr knows of it and why does he uses it to try to provoke Omega? Could it be related to their war? Could Midgardsormr have been responsible for Omega's planet's destruction?

The answer probably lies in From the Heavens, Final Omega's theme.

youtube

Our shadows lost in light, this life A fleeting kiss Hark! Temptation rings! Virtue slips through hands a-clenching wicked fruit Passion festers, black’ning sinless souls to root Sink’neath dark waters Drink deep, we suffer Drowning, drowning, drowning, drowning Irons sundered Paradise plundered Come welcome this Come welcome this Destiny Virtue slips through hands a-clenching wicked fruit Passion festers, black’ning sinless souls to root Sickles grate on heaven’s gate their fields ignored Seeking sinners deathlessly they reap discord As two become one Here ends this, our journey Never-ending, onward march! Witness our escape This our escape, this our escape This our escape, this our escape This our escape, this our ascension

From the Heavens tells the story of a society falling to hubris, temptation and sin, their paradise destroyed. Isn't that familiar?

Still on From the Heavens, it's strange that the first sentence is "our shadows lost in light": ascian means literally shadowless -- this is why the Heroes' Gauntlet set is called the Shadowless set. Then, "[sink] 'neath dark waters" is literally Amaurot's theme.

youtube

So, is there any other evidence Omega could be an Ancient machine?

Lots of them.

1. Omega and the Ascians got similar designs: both heavily use black and silver, and gold and purple as accents (Omega has a purple undertone and Final Omega has gold accents).

2. Omega and the Ascians share abilities: creation magicks and interdimensional travelling. It's not because they're both unsundered beings: I can't remember dragons having creation magicks or travelling interdimensionally. Midgardsormr enters Omega's rift in his Big form at the cost of his life energy. It isn't something that he does naturally and with ease.

3. Omega and the Ascians share a neighborhood at the Aetherial Rift, which is where ascians hide when they need to.

4. The Passionate Amaurotine NPC has weird dialogue about death-defying autonomous figures.

Passionate Amaurotine: Oh, did you want to ask me about my latest concept again? The autonomous figures I told you about before? They are utterly without feeling or fear, and will without hesitation or objection carry out their master's orders regardless of any injury or death they may suffer as a result. Truly magnificent, wouldn't you agree?

5. Both Amaurot the Dungeon and Omega quote the biblical Book of Revelation. This one may be the most important yet: the Final Days are akin to the christian Apocalypse as seen in the Book of Revelation. In the end of the Book of Revelation, Christ makes His Second Coming, saying:

12 Look, I am coming soon! My reward is with me, and I will give to each person according to what they have done. 13 I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End.

Meanwhile, Final Omega's dialogue in O12SP2 is:

Final Omega: Experiment concluded. I am the Alpha. I am the Omega. Final Omega: <blip> <bleeeeeep> Witness...my coming... I bring...reward...and retribution...for all!

The dialogue in Japanese makes it even clearer that Omega is quoting Revelation 22:12 and Revelation 22:13. I'll make a post on it later. Why would the Ancients develop a war machine like Omega? Weren't them pacifists? Everybody is a pacifist until eldtrich abominations start banging at your door!

Research Report on the Akadaemia Anyder: High-ranking phantomologists have since been dispatched to afflicted areas, where they conducted the capture and transport of a single entity. This specimen, characterized by a disproportionately large maw, was dubbed “Archaeotania,” and investigations into its aetheric composition are ongoing. A theory posited by the esteemed Lahabrea suggests that the shape these fiendish beings assume is not random, but rather an amalgamation of the fears which lurk beneath our rational minds. As of this writing, researchers have begun pursuing methods by which potent guardians of deliberate design might be engendered to stand against this mounting threat.

Emet-Selch says Zodiark was summoned to rewrite the laws of the star because they went haywire with the creation magicks going wild, not to halt the monsters themselves. The Ancients also took time to develop the concept of Zodiark. Something must have been keeping the monsters at bay while the Convocation worked, and as we see in the Passionate Amaurotine NPC, there is some precedent that the Amaurotines could develop a death-defying autonomous figure ready to sacrifice itself for its masters if needed. How does the Dragonstar War enters the scenario, then? First, let's go back to Archaeotania. Archaeotania is a dragon.

It looks like a dragon-dinosaur mix, it attacks with Megaflare and Gigaflare, it has lots of Shinryu's -- who is a Midgardsormr-based primal -- attacks like Tidal Wave and Ice Boulder. Archaeotania, being one of the original fears that were birthed by creation magicks going haywire, must have been influenced by a dragon. Meanwhile, Omega ignores other primals on Hydaelyn but only bleeps and bloops when Primal Bahamut appears:

Magitek Terminal: Even with its stasis systems activated, Omega retained a measure of autonomy. Deprived of mobility, the weapon continued to scan the world around it, searching for a threat to engage. It was at the time of Bahamut's resurrection when Omega emitted a unique signal -- a signal which appeared to indicate the acquisition of a target -- and we first discovered that the machine had retained some degree of awareness.

So, for some reason, when Sophia, Zurvan and Sephirot appear, Omega ignores them: it only bleeps and bloops when Primal Bahamut is born. It could be that its aetherical signature is so similar to Midgardsormr's Omega thinks it got its original target. But it could be that Omega was built to hunt beings similar to Archaeotania: artificial, dragonlike and presumably drawing aether from the ambient like even Midgardsormr does. Now let's take a look at this dialogue in the lvl 50 The Rising Chorus quest:

Lucia: Last night, the dragon star burned with an intensity not seen in fifteen summers. Not since the Dravanians engaged the Empire in the Battle of Silvertear Skies. Urianger: "The northern sky doth burn full bright upon the wyrm lord's call. The red behemoth beckoneth, and flame consumeth all." Lucia: The old Coerthan rhyme, aye. The brighthening of the dragon star is said to accompany the roar of a great wyrm. The astrologians believe that it was Midgardsormr himself who cried out in this occasion.

So we know that the telepathic roar of a great wyrm can, from Hydaelyn, activate and make the Dragonstar shine bright in the sky. As the Dragonstar is a dead rock floating in space now, we can only imagine the roar messed with its aether enough to physically make it shine. Could the Sound be an echo of Midgardsormr's roar? Why would Midgardsormr roar? We still don't know. But Midgardsormr is in some kind a harbinger of doom. I'll make a post on it later. What could be the timeline? The [?]s are because I don't know when or the exact order it must have happened.

Midgardsormr, for some reason, roars.

The Ancient's planet gets destabilized, the Sound starts.

The Ancients get scared, leading to their creation magicks going haywire.

The Amaurotines capture Archaeotania and develop Omega to halt the monsters and to give the Convocation time to act.

Zodiark is summoned, rewriting the laws of the star.

Omega leaves for the Dragonstar.

Hydaelyn is summoned.

Midgardsormr flees from the Dragonstar.

[?] Hydaelyn sunders the planet.

[?] Hydaelyn calls upon Midgardsormr.

Omega, while hunting for Midgardsormr, loses both its homing coordinates and contact with its home star.

Omega crashes onto Hydaelyn and doesn't realize it's back home because it is lost and the planet is way different than it was when it left.

I don't like that even Omega and the Dragonstar would be "Ancients/Ascians again". That's okay. I get it. But it would explain a lot of things, such as: 1. Why would Hydaelyn accept Midgardsormr but ignore Omega? Because Hydaelyn saw an opportunity to neutralize the greatest threat to Herself, Midgardsormr, but recognizes Omega as native from the pre-sundering Planet so doesn't see anything wrong with letting a wayward child come back. Omega was wrong in trying to go back home: it was always home, but it doesn't realize it. 2. How would the Allagans have found Omega? It's very interesting, even Deus ex machina (hehe) like that the Allagans coincidentally found a super-advanced, ready-to-be-reverse-engineered, easily-turned-off machine that was the basis for their technological revolution that led to at least two calamities. But we know Emet-Selch was responsible for influencing the Allagan Empire. What if Emet-Selch, or even Lahabrea, or both, were working together on this? They would know Omega was back, how to activate it, how to work with its technology and, most important, how to turn it off so that Allag would never be threathened by it. Why wouldn't Emet-Selch talk about Omega, then? Because Omega is a symbol that his people weren't as perfect and pacifist as he wants to believe. The fact that his people could only be saved by a violent war machine, and not by their peaceful, elegant creation magicks and debate, must be abhorrent to Emet-Selch. This is why he must have chosen, like Mitron, to leave Omega to suffer at Allag's. In the end, Allag triumphed both against the Dragons -- the Ancient's planets nemeses in this scenario -- and against Omega -- the stain in the Ancient's peaceful history. Anyway, isn't Final Omega non-canon? Not exactly, not as I see it. For some reason, Alphascape Savage is the only Savage tier that isn't the Menestrel making things up: it's Omega itself that gives you the data it messed with. Final Omega is a form of Omega made by Omega. Is there anything else about this crazy theory? Both Omega's and the Ancient's planet's name have been mysteriously omitted. Omega physically cannot speak the name of its planet in any of Hydaelyn's languages, and Emet-Selch never gives us the original name of the planet. I think this is it. I'll keep updating this post and doing more posts as I think about more things about the robot. Thanks for reading.

#omega #ffxiv #Youtube

18 notes · View notes

abreathoffresheyre · 2 years

Text

Returning

When I was fourteen, I was obsessed with the idea that if there was another planet with living things - trees and people and dogs - everything would be exactly the same as it is on Earth. That long past the sun and moon and silky black soundless nothing, if there was another world, it would be barely distinguishable from my own.

“Probably they would have stop signs there. And front lawns, and craftsman houses, and baseball.” I told my father, “I think there are only so many things that can exist.”

We were living in Northern Colorado at the time, in a town that felt droning, like it had been copied onto itself again and again. The same ten houses on every block; identical children standing in their respective driveways, bouncing twin red balls in a rhythmic heartbeat thump. If you started at the East end and walked West, you’d end up somewhere that looked exactly like where you began, like moving vertically, the street curved upward only to meet itself back in the middle, that consistently suburban sprawl.

The bus ride into Boulder from Denver International Airport is a stark and defoliated one. You look out the window during the drive, filling in the gaps in the distantly familiar freeway with a fat marker. It’s fields of stalky grass, a deer about to dart into the road, silver cars and a big blue sky. I imagine the driver doesn’t have to worry about keeping his eyes on the road because there’s nowhere else to look; no twenty four hour diners, no roadside assistance, no clouds shaped like dogs.

In 1859, Boulder Colorado was a dark green basin occupied by miners who had come out West to look for gold in the Flatirons. They built saloons and ranches and farms, some of which are still around, but the saloons have become coffee houses and most of the ranches were bulldozed to parking lots and mini malls in the eighties. We learned about westward expansion in seventh grade, and I remember my history teacher scrawling quote on his blackboard from the Colorado author Frank Waters, who described the journey West as the myth that is “seen as romantic, but it’s a joke - a blot on American history.” I think about this very often, because while I have many memories of good times in Colorado - dust and Alpine trees - it does not seem like the type of place where one in search of riches would go. Most of its inhabitants are entirely resigned to the illusion that anyone can simply walk outside and drive ten or fifteen minutes to an acclaimed national park; a falsehood that carries with it what I assume is disappointment when they travel elsewhere. I imagine the look of vague confusion that must cross their faces upon entering the produce section of a grocery store in Michigan or Ohio, “What do you mean it’s not organic?” It is perhaps why so many people who sign into Boulder never sign back out. Why I, several years after having moved away, can still easily conjure up idealised images of smiling mountain climbers and happy friends. And while I have been lots of places and met many people, I have never been to another town where cashiers and waitresses, bank tellers, and garbagemen smile at you with such genuine cheerfulness.

The last time I visited Colorado it was early June, and my first time back in three years. Streets previously walked with muscle memory turned tunnelly and only distantly known, a vaguely familiar but generally atypical parallel universe, nauseatingly winding. I was pressing play on moments previously frozen in time, every face, every friend, every old neighbour looking exactly the same as when I moved away, an old home video rewound and brought to life. I scuffed through parking lots I used to sit around in as a freshman and passed a man laying on his back on the asphalt, gazing at the sky, endless and droning; his stare burned all the way to Jupiter.

When I was still fourteen and bleary eyed, I spent a lot of time in those long ago ranch parking lots - entire days lost to sitting on the curb until the sky turned purple and the sun tucked itself behind the mountains and I got dizzy with sugar and heat and walked home under the gentle glow of yellowed porch lights. That’s what I think about when I walk home in the city I live in now: porch lights and craftsman houses and front lawns and stop signs bleached pink by mountain sun. But walking home in a city isn’t the same feeling, and I haven’t felt that steady calm or heard those crickets or seen that empty blue since I moved away from Colorado. And it is true that even now, in a big place with architecture and museums and central park, that dizzy droning sky is still the one I hope to see when I shut my eyes.

#writer #essay #literature #creative nonfiction #colorado

1 note · View note

tealin · 4 years

Text

Cape Crozier: The Spiritual Journey

As usual, please check out http://twirlynoodle.com/blog to see this post and others in their original (functioning) formatting.

Since getting seriously into polar history, I kept hearing the same two things from polar veterans. One was that I could not possibly understand the story properly, or be able to depict it truthfully, unless I visited Antarctica myself. The other was that Antarctica changes people. This was unanimous amongst scientists, historians, and even tourists: one cannot help but be profoundly affected by contact with Antarctica; that is just a fact of the place.

I have certainly been changed by Antarctica indirectly. The inner kernel of “me” is the same in my earliest memories as now, but the Terra Nova men and their experiences have fundamentally shifted how that kernel views and relates to the world and the people around me. I am a vastly better person for their influence, and that is a large part of why I have been so dogged in getting their story to a new audience: the hope that, through my work, even one other person might be changed in the same way.

When I finally got the chance to visit Antarctica in person, I had half an eye out for signs something had happened. Two weeks into my visit, I had learned a lot and had some meaningful experiences, but I couldn't say I had changed at all. Maybe that initial action-at-a-distance was the change I had been promised after all.

Then I went to Cape Crozier.

As we have spread around the planet, humans have noted certain places as being special in some way, places of some sort of power, or where the spirit world is a little more tangible. The Celts called these 'thin places', where the fabric of reality is threadbare, and Something Else comes a little closer. One can have a 'thin' experience anywhere, but certain places seem to encourage them. They may remain completely unmarked, or may become loci for centuries of pilgrimage, or anything in between, but they exist in some form in every culture except, perhaps, the post-Enlightenment intellectual West.

Antarctica, generally, feels like where the edge of a painting dissolves into brushstrokes. There is a certain unreality baked-in: the sun wheels around the sky without setting, one can count on one hand the species of life regularly seen, and everything – the landscape, the weather, the distances – is so vastly out of proportion to puny humanity. One could argue that this 'unfinished' feeling is because so much of it is white, but I have travelled through many snow-covered landscapes, and they feel like landscapes covered in snow, not fundamentally blank places with a few suggestive details dropped in by an artist whose main attention was elsewhere.

Cape Crozier was something else entirely, though. It is, of course, hanging off the edge of Ross Island, but it felt more like it was hanging off the edge of reality itself. It is a thin place par excellence. And I had an experience there which I have been trying to process since landing back at McMurdo. When I tried to discuss it with friends, my ability to speak quite simply stopped. Then the pandemic, and the new house, and pushing through Vol.1, all rose up and drove it to the back of my mind. In February I wasn't ready to talk about it; here in October, I worry it's too late. But I feel compelled to share what happened there, and if I don't do it now, I don't know if I ever will.

If this were a novel, at Cape Crozier I would have felt the thinness of time, and a closer connection to the dead men I had followed there – perhaps almost to believe they weren't dead at all! In such a place, that didn't seem impossible. But that is not what happened. Nor did I have some sort of enlightenment beamed into my head from the heavens. Even the word 'happened' is too suggestive of some sort of discrete external event. If you had asked me, there, at the time, I'd have said I was just sitting there thinking. But I sit thinking a lot in life, and this was not the sort of thinking I am used to. It was more like a revelation. Not in the trumpets and angels sense, but in a literal one: layers of clutter and gloss were pulled back to reveal a simple underlying truth. It was, in essence, a dose of perspective, a view from high and far enough away to see the big picture, and not the surface detail. As I sat at the base of a boulder, gazing at the stone igloo and gawking at how completely insane were the men who dragged their sledges to this desolate nowhere to build it, I suddenly saw my life as it appeared in the Author's notes.

Ever since first getting the inkling that this story would make a good graphic novel, it has felt like a calling. I said 'no' to the calling for years – some sort of cosmic wrong number – but when I finally said 'yes' everything started falling into place. That is supposed to be a good sign, for a calling. And I was happy following it, though it wasn't easy or comfortable. As far as I could deduce, under my own power, it seemed like what I ought to be doing. That is not to say there weren't doubts, especially in the grey light of a winter morning when I would lie in my rented bed, looking at my desk and wondering what on earth I was doing with my life. And I was not untroubled by other concerns: Shouldn't I be more helpful to my family? Why have I been persistently unable to find a tribe, or a relationship? Will I be allowed to stay in the UK? Can I do this work and keep myself fed and housed?

Here, on a wind-scoured ridge on the edge of nowhere, reflecting on its history of unbelievable and, it could be argued, pointless hardship, one might expect to realise the folly of one's ways, and to swear off quixotic enterprises in favour of the hitherto unappreciated quotidian stuff that really matters. But that is not what happened. Instead, I got this dose of clarity:

I am here to tell this story. Not here, at Cape Crozier, in this instant (although that too), but here, on this planet, as a human being. This is what I am for.

Whatever I need to make it happen will be provided. No less, and no more.

Everything else? Tangential. Not worth worrying about. What needs to happen, will happen, and if it doesn't happen, it didn't need to. And that's OK.

All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.

When I was young, we had a puzzle of the United States of America. It was made of Masonite, and the pieces were cut out in the shapes of the states, which would be assembled to fill the recessed outline of the country. Because they were geographical shapes and not interlocking jigsaw pieces, they would slide and rattle around until the last one got wedged in and locked everything else in place.

Most of my life, I have felt like that rattly puzzle. I didn't realise it because I had never known there was another way to be. But there under the boulder it felt like that last piece had been dropped in, that secured all the loose ones. It was not that Cape Crozier was my missing piece and now that I had it I was complete – that is far too literal. The missing piece was a something that wasn't even a thing; rather, in that moment of clarity, I felt all the jangling bits come to rest, and a wholly unfamiliar solidity. At last the clay wobbling around the potter's wheel had been centred, and I felt a metaphysical ground beneath my metaphysical feet that I had not known it was possible to feel.

Ironically, the rest of the day I felt like I wasn't touching the actual ground at all, perhaps because what I was anchored to was on another plane entirely. The stumbling shamble through the wind back to the helicopter might as well have been happening to someone else. We took off into the gale, and though the pilot acted as though it was perfectly ordinary, when we were rounding the ridge he said 'wow, that's the rotor all the way to the left' which I didn't understand but didn't sound great. Nevertheless the sense of peace persisted, and I understood how, in his last letter to his wife, which he knew would be his last, Wilson could have kept insisting 'all is well.' (I knew why he wrote that: he had read Julian of Norwich. But now I understood why.)

The journey back was a transcendence all of its own, the beauty of which seemed to be a perfectly natural outward manifestation of that altered state. We touched down in time for me to make it to the Galley just as it opened for dinner, so we couldn't have been gone two whole hours, and that seemed absurd to me – surely I had sat under that boulder for two hours at least? Or had we only been at the igloo ten minutes? It was impossible to tell.

What I wanted more than anything was to go up a mountain and ponder the whole thing, alone, until it sorted itself out and I was ready to come back down again. I could have gone up Observation Hill, but the weather looked liable to turn into a proper blizzard at any moment. So, lacking a better option, I went to go eat, and, after having a chuckle at the Cherry Turnovers, slunk to the back where I could usually count on having a small wallflower table to myself, especially this early. But one of the larger tables was full of young dudes talking about bar fights they'd been involved in, and I just … couldn't. So I wandered into the main area and discovered the One Strange Rock crew having an early dinner as well, begged a spot at their table, and ate swaddled in friendly natter instead of at one with the universe in a blizzard. It amounted to much the same thing.

Eventually one of them said, 'You went to Cape Crozier today, didn't you? How was that?'

I made an exploding gesture around my head and said 'Pkhhhh.'

Cherry wrote that the Winter Journey 'had beggared our language'. I am sure that my inarticulate gesture is not what he meant. But at the same time, in fact at that very dinner, I realised something about his writing. The Winter Journey chapter is unanimously regarded as the finest part of The Worst Journey in the World. Some people question that this otherwise unremarkable country gent, who never produced another book, could have written with such profound and expressive talent, and they posit that his friend and neighbour George Bernard Shaw, who definitely did consult on the book, must have ghostwritten it. I have read enough of Cherry's writing – in his own hand – to know this is bosh; the voice and the style are distinctly his. What's more, I was surprised to discover, when going through his journals, that a large portion of the Winter Journey chapter was not written last, despite it being the last to join the manuscript of Worst Journey, but was in fact written in his bunk at Cape Evans while he was recuperating from the experience. In the published book, he singles out some passages as being from 'my own diary' but great tracts of unattributed narration are more or less verbatim quotations as well. The experience related therein feels so immediate because it was.

The rest of Worst Journey, while perfectly readable, is largely a narrative rewrite of Cherry's and others' diaries. Sometimes he lets others carry the story for pages at a time. His writing is undeniably good, but is often simply mortar, filling gaps and binding sources together to tell a history that no human invention could better. The Winter Journey chapter, on the other hand, reads like a torrent of pure inspiration pouring through him onto the page. That such vivid, timeless prose should have come from an exhausted 25-year-old in his bunk in a wooden hut is no less remarkable than from a jaded 35-year-old in the library of his country house.

Artists of all stripes will often say that their best work is not their own creation, but feels like it already existed and came through them from somewhere else. It's as if there's a great Beyond where things that need to come into the world – stories, images, performances – queue up for passage through artists' minds and bodies. Sometimes one taps into it by luck; usually it's a combination of training and discipline that makes the link traversable, from time to time. Perhaps artists' minds are their own thin places, in a way. Sitting there at dinner with my friends, I felt as though I'd brushed against the fabric between this reality and that Beyond, and, like touching the wall of a tent in a rainstorm, broken the surface tension and allowed something through. I felt like, if I just put pencil to paper, something could flow through me, if only I could narrow down a subject. With the intensity of his experience, Cherry did not so much brush against the wet tent fabric as punch a hole through it; feeling just a small inkling of that myself, it was no wonder that the creative energy poured into his diary with such intuitive eloquence.

Had I sat down to write this that night, perhaps I could have tapped into that flow, but I didn't feel I was ready. I can guarantee you that right now I am not tapped into anything but a vague and dwindling recollection. As vast as the experience was, by putting a box of words around it, I cannot help but reduce it to the confines of the box. But that is the best I can do under my own power.

Compared to the seismic transformation of character brought about by my first vicarious encounter with Antarctica, the insight at Cape Crozier was very small and personal, but once in place, the ramifications have been substantial. When I arrived back home, just before Christmas, the world was still as it ever was, but I was different, and I noticed how differently I related to everything. Things I loved about Cambridge, which previously made me desperate to stay, I appreciated no less, but valued instead as something I had the honour to enjoy for a while, and didn't need to hold on to. A young-adults group which I'd hung around, formerly a precious simulacrum of a social life, now felt hollow, and I abandoned it in favour of time spent one-on-one with the handful of people who I really appreciated. They all said I seemed different; one person said I seemed 'sad', but I think I had just taken the mask off the seriousness which tends to frighten people. I have never been afraid to be myself, but in recent years have tried to mitigate that self in relation to others; there seemed no point to that, now. It was as if my inner gyroscope had finally started spinning, and I had a sense of balance and orientation that I hadn't before.

Holding on to the clarity of that moment, and the centredness it brought me, has not been easy. It didn't keep me from panicking when my housemate excoriated me back in March. It didn't focus my mind on my work as soon as I'd moved into the new place, or save me from getting angry and frustrated when battling my tax returns. Sometimes it's very hard to remember at all. But I know what happened, and I can remember remembering, even if I can't recapture the feeling itself. Sometimes, when it's very windy, I seek out a high open place in the hope of feeling it again, but it hasn't worked. Maybe it doesn't need to. Having it once was all I really needed, and even if I succeeded in flicking those switches again, what good would it do that hasn't already been done?

I could not foresee, on that windswept ridge on the edge of reality, where the world would be in 2020. In wry moments I think I was only a few months ahead of a large portion of humanity, who have been forced to sort things out when the pandemic stripped away their preoccupations and illusions. Maybe you are one of them, and you recognise some of what I've described. Maybe you feel like you've been running away from it. Maybe you have been running towards it but have been unable to find it. All I can tell you is: it's worth the seeking.

I wish everyone in the world could visit Antarctica, even just once, and see how it changes them. The world would be such a better place. I am so profoundly grateful that I had the chance, and am determined to pay it forward by bringing some shred of that experience to as many people as possible. If my communication fails to bridge that gap for you, then take it upon yourself to find your own thin place. They are all around. It only requires that you be receptive, and undertake to look.

#antarctica #travel #spirituality #purpose #mountaintop moment #cape crozier #epiphany

76 notes · View notes

maaaddiexo · 3 years

Text

The Within Series | Legolas Greenleaf

Book 1: The Devil Within - 1.8

Mainlist | Serieslist

Nyx of Tyndall does not know love or kindness. Cursed at a young age by a jealous witch, Nyx has lived a life of solitude and death.

Until Gandalf the Grey requests her presence and uncontrollable skill in assisting a young Hobbit across Middle-Earth with nine others to destroy a ring so powerful all fall victim to its evil.

Not only must Nyx face Orcs, demons, and creatures she’s never seen before, but also the devil inside. Controlling the devil is the key to finding freedom in a spell that can’t be broken. But it will not be so easy for Nyx when every obstacle she faces pushes her to an edge she cannot return from.

Chapter Eight

Nyx marched through the halls of Rivendell angrily. Flight of stairs after flight of stairs she went until she was at the highest lookout point the Elves of Rivendell had built. The sound of water cascading down the mountain drowned out the sound of blood pumping angrily in her ears, but she could still feel it nonetheless. She crossed a small arched bridge in front of waterfall. The mist that came off put out the smoke on her cape.

Nyx discarded her cloak angrily, throwing it on the floor and kicking it away. Her face burned with anger and she rubbed her face, frustrated tears running down her cheeks. Not even a week she’d worn the ring and already it had torn down the defenses she’d spent over a decade building up. She braced herself against the stone balcony railing.

“Focus, Nyx. Like Gandalf taught you.”

“Milady Nyx?” An Elf stood timidly at the top of the stairs. Clearly, he knew he was interrupting something. “Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes.”

“Tell Elrond and Gandalf I will not be attending. They will understand.”

The Elf hesitated and then bowed. “Of course, Milady Nyx. Would you like to have it sent to your room?”

Nyx hesitated and then nodded curtly.

The Elf bowed once more and then descended the stairs quickly and Nyx felt her knees give out, splitting when they hit the stone. Her fingers gripped the stone spindles and her head rested against them. Nyx couldn’t find it in herself to move. Not even as the sun began to set and the temperature dropped.

Nyx was tired. She could go no further.

⍥⍥⍥

When Nyx woke up the next morning, she was still on the outlook, her cloak wrapped around her like a blanket with leaves in her hair.

Someone was touching her shoulder. She saw the familiar staff before she heard the voice.

“My dear, why sleep on the floor when you’ve been offered a bed.”

Nyx looked away. All around her were burnt leaves and grass. Her fingertips were black with ash. She’d spent a long time trying to control her anger the night before. And though she hadn’t burned down a gazebo, Rivendell wasn’t completely unscathed. “What time is it?”

“The Council is about to begin but Frodo refused to start without you. He insists you be part of the meeting.”

Nyx frowned. She wanted no part of the Ring and its journey, wherever it led. Not after what it did to her in less than a week. She felt the anger in her, glowing bright. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out slowly.

“Come on. Up you get.” Gandalf helped Nyx to her feet and began to fret over her, pulling the leaves and twigs out of her hair and brushing down her cloak. “That’ll do.”

Nyx frowned and self-consciously pulled her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. They descended the stairs quickly, Nyx trailing behind the grey wizard. “Gandalf, I do not want to go with the Ring.”

“You do not have to. But attend for Frodo’s sake. Here,” he grabbed Nyx’s scythe and placed it in her hands. There was still dried blood on it from the last time she used it. “Come.”

Everyone was already seated in the Council Room and Nyx moved to stand behind Frodo’s chair. He smiled gratefully at her over his shoulder. She tried to smile back but wasn’t sure how convincing it was.

“Strangers from distant lands,” Elrond began. “Friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite, or you will fall.”

Nyx found Aragorn’s eyes across the circular room, fear brimming in her eyes. Her gave her a calm smile before turning to look at someone else. The Elf from the day before. They shared a familiar look with one another. A look of familiarity and friendship.

“Each race is bound to this fate – this one doom,” Elrond continued. “Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.”

Frodo stood on shaky legs, looking at Gandalf and then Nyx behind him. She nodded encouragingly at him. He reached into his pocket as he walked towards the small stone table in the middle, octagonal in shape. He placed it on the stone gently but still, everyone heard it thud, like a boulder hitting the bottom of chasm.

Immediately, the Ring began to hum and sing, and everyone sat forward in their chairs, drawn to it. Except for Nyx. She took a step back in fear. Her fingers began to warm.

“So, it is true,” a man murmured. He stood up slowly. “In a dream, I saw the eastern sky grow dark. But in the west, a pale light lingered. Voices crying. Our doom is near at hand.” He moved closer to the Ring. “Isildur’s Bane is found.” He reached his hand forward. “Isildur’s Bane.”

“Boromir!” Elrond shouted. The man stood up with a fright, shaken out the Ring’s lure, and looked to the sky in shock as it began to darken.

Gandalf stood, reaching a hand to the sky. He began to chant in Black Speech.

Ash nazg durbatulûk

Ash nazg gimbatul

Ash nazg thrakatulûk

Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul

Nyx stared at the Ring, reciting the translation under her breath. It was the inscription on the Ring.

“One Ring to rule them all,

One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all

And in the darkness bind them.”

With Gandalf’s word, the sky brightened as fast as it darkened and everyone sat back down except for Nyx, who had no seat.

“Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris.”

“I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond,” Gandalf said to Elrond. “For the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the west. The Ring is altogether evil,” he reminded the people in front of him.

Boromir shook his head. “It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay! By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy! Let us use it against him!”

“It cannot be used against its true master,” Nyx said angrily. “All it does is pull the evil from within and make you a monster.”

“And what do you, a mere girl, know about the Ring?” Another man spat at her. The rage bubbled in Nyx and her fingers did more than warm. Someone laid a hand on arm. Gandalf.

“Nyx is right,” Aragorn said. “You cannot wield it. None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.”

“And what would a Ranger know of this matter? You are no more experienced than the girl!”

“This is no mere Ranger.” Nyx watched as the silver-haired elf stood up. “He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.” Aragorn and the Elf did know each other.

“And it would not be wise to insult Nyx,” Elrond added. “For she has the nasty habit of catching fire.”

“Witch!” A man hissed. Nyx glared at him, her eyes flaming orange. It was one of the few tricks she’d picked up over the years. The man gasped and then fainted, and Nyx smirked. She swore she heard Gandalf chuckle too.

Boromir looked at Nyx and then Aragorn. He chose to focus on the latter. “This is Isildur’s heir?”

“And heir to throne of Gondor,” the Elf added. Nyx winced. Salt in the wound, if you asked her.

“Havo dad, Legolas.” Nyx glanced at the elf as he obeyed his friend’s words to sit down. So his name was Legolas.

“Gondor has no King,” Boromir said. “Gondor needs no King.”

“Then what does that make you?” Nyx wondered.

Gandalf spoke before Boromir could respond to Nyx’s angry words. “Aragorn is right. We cannot use it.”

“You have only one choice,” Elrond added. “The Ring must be destroyed.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” The Dwarf with ginger hair and a thick Scottish accent stood up and swung his axe. His axe should have shattered the Ring. Instead, the axe splintered into pieces and the Dwarf was thrown onto his back.

Frodo flinched, grabbing for his head. Sauron’s Eye flashed in his mind.

Nyx dropped to the ground, feeling a stabbing pain in her chest as images flashed in her mind. White hair. Fire. A blade dripping in blood. Somebody screaming. She coughed and black liquid splattered onto the stone. Ichor. Her cheek burned.

“The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin, by any craft we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came.”

Nyx wiped at her lips with the sleeve of her dress and stood up on weak legs. Gandalf offered her his arm.

“One of you must do this.”

There was silence all around.

“One does not simply walk into Mordor,” Boromir argued quietly. “Its black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly.”

“Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?” Legolas demanded. “The Ring must be destroyed!”

“And I suppose you think you’re the one to do it!” Gimli argued.

“And if we fail, what then?” Boromir added, standing up. “What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?”

Gimli stood up – not that it made him any taller. “I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!”

The other Elves stood at Gimli’s insult and, soon enough, everyone was standing and yelling over one another. Frodo sat still, staring at the Ring as it called for him.

“Nyx?”

“Yes, Frodo?”

“I think it needs to be me.”

“Are you saying that because It calls to you or because you are strong enough to fight Its call?”

“I’m doing it because I don’t want to do it. Everyone is fighting to be the one because they don’t want somebody else to do it. I just want it done.”

Nyx smiled. “Then say so.”

Frodo’s announcement went unheard the first time. And the second. Nyx huffed and grabbed her scythe, which she had placed on the ground at the beginning of the meeting. She lifted it and swung it down against the concrete as hard as she could. The blade embedded itself in the concrete until no more metal could be seen. The crack echoed all across Rivendell and across the ponds and ocean, bouncing off the sides of the cliff. The Men, Elves, Dwarves, and Wizard stopped arguing instantly.

Elrond sighed indignantly. “Why must you always break something when you visit?”

“Because you ignorant and stubborn men never listen. Now, shut up and sit down. All of you.” She stepped back as Frodo stepped forward, swallowing thickly. His hands were so sweaty.

“I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though…I do not know the way.”

“I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins.” Gandalf gently touched the young Hobbit’s shoulder in reassurance. “So long as it is yours to bear.”

Aragorn stood. “If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will.” He walked across the circular room and knelt at Frodo’s feet. “You have my sword.”

“And you have my bow.” Legolas moved to Frodo too, passing Nyx on the way.

“And my axe,” Gimli promised.

Boromir stepped forward slowly. “You carry the fate of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done.”

Nyx stared at Boromir a moment longer. She didn’t like the way he spoke to Frodo, and she certainly didn’t like the faraway look in his eye.

“Heh!” Something brushed the side of Nyx’s skirt and she watched as Sam jumped from behind some bushes and ran to Frodo’s side, crossing his arms. “Mister Frodo’s not going anywhere without me.”

Elrond looked down at Sam in both disappointment and pride. “No, indeed. It is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret Council and you are not.”

“Doing some gardening again are we, Master Gamgee?” Gandalf asked with a pointed look in his eyes.

Sam looked down at his feet awkwardly. Nyx smiled.

From the other end, someone shouted. “Oi! Wait! We’re coming too!”

Nyx bit back her laughter at Elrond’s expression as the two cousins rushed to stand beside Frodo as well.

“You’d have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!” Merry insisted.

“Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission. Quest. Thing.”

Merry looked at Pippin. “Well, that rules you out, Pip.”

Pippin looked offended. Frodo turned around to look at Nyx, who was standing separate from the group.

“What about you, Nyx? Will you come with me?”

“You want me to?”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Aragorn said. “We could use a dragon in our company.”

Nyx smiled. For once, the name she’d been given wasn’t be used in anger or fear. “Then you shall have her.”

“Ten companions. So be it,” Elrond announced. “You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.”

Part 1.9 ➺

25 notes · View notes

writingstarling · 4 years

Text

Sweetness in Tranquility (BOTW Zelink)

Zelda was strolling through a small forest a little outside of Castletown; embraced by the sweet air nipping at her skin. She had taken the chance of her knight attendant’s absence to enjoy this moment of solitude. Perhaps she had finally been acquainted to her knight attendant and was treading on friendly terms, but once in a while she missed the feeling of solitude when often times so many eyes were on her with expectations. Of course, she didn’t think of her knight attendant as one of them, but she never really could feel at peace with that thought.

The slight rumble of her tummy brought her out of her intense research on the flowers swaying powerlessly at the mercy of the wind. She considered returning to the castle, but she didn’t want to let her peace escape her fingertips just yet. With that in mind she decided to search for some berries or fruits to satiate her hunger, even if it was just temporarily. It didn’t take long for her to discover a delectable scarlet fruit dangling on a thin branch.

Her relatively small hands took hostage the lowest and second lowest branches to propel herself higher with the help of her legs. Branch by branch she rose, until finally she reached the desire of her rumbling stomach. With one arm outstretched and the other encircling the nearest branch, she tried to reach the bright red apple. Zelda’s brows furrowed in focus, legs forced to push herself further. The literal apple of her eye was before her just a few inches away. Bit by bit she began to release her grip on the branch in order to go further. Finally, with only her hand holding onto the branch, she managed to capture the desire of her heart.

A feeling of accomplishment flooded her chest and a warm buzz snaked its way to her. In the slight instance her tense muscles relaxed, she was left careening down with little to no less registration and nothing to catch herself with. Her eyes clenched in preparation as her arms shielded her face the best it could.

Zelda felt her body collide with something. Too tense and well-structured to be a convenient bush nearby; too soft and comforting to be the ground she had her feet planted on minutes ago. She shifted her arms to create a gap and peeked through. Before her was… an almost indescribable figure with the head of what seemed to be an ancient entity and the body of a normal – slightly well-built – human. He was fashioned in a simple cream hylian tunic paired along with a pair of basil green shorts. The mask – she decided to assume – the person wore was one that would fascinate her if she weren’t so befuddled with its existence.

“Thank- thank you, can you, please put me down?” Silently the figure complied, gently placing her leaned onto the base of the tree.

On the ground, Zelda grasped at the chance to take the mask her saviour wore under deeper scrutiny. It was shaped similar to a heart as the base with spikes sprouting from it, two on top and four others on each of its lower sides. Each horn goldish-yellow with a smudge of different colour on every one, twinning only with its neighbour across. The heart was a mix of several colours; much of its higher part is coloured a royal purple and the rest of it mostly a crimson red, lined with intricate and ancient designs of various colours. Lastly, the most nerving feature of said mask was the pair of parakeet eyes boring at her with its flame coloured sclera.

The time she took letting her curiosity feast upon its new interest distracted her from the hand drawn towards her with the goal of her little journey and near pain resting comfortably on it. She voiced her gratitude before releasing her saviour from his small additional burden. Her stomach yearned for her to the very least have a nibble at the scarlet fruit, but her mind was keen and too well-trained in mannerism to allow herself to display such rudeness. Instead she merely placed the fruit on her lap and endeavoured to strike a conversation with her saviour. Perhaps even inquire him of the origins of his mask.

“Would, you like to sit down?” Zelda gestured towards the space beside her.

The figure remained silent – contemplating her offer, perhaps – before giving her a nod and shuffling towards her; settling down, nuzzled by the lush greenery with a respectful distance between them. They rested under the graceful shade of the vigorous tree, silence enveloping them in an awkward, yet somehow comfortable ambience. Zelda toyed with her apple, rolling and rubbing it whilst her mind travelled far and wide for a solution to broach the subject of said mask.

It was then that she came to a sudden awareness of her discourtesy, “Uhm, if I’m not too bold, would you mind as to give me your name?”

A pregnant pause followed her question and Zelda had nothing else to do, but be in the mercy of the mask’s vacant stare. Frankly, the stare of the mask’s eyes sent a chill crawling through her spine. It wasn’t quite simply due to its horrendous design itself; there was something else deep within her that squeezed and twisted her heart each time it was directed towards her. It was as if those same pair of eyes had stared into her very soul and–

“Do…,” his voice pierced through her train of thought, “Do you not recognise me?”

His voice was hoarse and brimmed with much hesitance, as if one mistake would cost him his life. Is her title that intimidating? was the question she tucked under her tongue. However, there was also a sense of familiarity in his voice that Zelda recognised despite the assurance she had that the voice was one she was not entirely familiar with. Perhaps it's caused by the mask, she reasoned.

“My apologies, but I do not seem to recall ever meeting someone with such a mask.”

“Mask…?” his hand shot up to the aforementioned cover. Frantically, patting away on it with something that Zelda could only deduce as sudden realisation.

A giggle threatened to burst free from her throat. For one to not realise they were wearing a mask of that size was more humorous than it was befuddling for her. Despite her pressing urge to unleash the flurry of giggles threatening to escape, the princess held her poise and regally coughed her laughter away to the side before offering her pardons.

“Pardon me, Princess,” the figure spoke, straightening himself up. His hands reached towards the mask, fiddling with the strings attached until it freed its grip from his head.

Streams of auburn hair peeked through as the mask started to unravel. A familiar shade, Zelda noted. The process unfolded in slow-motion before her eyes and a mixture of feelings was unleashed upon her in realisation. Afore her stood her knight attendant – in casual clothing, her mind supplied.

“Link?! Y-you–!” her eyes were wide as dinner plates; the finger that once toyed with her fruit was solely focused on pointing aim at Link’s figure as her body arched back by a few inches; her other hand supporting her weight and her apple rolling away, forgotten.

Link offered her no other response than a respectful bow on his knee. They remained in silence. Link unwavering in his position and Zelda taking the time to regain her lost grace and composure. Exhaling deeply, Zelda huffed before returning to her once more refined conduct.

“Link, you may rise.” The hero did as such, his body looming over her and casting another shade over her form. He stood with the squared shoulders of a well-groomed soldier. Ever so dutiful, always on guard.

“Please, sit down.” Again, the hero complied. Placing himself a tad farther than he was before, expanding the gap between them.

Zelda watched him with the intensity of a researcher, her eyes boring at him in hopes to receive – at the bitter least – some scraps of information. Alas, her knight was ever stoic in his countenances. However, other than his sapphire tunic, which she had crafted for him, she felt something else to be amiss in his appearance. Her eyes scanned him like a well-oiled machine. Determined to satisfy the mystery her mind had provided.

Then, it hit her. “Where is your sword?”

“With the Great Deku Tree. For safety,” his gaze was locked over his shoulder, where the Master Sword would usually reside. Faded grey clouds covering his brilliant sapphire eyes.

“Why didn’t you take it with you to your home town?”

Link shrugged, facing her once more, “Didn’t think I’d need it.” Didn’t want the attention, were the words that lingered in the air despite never leaving his lips.

Zelda hummed. The words that were left hovering in the air between them was something she understood well. After the day he had poured a piece of his heart to her in the small moments of vulnerability they shared behind prying eyes, she started to see the similarities between them. The hero she had berated so much was a lot like her in many ways, including his fears. The weights abruptly placed upon his shoulders were the same as hers after all.

Funny, however, she managed to receive warning. She had known her destiny since birth. It was her birth right; her legacy. She knew of what’s to come. Link, on the other hand, never had such privilege. His destiny caved upon him like a sudden boulder spat by Death Mountain himself, and even that had more apprise than what Link had received.

“That mask, might I ask where you got it?”

Link opened his mouth to speak, before his teeth met and his mouth clamed shut. But again he tried, his voice smaller than usual, “I found it in the storage of my home.”

Zelda quirked a brow. Her knight never sounded so timid; even when he spilled his deepest fears and held his heart boldly upon his sleeve, his voice held the integrity and force of a well-deserved captain. Zelda took it as cue to let her questions rest in the back of her head and deprive her curiosity of satisfaction.

“I see.”

Again they fell in silence. A silence that occurred many times before she had come to terms with him, uneasy and out of place. Zelda shifted her attention to the leaves loyally shading them from the scorching sun's glare. Drinking up every detail she could until she halted at a particular leaf.

The tips of it were shifting in colour and becoming out of sync with the rest of the flock. Summer was coming to a closure and autumn had begun to announce its arrival. It meant that the harvest crops were going to change, her meals would also shift into something more supported by the weather, and that time was passing by her fingertips as Ganon's awakening marched closer.

The thought sent shivers crawling up and down her spine. Her prayers had yielded no progress and fruited nothing but disappointment in her father's gaze. No matter what she did, she felt no power coursing through her veins; no voice in her head; and absolutely nothing other than the freezing chill that stubbornly clung onto her courtesy of the springs' waters.

But what else could she do? She had scoured every theory, practiced every method, spent hours on end standing in icy waters praying to a goddess who turned a deaf ear no matter what she did. There were no longer any cards or tricks she could even fathom to try. All she could do was pray. Pray to a statue who smiled to her in indifference to her pain.

A hand came a few inches to her face during her time staring at space. In the hand was her hard-earned fruit whom she had forgotten in the moment. She directed herself to her knight; his hand tentatively awaiting her response and a miniscule smile that whispered a thousand encouragements, more than anyone had ever given her. Her heart forgot its normal tempo.

Zelda exhaled; all of her frustration, stress, anxiety, fear, and self-deprecation in one swift breath. The other breath was her gratitude towards her companion and a smile, soft and private touched her lips as she brushed her hand against his and retrieve her appointed snack.

In this moment, there were only the two of them. No darkness sealing sword, no endless search of power, no weight forced upon their shoulders. In this moment, it was just her and her friend. In this moment, she could sit under the shade and enjoy the fruit she had rightfully earned and just breathe. In that moment, she took a bite.

It tasted sweet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, so... this took an unexpected turn. I actually started this about a few weeks ago and after that I only continued it about a few days ago so it's probably confusing bc I forgot what I planned to go with this. So if you're confused it's alright! Bc I too am lol. But I posted it still bc after rereading it I think it would still make sense? So here it is.

Btw, this is my first LoZ fanfic so I hope this went well with you all. Cheers!

#loz #loz botw #breath of the wild #the legend of zelda #legend of zelda #botw zelink #tloz botw #zelink #zelda x link #zelda #link #link breath of the wild #zelda botw #zelda breath of the wild #link botw #zelink fic #zelink fanfiction #fanfiction

29 notes · View notes