#slowbladed

[savannahrecordvisionary]

Slow Blade - 09/12/23 - Before show

[killingblade]

                    ‘   Everything is coming back to me,                                                   the true..   ’                 .Marluxia .Lauriam .Indie RP Blog

[ursaced]

SEND 📄  AND ILL DRAW A SCENE FROM A THREAD WE HAD  

aced, please stop beating up children.

@slowbladed

[revolverized]

to find is to lose. and to lose is to find. that is the way of things. on this bitch of an earth

why dont u find something better to say than weird riddles before u lose whats left of ur personality

[stormwithskiiin-a]

@slowbladed

                         ❝      XIGBAR,      huh    ???      Forgive    me    for    not    showing    up    with    a    NICE    WEDDING    GIFT.      ❞

[chiirishi-blog]

Gives Chirinthy a big hug

“Lauriam!!” Cue a very excited Chirithy, complete with tiny ear and tail wiggles as they eagerly return the hug. It’s been too long!!

[strxtto-blog]

"Hey Demyx, care to join for a slice?" There's pineapple on the pizza. Well Hidden Pineapple.

          “Wow! Thanks man! How did you know that I was craving pizza?” Slice taken in hand a hearty bite is taken—only for it to be spat out onto the ground.

           “BETRAYAL !! YOU TRULY ARE EVIL !!”

[x-purpose]

@slowbladed

“Activities in Caste Oblivion will be under your command.”

[corvulpes-a]

how does ava feel about the (apparent) universal dislike towards her union?

     get rekt, losers

[andallsoend]

@slowbladed | continued from ask

The stab of pain in his gut was a surprise, surely, but not so much of one that he didn’t smile at it. Ansem even laughed, as Marluxia twisted the knife and black ichor bubbled up from his lips. As his darling husband, kissed those bloodied lips and he kissed back.

His grip on the Nobody only tightened, his claws digging through the leather of the coat to prick at skin, and he pulled him closer, groaning, half delirious, as the knife pressed deeper. 

“Oh, dear, you certainly know how to treat a Heartless,” He purred, clawed hands flexing against Marluxia’s arms, almost like the way a cat would knead a blanket. Pleased and pained, he gasped, his laughter wet with the blood that continued to bubble up from his mouth. 

“Making a mess of me already, dear husband. Can’t say I mind, though. Why don’t you push it a little deeper and have yourself a deeper taste? I’m sure my Darkness can satisfy you far more than the Nothingness in you does.”

[savannahrecordvisionary]

[keyfade-blog]

"Why are you beating yourself up over things you can’t control? Breathe."

                every breath he takes could be spent differently, more efficiently, time to figure out how to keep and maintain peace. it haunts him, how he wonders if crucial decisions he’s made were the right or wrong ones, repercussions that only the future could tell. it kills him not to know what’s going to happen so he can plan in advance with them, he hadn’t wanted anymore of his friends to die, be lost to darkness. they’ve all lost people, and ephemera wanted to keep that loss to a minimum ( especially when they’re the only ones left to carry on the light. ) just the thought of the people he’s left behind to die haunts him, despite knowing there wasn’t anything that could’e been done — that’s just how the story had to be told. well, he desperately yearned to be a person to rewrite such tales of fate, turn tides in the darkest of hours, be the leader master ava envisioned him to be. despite knowing where his limitations lie ( you are only human, young boy ) he feels the expectations pile atop him; even now listening to lauriam’s kind-hearted, worried words, perhaps spoken from experience —- ephemer can hear judgement. that only leads his exasperated expression to worsen, turning into something more agitated, less himself. 

               ❝ but we’re supposed to be in control. ❞ his voice is undoubtedly shaken, a hostility never shown before surfacing within turquoise eyes. ❝ if we fall, there will be no one left to guide the light.  ❞ an orchestra cannot perform without a conductor, cars remain still without traffic lights, there had to be order and it had to be kept. hands bury themselves inside white locks, gripping tight, in a futile attempt to hold onto the last bit of composure left.  ❝ maybe you can keep calm like this because you weren’t ever on time for anything, not even during the start ! ❞ ( i’m so sorry. i don’t mean, of course you care — ) ❝ i’m beating myself up? maybe you’re not taking this seriously at all. all i’m trying to do is keep the people i have left in my life alive and well!  ❞ not like the ones living a lie in a virtual world, where he has to be okay with that until “ the time is right. ” yeah right, what a load of crap. ❝ because i have little to no one left to care about, and the thought of losing another person cripples me, so terribly sorry if i’m just a little tense! ❞ its at that moment when he hears his voice raise that he pauses, takes a good look around him, the look on his comrade’s face, and subsequently freezes in place. 

               this is how the first foretellers fell, doubt and anger, emotions of betrayal, until the dull ringing sounds of keyblade fell, and filled the graveyard they know today. since the beginning, ephemera said they wouldn’t end up like them, how they’re future would be bright, yet look at them now. his angry demeanor cracks, then piece by piece, shatters into a look nothing short of horrified. the “ true ephpemera ” finally came back, but at what cost? ❝ lauriam i — ❞ suddenly the room starts to spin, his voice dry and hoarse as tears of remorse slowly fill his eyes. it was like his worst nightmare come true. he sees blobs of pink and purple in his silhouette, before he winches his eyes shut. ❝ i-i didn’t mean i — gotta go. ❞ and on that note, quickly casting the waterworks away, ephemera bolts right past him and scurries out of the room. the words “ i’m so sorry ! ” linger at bottom of his throat, itching to get out, but all is silent. they never come out ( what good would it do now? ) as his voice is weakened by the heavy regret buried deep in his heart. some leader — no, friend you are, huh?

               he really wasn’t cut out for this.

[lightnull]

“Nostalgias a trap.”

there are memories in her mind —— an island / the ocean / what does the ocean smell like / what does the ocean feel like / a boy ; no, two boys / a girl with hair red and brown and red and she’s beautiful and they’re beautiful / what do they sound like —— and they are hers and aren’t and she holds them and calls to them and they’re warm. they carry her far and well away from this place with its cold white walls and cold white halls and cold and white and ——

there are memories in her mind and some of them aren’t of the island or the ocean or the boys or the girl and they get stronger as the hero gets closer and there’s a sketchbook in her lap and pencils in her hand and she sketches. she draws. colors staining purity and she wonders how the walls would look if they were any color at all and she wonders how she would look if they were any color at all / and she wonders how she would look with red hair / and she wonders how she would look with orange / orange? why orange?

orange is soft and lovely on the page with yellows and a face that’s blurred and a face that she cannot see and where, where did orange come from? ( orange : the color of the setting sun / and where did that come from? )

the pencil in her hand shakes or perhaps that’s simply her, shaking / and the door opens and he’s here and she pulls her sketchbook close to her chest, an automatic compulsion, a split second decision, and instinct screaming at her to hide. and she curves around it ( as if to protect it / as if to protect herself / and oh, little girl, you can’t protect anyone, can you? least of all yourself. ) and her eyes focus on the floor. on nothing at all.

he’s speaking, him with his vivid hair and him with his frigid flora and him with his cruel voice and him with his plans and plans and plans and she thinks of the man who found her. she thinks of this man, with his towering form / and he speaks. monologues. it has been days or perhaps weeks or perhaps months ( and how long is a month? ) and she has long since learned the virtue of silence / she has long since learned to fade away.

a ghost in training.

he’s talking about the hero and something in her chest seizes and he thinks of warm browns and the clear blue skies and wonders, abstractly, what a blue sky looks like. a memory comes and she knows and doesn’t and there’s that soft orange, once more. twin tails. her hands tighten around her sketchbook and, ❝ ———— nostalgia’s a trap. ❞

her eyes slip closed and she’s not in darkness / she’s not in light / she thinks about a fountain in the middle of a square and cobblestone streets and happiness and sadness and wonders if there’s goodness in flowers as there is in the sky, itself, and she sees pinks and oranges and laughter and smiles and —— despair? and blackness and darkness and nothingness and nothingness and merely the notion of things, the idea of things, the concept of what had been and what could be and when she opens her eyes again the whites of the room hurt.

they always hurt.

❝ yes, but… nostalgia are memories… and memories make up a heart, don’t they? ❞ the words slip and she had no intention of saying them, the sheer irony of it all, the hilarity that is that fact alone : memories make up the heart / and they, with lost hearts : have shattered memories / and she, with no heart : has no memories that are her own. and her gaze lifts as he grows closer and she holds her sketchbook closer because this is danger and this is an intrusion and she has long since learned to hide herself. to make herself nothing. because she’s nothing.

will she always be ——

slight shoulders flinch at his proximity and there is danger and danger and a blade falling and a key slicing and a heart leaving a body except she has no heart, does she? she is nothing and nobody and she calls out for the hero and looks up at he : usurper —— usurper to be. she curls in on herself and in on herself and in on herself and wits and unbecomes and his eyes are narrow and over bright and his mouth opens and —— well. at least it isn’t her… right? no more bruises, for now.

( she wonders about goodness / she wonders about despair / she wonders about the smell of flowers and the sound of a fountain and something like fondness. )

@slowbladed​ // some meme idk

[guidingkey]

"I can just.. make you a chocobo plush."

Make me one … ? Whaddya mean make me … Wait — Lauriam, you sew?!

[strxtto-blog]

slowbladed replied to your post:          “I don’t like fighting but—” Summons...

does this mean that we can use pizza to motivate you for your missions

          “Uh....maybe? Throw in a pack of oreos and some goldfish crackers and I’ll get a B- on my next mission.”

[embrcs-blog]

              SHE   LETS   HIM   GO            through   the   motions   of   his   little   monologue   .   much   the   same   ,   ever   the   dramatist   :   marluxia   tenders   every   sentence   like   a   spoken   word   piece   .   he   speaks   in   a   way   that   commands   that   she   listen   ;   or   is   contingent   on   the   likelihood   of   her   heeding   him   .

oh   ,   but   he’s   looking   for   something   very   particular   .   something   she   can’t   fathom   subject   to   distance   ,   or   the   hue   of   a   stare   that   is   decidedly   not   his   .   to   her   credit   ,   she   doesn’t   waver   :   an   arch   of   her   brow   .   a   show   of   carding   knives   through   her   fingers   ,   as   fluid   as   smoke   .

“   tsk   ,   tsk   ,   marluxia   . . .   ”   yeah   ,   well   .   party’s   over   :   he’s   just   whacking   an   empty   pinata   .   “   i’m   pretty   light   on   my   feet   ———   i’ve   got   stamina   for   days   ,   and   you   !   know   !   better   !   nothing’s   catching   me   unless   i   want   to   get   caught   .   not   even   her   ———   i   mean   ,   whoever   that   is   .  

              “   but   ,   say   . . .   weren’t   you   chasing   down   a   her  of   your   own   ?   or   have   we   finally   given  up   that   old   ghost   ?   ”

  @slowbladed​   absolutely   came   for   me   .     - ̗̀    cont .    ̖́-