#personal memoir

[shamandrummer]

Vagabonding as a Spiritual Path

The natural world is my muse and sanctuary -- a place for refuge and discovery. My most memorable moments have been in the outdoors. I have hiked thousands of miles of trails through forests, deserts and mountains. Having spent much of my life traveling and trekking, I still crave adventure and new experiences. Vagabonding or nomadic wandering is a unique way of living, a spiritual path to authenticity, self-awareness and solitude. Solitude allows time for self-examination, relaxation away from urban stress, and a chance to meditate, contemplate, or just zone out for hours at a time. Many of my most memorable experiences took place during solo journeys into Nature. The longer the solo immersion, the more transformational the experience.

In October 2011, I felt Spirit calling me. I felt compelled to travel to the sacred sites and power places that beckoned me. I followed my intuition and deepest instincts. I traveled with my drum and medicine bundle to shamanize the meridian system of Mother Earth's numinous web, which is the planetary counterpart to the acupuncture meridian system of the human body. At the intersection points of the planet's energy web exist holy places, power spots, or acupuncture points. Like acupuncture needles, humans are capable of maintaining the harmonious flow of the planetary energy meridians by making an Earth connection at power places.

Many magical things happened during my two month pilgrimage. I camped at Panther Meadows on Mount Shasta. I hiked among the oldest living things on the Earth in the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest. I soaked in the healing waters of Umpqua, Buckeye, Travertine, Whitmore, and Keough Hot Springs. Indigenous people worldwide believe that where fire and water mix at a hot spring is a sacred place. A water deity, usually a goddess, resides in each spring. People make pilgrimages to thermal springs to connect with the goddess and to supplicate the benefits of her healing graces. The sacred ambience of the place, its geothermal energy and the pilgrim's relationship to it, is sufficient to fulfill the pilgrim's aspirations.

I ventured south through California and explored the Owens Valley area on the east side of the Sierra Nevada crest. Before returning home in early December, I planned a four day desert exploration. On day one, I visited the Sleeping Lizard, which is an ancient vision quest site located in the Volcanic Tablelands north of Bishop. This site is sacred to the Owens Valley Paiute people, who use alcoves in the rock for vision quests. I took a journey back in time to visit the ancient ones who etched petroglyphs in the volcanic rock.

Next, I drove up the Whitney Portal Road towards the trailhead that hikers climb up to Mount Whitney. Unfortunately the road to the trailhead was closed for the winter. I backtracked down the road and camped in the Alabama Hills, located in the shadow of Mount Whitney just west of Lone Pine. The rounded weathered contours of the reddish-orange foothills contrast with the sharp ridges of the Sierra Nevada to the west. Throughout the last century, the Alabama Hills have appeared in hundreds of films and commercials. During my visit, a Quintin Tarantino project (Django Unchained) was being shot there.

In one day I drove from Mount Whitney (the sacred masculine), the tallest mountain in the continuous 48 states, into Death Valley (the sacred feminine), the lowest elevation in North America. Shortly after entering Death Valley National Park, I took an eight-mile detour north along the Saline Valley Road to visit a Joshua Tree forest at Lee Flat. The Saline Valley Road is very rough and progress was slow, but I eventually reached the magical forest. A cold wind buffeted me each time I left the confines of my truck to hike and photograph the forest. I would have camped here for the night if not for the high elevation and bitter cold wind. I camped instead at Panamint Springs Resort, 22 miles inside the western border of Death Valley National Park.

The following day, I explored Darwin Falls and the remote Panamint Valley adjacent to Death Valley. I camped for the next few days at the far northeast end of the South Panamint Dry Lake, a small wetland, grassland, dune system and mesquite bosque. The warm sulfur springs of this desert oasis provide habitat for frogs, shore birds, marsh hawks, and wild burros. A short-eared owl visited my campsite each evening at dusk. The stars bathed the cold desert in a warm glow. Few things are more serene than the deep stillness of the desert on a starry night. In that stillness, I am reborn, forever changed.

Oh, how I love vagabonding. Shamanism is deeply rooted in Nature and a nomadic lifestyle. The emphasis is on the individual, of breaking free and discovering one's own uniqueness in order to bring something new back to the group. Like drumming, nomadic wandering alters your ordinary everyday awareness. It is another means of habitual pattern disruption for reimprinting on alternate realties. When you leave home, meet new people, experience new stimuli, and process new information, you're soon intoxicated on a natural high. As Ed Buryn, the godfather of modern vagabonding puts it, "Vagabonding is nothing less than reality transformation, and its power is not to be underestimated."

[amalythea]

「 but does he really know me when the lights are on? 」

⤷ info: diluc & childe x gn!reader (separate) || angsty fic hehe || wc: 544 & 461 respectively

⤷ warnings: diluc n childe are a tad bit neglectful of their lovers bc theyre busy, mentions of childe's real name (does this even count as a warning), i tried to make this extra angsty as a treat for you guys <3

⤷ extra: i used the prompt i. “but does he really know me when the lights are on?” from @thexianzhoujade 's personal memoires (of the dearly beloved) event!! thank you so much to @mei-sm for proofreading!!

diluc.

As the owner of the renowned Dawn Winery, your lover's days were consumed by the meticulous tasks of wine-making and managing the estate. Diluc was a man of dedication, his every waking moment dedicated to upholding his family's legacy.

But amidst the clinking of glasses and the rustle of grapevines, there existed a longing within Diluc—a longing for companionship, for someone to share his burdens and his joys. It was in the quiet moments of the night, as he gazed out over the vineyards, that this longing weighed heaviest upon him.

Then, amidst the chaos of his busy life, you came into his world like a breath of fresh air. You who seemed to understand Diluc in a way no one else could. Your encounters were fleeting yet profound, each stolen moment leaving Diluc yearning for more.

Despite his limited time, Diluc cherished every second he spent with you. He memorized the curve of your smile, the sound of your laughter, the way your eyes sparkled in the moonlight. In his mind, he constructed an image of you—a flawless portrait of a person he believed he knew inside and out.

But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Diluc's time grew ever scarcer. His duties at the winery demanded more of him, leaving little room for anything else. Yet, in the rare moments you shared, Diluc clung to the illusion of intimacy he had built in his mind.

One evening, as you sat together beneath the stars, your voice broke the silence. "Diluc," you said softly, your gaze searching his face, "do you truly believe you know me?"

Caught off guard by your question, Diluc faltered. "Of course, I do," he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I know you better than anyone."

But your eyes held a sadness he had not seen before. "But do you?" you murmured, your words hanging heavy in the air. "Do you know the dreams I keep hidden in the depths of my heart? Do you know the fears that haunt me in the darkness of night?"

Diluc felt a pang of guilt deep within him. Despite his love for you, he realized that his knowledge of you was only surface-deep. He knew your smile, your laughter, your outward demeanor—but the depths of your soul remained a mystery to him.

In that moment, the realization hit him like a sudden gust of wind. Despite his best intentions, despite his unwavering devotion, he had failed to truly know the one he loved. And as he looked into your eyes, he saw the truth reflected back at him—the heartbreaking realization that your connection was built on a foundation of illusion.

Tears welled in your eyes as you rose to your feet, your voice barely above a whisper. "I wish things were different, Diluc," you whispered, your words heavy with sorrow. "But I fear that we are destined to remain strangers, even as lovers."

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving Diluc alone beneath the stars, his heart heavy with regret. For in that moment, he knew that despite his best efforts, he had let the one he loved slip through his fingers, never truly knowing you as he had believed.

childe.

In the heart of Liyue Harbor, beneath the grandeur of the illuminated archways and amidst the bustling streets, Childe found himself entangled in the mess of his own making. The weight of his duties pressed upon him like a leaden cloak, consuming his days and nights in a relentless pursuit of power and influence. Amidst the political machinations and secret dealings, there was but one respite for him – the presence of his lover.

Your relationship was an affair hidden behind veils of secrecy and deception. Childe reveled in the moments stolen away from the prying eyes of the world, where he could lose himself in the warmth of your embrace. Yet, even in your most intimate moments, there lingered an unspoken question, a whisper of doubt that haunted your thoughts.

Despite his professed affection, Childe remained a stranger in many ways, his mind consumed by the ceaseless demands of his position within the Fatui. He spoke in riddles, his words veiled in ambiguity, leaving you to decipher the depths of his intentions.

As the nights grew longer and the shadows darker, you found peace in the silence between you, a quiet refuge from the chaos of your intertwined lives. But beneath the facade of understanding, doubts festered, like seeds sown in barren soil, their roots entwined with the fragile threads of your bond.

One night, as the city slept beneath a blanket of stars, your doubts could no longer be silenced. With tears glistening in your eyes, you uttered the words that had long lingered unspoken between the two of you.

"Do you truly know me, Ajax?" you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath upon the wind. "Or do you see only the shadows of who I am, cast by the light of your own desires?"

For a moment, Childe was speechless, the weight of your words bearing down upon him like a crushing weight. In the silence that followed, he searched your eyes for answers, but found only the reflection of his own uncertainty staring back at him.

"I... I thought I knew you," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the gentle rustle of the night breeze. "But perhaps... perhaps I was mistaken."

With those words, the fragile bonds that held you together shattered like glass, leaving nothing but shards of regret in their wake. In the cold light of dawn, you turned away, leaving Childe to face the emptiness of his own solitude.

Alone amidst the ruins of your shattered love, Childe found himself haunted by the echoes of your parting words. In the depths of his heart, he knew that he had lost more than just a lover – he had lost a piece of himself, forever hidden in the shadows of what might have been.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

@amalythea 2024. | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

[leveragehunters]

I was going through my great grandfather's memoirs (born 3 March 1880) and came across this part, which feels eerily similar to our current times:

Our biggest handicap was the Spanish Flu epidemic of 1918. With men off sick we were lucky to have 50 staff. Some would come back and more would go off. I was off two weeks myself. There were many deaths in the city.   The war was over and the men were returning from France. We were working a fifty hour week. With the men returning, the trend was to repress wages and frown on a reduction of working hours. My responsibility had been increased so as I was next to the superintendent. This was fine, except my wages were the same as the day I started. They said, "You are doing a good job, but with the men returning that is all we can pay you." There was general upset. The returned men were dissatisfied with the wages offered, not only with our company and the warehouse business, but with what was being offered in general.

He then goes on to explain how they met with the Trade and Labour Council to form a union and present their demands (which were union recognition, basic wage of $180.00 a month, an eight hour day in a year's time, and a two year contract), but it all went to hell because of spies reporting back to the bosses and scabs who refused to honour the strike.

After the second day they flooded back like sheep. At Ashdown the travellers and buyers worked the warehouse without interruption of service. The strike was a washout. I was out of a job!

The night before the strike was scheduled to start the bosses even resorted to the closest they had to social media 105 years ago.

The Evening paper carried an advertisement, by all companies concerned, advising that all employees absent from work for three days, would be discharged.

(The memoirs are 180 typed pages, so I may post more bits as they catch my eye)

[mei-sm]

> personal memories event !

prompt xix. “i don’t wanna lie awake with only you here on my mind.”

pairings. blade x reader

genre. angst, hurt/no comfort

note. i fiiiniished @thexianzhoujade, i swear im gonna go sleep after this 1am LETS GO

you sometimes feel like the present isn’t that different from the past. like how blade has always been in your mind, no matter what life you were in. and how you’d always managed to solve every conflict that you’d come across.

however, you’ve been having a problem lately.

the soft, quiet relationship you had established with blade has gone too quiet. ever since him and kafka came back from the luofu, he started to avoid seeing you, and little habits between you two stopped. an example being that blade doesn’t come to you when the mara becomes unbearable. not anymore at least. instead of being in your gentle arms, soft and comforting words lulling him to sleep, he went back to asking kafka to use her spirit whisper on him.

that wasn’t the only thing that stopped, because you’ve noticed blade’s nightly visits to your room hasn’t happened in over a week. the long conversations you’d have rarely happened lately. no longer would you have your quiet lover lean on your shoulder while you rambled on about your day. the nights where he dropped by to visit were replaced with the cold night air and silence. 

you sit down and try to think about why blade decided to distance himself. about why his walls that you worked so hard to break down were up again. you didn’t want to doubt him, you really didn’t. but it felt like you were meeting him for the first time again, the same captivating silent man you once met. 

back then, the two of you would cross paths every now and then. sometimes you both would indulge in some small talk. now, you feel as if blade made himself scarce, purposely hiding from you. every time you see him pass by, you want to chase him down and ask, “why?”

at this point, your head was hurting from this mess. so you lay down on your bed and start think that the present is always a little different from the past. like how blade constantly being in your head, was starting to make you sick.

fun fact im a sucker for plots that reverse back to the beginning

[lovingluxury]

「 sleep tight. 」

「 honkai: star rail. | scenario. 」

𒈔ٍ⃛ㅤ ㅤ it was lonely in the archives without you. Even more when you decided to no longer be part of the express.

𒈔ٍ⃛ㅤ ㅤ Dan Heng x gn!reader | angst with light horror elements

𒈔ٍ⃛ㅤ ㅤ word count: 846

𒈔ٍ⃛ㅤ ㅤ warnings: nightmares.

He misses the time when was reminded to go to bed just before he almost pulled an all-nighter another time. He misses the time when food stood ready on his table in the archives, as he came back from the toilet, remembering he missed lunch once again.

But he had you. He had you to remember him every time. He had.

He had…

He misses the time you sat with him in the archives, idly reading a book on his bed. Your music coming so loud out of your headphones, he listened with you. Sometimes the sweet melody of a duet of the violin and the piano was to be heard, sometimes the soft tunes of an OST of the game you started recently, sometimes the hard bass of some underground band, only few people in the galaxy heard about when asked.

Dan Heng didn’t even have to look in the direction of his bed, he knew you were there. And now, every time he turns around to stand up, he is surprised to not see you there. Not sitting in his bed, frowning at the book.

He is surprised.

Surprised you’re not there.

Not there to keep him company.

His gaze did not move from the spot you should've been seated, but you're not. And he feels how a stone is resting on his heart, adding more weight to it. Like he doesn't have enough.

His eyes get smaller, now deeply in his thoughts. Would he have a chance to convince you to stay longer on the express? Would he had you longer by his side, if he dared to ask you?

His gaze falls on the wooden glock you gifted him when you came back from one of your trips with March. It remembered you of him, you said. Almost 2 AM. Again, he was on the best way to pull a one-nighter again. And after so long, he feels drained. He lays down on his rather uncomfortable bed and closes his eyes. He rolled over on his left side, then his right, and again on his left side, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. Eventually, he falls asleep. And the nightmares start to haunt him again, uglier than ever before.

It started slow, melancholic. You sat on one of the perfectly cleaned couches in the train’s lounge with a book in one hand, the weight of the hardcover resting in your hand. Slow jazz filled the room, coming from the gramophone. The scenery gave off an unfamiliar vibe.

He went in your direction and called out your name, but you didn’t seem to react. Your frowning expression was still fixated on the book in your hand. He stopped in front of you, only for you to disappear after he blinked.

He stepped back, batting his lashes a few more times to realise what just happened. You were gone. Not even the book left behind. He turned around his axis a few times, only to stop to look at you standing beside the stairs up to the engine compartment. Your face was turned away from him, him only seeing your back.

He walked towards you, reaching out to grab your shoulder. As soon as his hand touched you, you collapsed into a mushy matter. You slipped from his grasp yet again.

What was left of you disappeared behind him, brought him to turn around only to watch you materialise into something he couldn't identify. It was a tall, slender figure out of black material. This thing stared at him with its white eyes for a few seconds before it attacked him.

He winces and opens his eyes. The dark embraces him tightly, only getting interrupted by the dim light of the data bank. It is nothing new for Dan Heng. It should be nothing new for him. But it feels so foreign, so wrong, so distant. You changed him with your embrace when you were lying beside him with a leg and arm draped over him, making him sweat underneath the blanket like hell. But he didn’t complain. He never complained around you. Now it’s cold and even the small mattress feels too big now.

He could've been lying with you longer in bed.

He could've been a little longer with you a little longer under the blanket, sweating his ass off.

But he's not.

He's not with you any longer.

You’re not with him anymore.

Alone the thought that the only person who voluntarily came to him every single time without fail is now gone chokes him. The first person in his current reincarnation who truly loved him is now gone. It ripped every single bit of oxygen out of his lungs, not letting a little bit of escape.

And he knows, would you have been with him, you would have given him all of your oxygen straight out of your lungs.

Dan Heng should’ve stopped you from leaving the express. Or maybe he should have left with you. But he cannot run after you now. It’s already too late.

𒈔ٍ⃛ㅤ ㅤ lov’s monologe:

My entry for the personal memories (of the dearly beloved) event from @thexianzhoujade with the prompt viii. “it’s okay if you can’t catch your breath, you can take the oxygen straight out of my own chest.” | atlas: two. Although I used more of the first part of the song as inspiration.

My first time writing angst (especially in english). I have some failed attempts in the past, but I wasn’t happy with them. This time I also tried to put some horror elements in it, altogether it’s not really how I wanted it. Surely it’s not a 100% how I imagined it, but it's on the right path I think.

Did I accidentally posted it before it was done? Yes ✨.

any questions? feel free to ask! — ©lovingluxury 2024 — do not translate, re-upload without permission

[gigidragonbbxxx]

lil twist on the "movie star role"/"memoir method" for visualizing a dream life - another suggested method for the manifesting hotties

spoiler: this may help you figure out what techniques are right for you!

disclaimer: remember that these methods and techniques are just tools to get your mind saturated with thinking in your favor, stay grounded in the basics of the law and have fun with the varied tools!

I love the "movie star role" method. For those who don't know, it's a lil visualization technique where manifesting baddies act as if they're preparing to play the role of X. So if you want to be your SP's girlfriend, they "prep" for the role by living in the end state of already being SP's girlfriend. This includes embodying the attitude, saying affirmations like "I love being in a committed relationship" or "SP changed soooo much to gain my trust. We're so happy now!". Some baddies take a step further and apply it to their self-concept (this is genius btw) and begin saying affirmations like "I'm so beautiful and unforgettable, it is really not that surprising he came back begging for me. Giving him a chance was only fair with how much he groveled!"

Now, enter the "memoir method". This is usually a scripting technique but give Gigi a sec to explain! There are many variations of this method but it's essentially writing the reality you want to happen and putting the date in the future aka the deadline you wanna experience this by. Most encourage baddies to write in the past tense like "I'm so grateful I received enough money to cover my vacation, my bonuses keep increasing."

Now enter Gigi's lil twist on these methods - COMBINE THEM INTO WHAT I LIKE TO CALL:

The Interview Method

Imagine being interviewed by other loass baddies asking you "How did you achieve this?"

Visualize your dream self, the ultimate version of you that would warrant this type of attention and the answers that version of you would give.

Imagine an older Beyonce giving the "tell all" interview of a lifetime - THAT LEVEL OF HYPE.

Gigi's example:

I know I look glamorous and ageless. My skin is smooth and clear, my hair is long, inky black, blown out and curled. My body looks like an advertisement for hourglasses. The dress I'm wearing is flattering, accentuating my curves. I'm as sexy as I am elegant. The interviewer looks on with eagerness, practically spilling over with admiration.

"The Law of Assumption girlies wanna know Gigi, how the hell did you get results like this? Hollywood actresses would get insecure being in the same room as you! What are your methods? What's your daily routine?"

Now this is where the spoiler comes in! WHAT COMES TO MIND IMMEDIATELY? WHAT METHODS WOULD YOUR DREAM SELF LIKE?

bc guess what reader? all the answers are within you. your job is to let them out. coax them out with these exercises. feel empowered.

if your first reaction is: Idk Gigi. I don't know what methods work for me.

My answer to that is: then this technique is not for you. This method favors the baddies who are more familiar with the different modalities of manifesting. I encourage you to go and explore different things. Try them out. See which ones you like and then circle back to this and think about which ones resonated with you.

I encourage you to write it out. Script it as you visualize.

My own experience:

From this method I learned that my subconscious viewed my dream self as someone who was very disciplined and consistent. So I started to include these in my daily affirmations (I am disciplined, etc.). I realized that my dream self would let this quality seep into every facet of her life. I'm big into makeup and skincare so I thought, my dream self would probably affirm out loud or in her mind as she looked in the mirror and did her routine.

then the lil interviewer popped up in my head: "What happens on the days you don't feel well enough to do your routine?"

My mind (thinking in its favor) immediately went: that's rare that I don't have the discipline to stick to my routine so if I'm sick or in an emergency, I would just do a basic routine and play an affirmation tape.

I came to the conclusion that Dream Self would

be reliable

come across as intelligent - immediately

pride herself on good self-care

have a healthy relationship with SP

have friends who knew the law and would be encouraging

be calm and have a calm energy bc she knows everything is in her favor

be seen as a caring, beautiful, deep soul with much to give

never be taken for granted

always be spoiled by life - wealthy in finance and health

I also reversed this method: what would my Dream Self NOT do?

Dream Self wouldn't

talk badly about herself

put others down

get bothered by the 3D

surround herself with people who have limiting thoughts

be lazy

think that the worst would happen to her

This is the type of inner convo I want more loass baddies to have with themselves because it's important to be clear WITHIN yourself what you WANT.

and remember to have fun. Include questions about the silliest things like your favorite lipstick or fav playlist or opinions about dumb tv shows. One of my favorite visualizations is me telling the interviewer that I watched all of Sex and the City and that I vowed to never be a Carrie LOL.

okay, happy manifesting loass baddies!!

xx, gigi

[the-20something-cat-lady]

An Open Letter to the Man Who Will Never Read It

I’m not sure what I’m trying to accomplish by writing this. And I have that sinking feeling that I still won’t know after everything has been said and done. Maybe this won’t accomplish anything, and it’ll turn my own life upside down. Regardless of the outcome, I know it really doesn’t matter at this point because my life has clearly gone down a road where we might not meet again. As of writing this, this is a truth I still need to come to terms with whether I like it or not. I can’t say that I haven’t had my eye on you. Granted, I had eyes almost everywhere, so people were keeping tabs on you whether I wanted it or not. And of course, I didn’t want that to be the case as time went on. I genuinely want to forget about everything that’s happened, but obviously I can’t because the purpose of this memoir is solely on our story during that point of our lives. I can safely say why I’m writing this, but I’ll probably never be able to answer the “what am I trying to accomplish with this?” because nothing really matters in the end. It happened, we can’t change how it turned out, and now we’re just living with the consequences of our actions. I’m sure you’re living your best life wherever you are, but as I write this, I’m just now starting to dig my way up from the hole I dug myself into. I’ve only recently started “living” my life, and that’s all because I decided to change jobs. Now, I have all this time to myself but with no clue on what to do about it. I have a few ideas on what to do, but so far, I’m at the “humble beginnings” stage of this new life I’ve carved for myself. It’s not so bad thankfully, but I know I could be doing better with myself. It’ll take some time, but I’m confident that I can navigate through this. I know I’m not alone in this life, and I’m fortunate for that. But this is one of those instances where I have to traverse alone because frankly, the ones that initially knew about our story have a genuine disdain for you. And rightfully so since your ass still owes me an apology. I’m still living life without it though so it’s not like I desperately need it to live. I’m not stating all this solely for the possibility that you’ll eventually find this and read it for yourself. This has been something I’ve been meaning to get off my chest and process it, and this just so happens to be the medium I decided upon to finally process this part of my life. Art has been ruined for me, and I can’t seem to pick it back up like I once did in high school. But writing seems to be my only safe haven that’s been untouched by expectations from an overbearing father. And if writing is eventually ruined for me, I know I’ll find another mode of expressing how I feel. It’s just time-consuming since I’d have to go through the trouble of seeing what works, cutting out what doesn’t work, and so on.

I guess this is just the long version of “this is my truth, whether everyone likes it or not.”

[thexianzhoujade]

— personal memoires (of the dearly beloved)

the library is quiet, dimly lit by a few burning white candles that cast a golden glow on the nearby surfaces. it smells musty but the most distinguishable feature is the empty shelf in the far corner, missing a particularly unusual series of books that would otherwise stand out among the thick fiction in the library.

reading these memoires will fill you with mirth, joy and conflict. you will see the stories of those who no longer walk with us, in worlds other than your own. do you dare to locate these missing memoires?

“welcome to kai’s 200 mutual collaboration event! thank you so much for 200 followers! as a token of my gratitude, i’m working with my mutuals to provide a series of fanfictions that are prompted by lyrics - personal memoires of people's lives that you may live through. now, should we start searching?”

— rules.

i. mutuals only for this event! ii. fluff, angst, platonic and suggestive are allowed but do tag your memoires appropriately for the minor audiences. iii. you do not have to use these lyrics as dialogue - it can merely inspire the memoire. you are also free to interpret these lyrics as you wish, they’re not assigned to a genre! iv. you are free to do as many entries as you like, the more the merrier you don't have to do only one prompt each! v. this event closes on 01/05/24. when you post your memoire, please tag me and use the event tag:

⊹ ࣪ ˖ personal memoires ⟢

— prompts.

i. “but does he really know me when the lights are on?” | he loves me, he loves me not. ii. “i’d give the world to you, ‘cause i know the sun, the moon, the hurt falls with you.” | eclipse. iii. “everything i used to love, decayed over the years.” | unsweetened lemonade. iv. “you’re too sweet for me.” | too sweet. v. “you got me misunderstood, but at least i look this good.” | we can’t be friends. vi. “i’m here, i’m there, i’m everywhere. but you can’t catch me now.” | can’t catch me now. vii. “the role of a king is a lonely one to play.” | lonely king. viii. “it’s okay if you can’t catch your breath, you can take the oxygen straight out of my own chest.” | atlas: two. ix. “hold back the river, so i can stop for a minute and be by your side.” | hold back the river. x. “ain’t no prayer, ain’t no god, that could save us from our love.” | lovers in the dark. xi. “my love, are you the devil? i would worship you instead of him.” | the fruits. xii. “you are the best thing that's ever been mine.” | mine. xiii. “he did it all to spare me from the awful things in life that comes.” | murder song. xiv. “she’s talking to angels, counting the stars.” | waiting for superman. xv. “oh? did i almost see what’s really on the inside? all your insecurities, all the dirty laundry.” | unconditionally. xvi. “nervous, trip over my words. you’re so pretty it hurts.” | i’m yours. xvii. “i don’t want what you ain’t in, and i don’t wanna go unless i’m going there with you.” | my promised land. xviii. “there’ll be happiness after you but there was happiness because of you.” | happiness. xix. “i don’t wanna lie awake with only you here on my mind.” | on my mind. xx. “do we look like lovers or partners in crime?” | partners in crime.

— located memoires.

i. located by @yaminohimeyume : prompt xii — aventurine x fem!reader | sfw, fluff. ii. located by @mei-sm : prompt xix — blade x gn!reader | sfw, angst. iii. located by @elatedfool : prompt viii — aventurine x gn!reader | sfw, hurt/comfort. iv. located by @amalythea : prompt i — diluc + childe x gn!reader | sfw, angst. v. located by @amalythea : prompt xiv — venti, traveler + kazuha x gn!reader | sfw, angst. vi. located by @lovingluxury : prompt viii — dan heng x gn!reader | sfw, angst.

vii. located by @xianyoon : prompt viii — wriothesley x gn!reader | sfw, fluff.

— official playlist.

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© thexianzhoujade 2024. | reblogs appreciated | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

[drowningincolorfultears]

🪦 Rest in piss to the ones I’m killin 🪦

[deadpresidents]

"No fewer than twenty-nine of my [research] cards document [Ronald] Reagan's detachment. He was at once the most remote and the most accessible of men. Although he reveled in the constant flesh-pressing of the Presidency, and ate up flattery with a spoon, he needed regular spells of 'personal time.' Glance through the Oval Office peephole and you would see him happily writing in longhand, always with his tie straight and jacket on, ensconced in an egglike solitude that the curvature of the lens only emphasized.

Adored by so many, he was a man with no real friends. This was not due to any inherent misanthropy...Until he remarried in 1952, earnest, bespectacled Ronnie was said to be 'best friends' with [actor] William Holden, and after that with Robert Taylor. But neither man was more than a barbecue buddy. Hundreds of political supporters and associates claimed to be close to him when he was Governor of California and thousands during his Presidency. Former Senator Paul Laxalt spoke for all of them when he said, 'I guess I know Ronald Reagan as well as anybody. Of course we never talk about anything personal.'

Sooner or later, every would-be intimate (including his four children, Maureen, Michael, Patti, and Ron) discovered that the only human being Reagan truly cared about (after his mother died) was Nancy. For Laxalt, disillusionment came when the President called to thank him for his campaign help in 1984, only to pause in midsentence and audibly turn over a page of typescript. For William F. Buckley Jr., it was when Reagan showed polite relief at his inability to accept an offer of hospitality. For Michael Reagan, it was the high-school graduation day his father greeted him with 'My name is Ronald Reagan. What's yours?'

Patti Davis, Reagan's younger daughter, writes in her 1992 autobiography:

'Often I'd come into a room and he'd looked up from his notecards as though he wasn't sure who I was. [Youngest son] Ron would race up to him, small and brimming with a child's enthusiasm, and I'd see the same bewildered look in my father's eyes, like he had to remind himself who Ron was...I sometimes felt like reminded him that Maureen was his daughter, too, not just someone with similar political philosophies.'

Reagan's scrupulously kept Presidential diary is remarkable for a near-total lack of interest in people as individuals. In all its half-million or so words, I did not find any affectionate remark about his children. He conscientiously named every visitor to the Oval Office, having a printed schedule to refer to, but in conversation he tended to rely on pronouns. Nor did he pay much attention to faces. 'Nice to meet you, Mr. Ambassador,' he greeted Denis Healey, the former Defense Minister of Great Britain, while the real British Ambassador stood by. 'But I've already met him,' his Excellency [the Ambassador] complained, 'eleven times.'"

-- Edmund Morris, Ronald Reagan's authorized biographer, on President Reagan's aloof personality, "The Unknowable: Ronald Reagan's Amazing, Mysterious Life," The New Yorker, June 28, 2004.

[apurpledust]

i'm reading Napoleon: Bisexual Emperor by Frank Richardson and although the book itself is a mess i do like the small amount of Napoleon/Duroc excerpts I found😭

[vamphobias]

having noé as a comfort character feels like this

[amalythea]

「 stars 」

⤷ info: kazuha, traveler, venti x gn!reader (separate) || angst-ish || wc: 1180

⤷ warnings: mentions of death (not reader), v sad thoughts, i tried to keep traveler themselves as gn as possible too but please do tell me if i missed something, writing for traveler actually killed my braincells

⤷ extra: i used the prompt xiv. “she’s talking to angels, counting the stars.” from @thexianzhoujade 's personal memoires (of the dearly beloved) event!!

kazuha.

In the tranquil solitude of the night, beneath the vast expanse of stars, you sat on the ground, your silhouette outlined by the gentle glow of moonlight as you gazed up at the stars above. Your heart ached with the weight of loss, your thoughts consumed by memories of your one love Kazuha.

Once, he had been the light of your life, his laughter like music to your ears, his gentle touch a source of comfort in times of need. But now, he was gone, taken from you by a cruel twist of fate, leaving behind only the echo of his presence and a void that seemed impossible to fill.

Every night, you would come to this secluded spot, the one you used to visit together, where the stars seemed to shine just a little brighter. It was here that you had shared your dreams, your hopes, and your love. And it was here that you felt closest to him, as if his spirit lingered among the celestial canvas above.

With a heavy heart, you whispered Kazuha's name into the stillness of the night, your voice barely louder than a breath. "Kazuha," you murmured, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Do you see the stars, my love? Are you watching over me from beyond the veil of the heavens?"

You closed your eyes, letting the memories wash over you like a gentle tide. You remembered the way Kazuha would hold your hand as you sat together beneath the night sky, his words a soothing balm to your troubled soul. And you remembered the promise you had made, to always be together, even when the world conspired to tear you apart.

But now, that promise lay shattered, scattered by the winds of fate. Kazuha was gone, his laughter silenced, his touch but a distant memory. And yet, you could not bring yourself to believe that he was truly lost forever.

For in the depths of your grief, there was a glimmer of hope, a belief that somehow, someway, Kazuha had found peace in the afterlife. You imagined him reunited with his dear friend, the two of them laughing and reminiscing beneath the eternal light of the stars.

And so, each night, you would come to this sacred place, your heart heavy with sorrow yet warm with the belief that Kazuha was watching over you, his love a guiding beacon in the darkness. And as you gazed up at the heavens above, you felt a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that wherever Kazuha was, he was not truly gone.

For as long as the stars continued to shine, so too would the memory of your love burn bright, illuminating the darkest corners of your soul and reminding you that even in death, your bond would never be broken.

traveler.

In Teyvat, where the winds whisper secrets and the stars tell tales of heroes, there once was a traveler from a distant world. This traveler had been searching for their sibling, and in the midst of their search had found someone else they cared for: you.

Your love knew no boundaries, spanning across the nations and beyond the reach of time itself. But fate, like a capricious deity, had other plans. Your lover, in their quest to protect the fragile balance of Teyvat, met their end in a valiant battle against a formidable foe. And as their spirit ascended, leaving behind a world engulfed in sorrow, you were left to wander Teyvat alone.

Every night, as the sky painted itself with the luminescence of countless stars, you would go up to the highest peak you could find. There, beneath the blanket of twinkling lights, you would sit, your heart heavy with longing, your eyes searching the heavens for a glimpse of your lover.

"They're among them," you would whisper to the ethereal void, your voice carrying both sorrow and hope. "My love, shining bright among the stars."

In those moments, you would feel a familiar warmth wrap around you, a fleeting sensation that whispered of your lover's enduring presence. You imagined them traversing the celestial expanse, a celestial wanderer among the constellations, watching over you with tender affection.

As time unfurled its tapestry, you found solace in your nightly ritual. The stars became your confidants, the silent witnesses to your whispered prayers and tearful confessions. And though your lover's physical form had departed, their essence lingered in the gentle caress of the night breeze and the shimmering radiance of the cosmos.

And as you gazed upon the heavens each night, your faith unshaken, you found solace in the belief that your lover had returned to their celestial home among the stars, finishing their search at last.

venti.

In Mondstadt, where the winds sing their eternal melodies and the stars dance in the night sky,

Venti, the mischievous bard of Mondstadt, was known for his jovial spirit and melodious songs that enchanted the hearts of all who listened. But amidst his carefree nature, there was one whose heart he held dearer than any other – his lover, a gentle soul whose love for Venti burned like the brightest star in the night sky.

Your love was as boundless as the vast expanse of the heavens, and together, you would spend countless nights beneath the vast expanse of the sky, nestled in each other's arms as you gazed up at the twinkling stars. Venti would weave tales of ancient myths and celestial wonders, his voice carrying across the night like a gentle breeze.

But fate, like the ever-changing winds, can be unpredictable.

One fateful day, Venti's song was silenced, his laughter stilled. News of his passing spread like wildfire, leaving behind a trail of sorrow that even the wind could not carry away. Your heart shattered into a million pieces, each shard a painful reminder of the void left by your beloved bard.

In the wake of Venti's passing, you found solace in the memories you had shared under the starlit sky. You would sit by the edge of the cliff overlooking Mondstadt, watching as the stars sparkled like fragments of Venti's soul scattered across the heavens.

In the quiet solitude of those nights, you would recall his words, spoken with a whimsical smile and a twinkle in his eyes. "If ever I should depart from this world," he had said, "fear not, for I shall join the stars themselves, and from there, I shall watch over you always."

And so, as you gazed up at the luminous tapestry above, you couldn't help but smile through your tears, for you believed with all your heart that Venti was among those celestial beings, guiding you with his eternal light.

Though the ache of loss never truly faded, you found comfort in the belief that Venti's spirit lived on in the stars, a constant reminder that your love was as infinite as the universe itself. And so, you continued to watch the stars every night, knowing that somewhere up there, Venti was watching over you, his laughter echoing in the celestial chorus that danced across the night sky.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

@amalythea 2024. | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

[eternal-moss]

Vanitas and Dante being my age feels Really Weird. WhAT DO YOU MEAN THEYRE 18???

This man and this man-!? Actually wait.. with further thought Vanitas is definitely immature enough to be 18..

[alkalische]

mercs that fight together shit together

[eastralyn]

The beginning

There's always a beginning. There's always a start; we're all born and then we start to live. I reflect on the start of my life a lot. I reflect on the child I was versus the person I am right now. And who will I be next? Who knows, but I am hoping by beginning at the start of it all, I will find some further understanding of who I am and why I am here. My life has been hard, interspersed by shooting moments of peace, happiness and stability. Regardless, it's all come to this one point of where I am right now. I always intended to get my whole story down, so I will start today and continue until it gets too hard to relive some of the shit I've seen done and felt.

At the beginning, I was born. I really don't know how, as it's been impossible for me to understand how two of the most incompatible people I've ever known came together to make a life. My life as it turns out. From what I've been told, it was just by chance that my parents met. For a long time, that chance encounter has haunted my ability to connect all the threads as to why I am here, how I came to burst forth into this existence.

My earliest memory is sitting outside somewhere, in one of the many place we lived. I had a packet of cookies I was trying to open but it was difficult. I pulled and pulled until the package burst open in my hands and the cookies went flying. I was sad as only a 2-3 year old can be when something so small doesn't go well. I knew no one would help me, so I just sat there, the empty bag in ribbons while I'm surrounded by the cookies I wanted so badly. It was sad to know this was just how it was. Unexpectedly, my mom showed up and exuded empathy in a way that completely took me by surprise. She was gentle as she said "let's get you some more cookies". What surprises me most is that even at a young age, this gentle and nurturing experience was not common with her. I truly believe that I keep that memory locked away safe because it's one of the few I have where it's just good. It's me and it's her and we're just good. A fleeting spot of sunshine in the marred landscape of my memories. I don't know that I ever got that from her again. But in that moment, we were gold. I look at that moment a lot until it's too painful and I have to turn away.

I like to think that her and I will exist there forever. That I'm still there as a kid and she's there as my mom. And we can loop on that forever. Because the rest goes downhill after that and that memory gets lost for a long long time