* 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐈 .

  *  𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂    :    feelings.

𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒.    being unable to stop smiling. laughter. bear hugs. happy tears. waving arms around. dancing. contently sighing. eyes twinkling. laughter lines. childlike playfulness. skipping. talking more. affection. cracking more jokes than usual. gesturing more when talking. higher pitched voice. squealing. jumping around. clapping.

𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒.    tearing up. self-hugging. one-arm cross. an aching chest. scratchy throat. a runny nose. turning away. deep breaths. quivery smiles. crying. infantile sobbing. hands gripping each other or an object. covering mouth. puffy eyes. eyes appear red. voice breaking. a distant or empty stare. monotone voice. asking for comfort. faking a smile. crumbling. shaking. whimpering. depression. abusing an unhealthy habit. withdrawing from others. big teary eyes. doing something even if it could hurt them.

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑.    furrowed brows. baring teeth. passive-aggressive comments. avoiding eye contact. sarcasm. headache. sore muscles. hiding clenched fists. irritability. jumping to conclusions. raising voice. going silent. demanding immediate action. keeping it all in until exploding. body tensing. making risky decisions. middle finger.

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑.    wanting to flee or hide. what-ifs. images of what-could-be flashing in mind. uncontrollable trembling. rapid breathing. screaming. a skewed sense of time. irritability. keeping silent. denying fear. turning away from the cause. pretending to be brave. nail-biting. lip-biting. scratching skin. a joking tone but a voice that cracks. fainting. insomnia. panic attacks. exhaustion. substance abuse. tics. rushing adrenaline. face draining of color. hair lifting on the back of the neck. feeling rooted to the spot. making body as small as possible. staring but not seeing. crying. a shrill voice. whispering. gripping something or someone. stuttering. flinching at noises. pleading.

𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.    constantly yawning. blurring words together. dark circles or lines under eyes. mood swings. hallucinations. calling people by the wrong name. dizziness. denying they’re tired. slow blinking. trouble concentrating. stumbling. leaning on a doorframe for support. sluggish movements. falling asleep someplace that isn’t a bed. becoming irritated by the smallest things. “I’m awake, I’m fine.”. shaking so bad they spill their drink. fall asleep in their clothes. lay their head on the table because they’re so tired. passing out.

Tagged by :    @reginrokkr​ Tagging :  @asterites  /  @asteriskheart  ( aera uwu )  /  @entropyes​ /  @battleshot​  + anyone who wants to and has the time

The Sky Is Burning.

𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 .    //    SEL ACCEPTING .

‘  i can offer you my heart, though i have no idea how many more beats it shall sustain. ’    //    @fenrirch​

𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 ?    mayhaps, because she was never meant for either ;  a woman too holy to stay    /    too holy for life.  promised to the dictated cause, engaged with demise.  she'd liked to make an exception.  just this once, if she may.  once in private where the night of the living enshrouded mene, clung and held her ever-tightly, and she, in her pure besottedness, let it all happen.  all over again which could lead to a second confession and a third, until the guilt out-wore itself like an ill-fitting dress stripped from her hips, finished and scrapped from the obligation list.  she let this happen :    your arms needy and desperate around her waist.  all the whispers which only dim lights would bear witness to, and all the touches exuding scandal, shielded by the generous curtains of the hotel room from a stalking, hierarchical gaze.  she begged not for forgiveness, she did not apologize for the single action that might have kept her alive in place, when, otherwise, she would have so effortlessly slipped away from our fingers.

“ plenty of them, i hope. ”    a laugh pushed through a forced sicle-shape, the embarrassed flush of her cheeks no less romantic in nature.  it’s grit teeth rather than amusement.  the jaw clenched briefly, the sinew of her tender neck tense against your comforting breath.  how could one think of it as anything other than torment, knowing she would take that warrior’s heart with her into the grave, instead of soothing its harrow grief ?  yes, confessions were this terrible.  and still, she had counted your battle scars, the magic trails, each flaw and scratch.  lithe fingertips followed worn tissue to the crux of a violent pulse.  her hand atop, resting, because ophelia wanted something else than to float in the pond.  it was too cold in there.  she'd rather crawl ashore and be warmed up by another foolish jest of yours.  her sweet, heedless soldier with an eroding hero-complex.    “ you are such a silly man  —  why must you be this dramatic ? ”    though not overdone, for she simply did not wish to admit it.  but a holy woman was not meant for confessions, or for clumsy dancing after too many a glass of wine, or for a tender peck after too sweet a girlish giggle.  so you said what you said and tried your hardest to not kill her with it.  because love, as always, equated to religion, and religion called for death.  of course, you’d never let her go this far, but she would and you would indeed go this far, and you both knew this.

* 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍 .

what’s your phone wallpaper :   one of monet's waterlily paintings. last song you listened to :   playthings for the breeze by freesscape. currently reading :   nothing right now. last movie :   princess mononoke. last show :   slowly catching up with ygo gx. what are you wearing right now :   i'm a boring individual with a black shirt and grey pants. piercings / tattoos? :   got pierced earlobes but i never wear jewelry. glasses ? contacts? :   nope. last thing you ate? :  i love my hearty oatmeal. favorite color(s) :   i can appreciate all colors to some degree. current obsession :  ff16 and i make it everyone's problem. do you have a crush right now? :  i have no feelings ever. favorite fictional character(s) :  aqua, xehanort, lunafreya nox fleuret, nyx ulric, zack fair jesus christ, kainé, lara croft ( classic up to legend trilogy to be specific, i'm not into the reboot trilogy ), and many more.

tagged by : @oniriqe tagging : i have no clue who did this already aha

  *  //  𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 .​

𝘼𝙯𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙤𝙪𝙨  𝙤𝙥𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙨  𝙜𝙖𝙯𝙚  𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙤  𝙩𝙝𝙚  𝙘𝙤𝙗𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙙  𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙮  𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙨,      the  sun  beams    mockingly,    citizens  gathering  in      fear  and  concern    for  that  which  will  become  of  their    beloved  city.    Prompto  was  merely  a  pawn  in  the  game.  Still,  if  he  could  make      any      difference…    (  would  it    make    a  difference  ??    )

Just  beyond  the  window  he  dissociates  from,  a  small  patch  of  flowers,  a  yellow  hue,  but  too  far  off  that  Prompto  couldn’t    distinctively    label  them.  Swaying  this  way  and  that,  carefree,  petals  caressed  by  gentle  breeze.  Oh,      what  a  gift  that  must  be.      To  be      free.

𝑨  𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕  𝒐𝒇  𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚.

    They    deserved  that;    he    deserved  that.  They      survived.      Was  that  enough?  Was  it    fair    that  they  were  to  live  when  many  others  had    perished?  

He  could  not  have  predicted  how  long  the  Oracle  had  been  witness  to  his  sighs  and  exhales.  Stance  mostly  relaxed,  hands  in  pockets,  elbows  bent  slightly.  Every  few  minutes  would  he  shift,  unable  to  stay  still  for  long;  he  was    far    too    anxious.  

            Though  something  made  him  look  over  his  shoulder,  lips  dividing  and  shifting  to  address  her  once  he  acknowledged  her  presence.        ❝      —  Lunafreya!  I    uh…    Sorry  –    didn’t  see  you  standing  there  ….      ❞    A  posture  of  respect,  appropriate  for  royalty,  this  to  be  their  first  encounter  that  wasn’t  amidst  the  masses.  

It  was  as  if  she  could  see  the  inner  sketchings  of  his  mind,  scribbled  on  notebooks  that  were      scrapped    and    discarded,      never  to  be  considered  again.  

  ❛    𝑤𝑒  𝑎𝑙𝑙  𝑑𝑖𝑒  𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒.    ❜        @ereipiia    / @moonichor  +    luna

  An  unnerving  noise.    Momentarily  paralysed  in      shock.      And  as  he  tries  to  minimize  the  appearance  of  rudeness,  his  lips  meet  in  a  thin  line.  Briefly  looking  outside,  once  again,  he  lightly  bites  the  inside  of  his  cheek.  No  doubt      he  knew      what  she  was  stating  was  true.  

      ❝  …  Suppose  none  of  us  want  our  deaths  to  be  in  vain,  though…      ❞ 

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 ,  𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇.    rightfully so, she pensively inferred, by mustering visions of the demanding sea :    its harrowing, pitiless currents were to extract sylva’s daughter from the living world, and edged alone at glistening patterns was (im)mortality preordained to hunt her, the blue pigment of sylleblossom weeds pressed against her cheeks.  most ironic, therefore, to find a city, as illustrious as the altissian grandeur, to be so intimately surrounded by aquatic chant and the under-worldly domain of a serpentine goddess, whose anticipated waking hour prompted an abrupt halt to the peace of its dwellers ;  gave the common salt-flavored air a concerning density.  

as per historic routine, man loved his gods, until he feared them.

fear, however, was an unavailable luxury in close proximity with the impending tipping-point of diurnal scales.  and what good was fear, if it instilled no power to prevent eos’ waning ?  what good was fear, if it only petrified ?  yet, we shan’t let it be forgotten that fading and blending into obsidian blood guaranteed the end of the road for all oracles, from first to last  —  produced to alleviate the world, except their own person.  ever since life paraded itself as a condition of endurance, she hardened the heart and numbed her lachrymal reflexes to the certain and uncertain.      (  endure endure endure    /    live live live  —  akin to a vista of flowers outside the torrent’s edge ;  akin to those flowers under this frame, visibly frail, yet persistent against ramuh’s breath.  )    

“ … ”    her silhouette but a half-ghostly husk, vague on the window glass, brooding in the mirror, tugged between alive and wordlessly falling apart.  with sharp thought, her own quietude ceased to extend itself, and instead allowed the unspoken to be spoken.     “ i concur  —  to vanish unfulfilled and meaninglessly is an undesirable outcome. ”    though admitted with rare personal honesty, it came with the cost of regret.  the occasion to meet a sweet, old friend ought not to be besmirched with doom and gloom.  click of heels met tiling, while the somberness re-sculpted itself to absolute indifference in the face of events she expected but had yet to occur.  an indifference she mastered exceptionally well with the petite mask of a friendly facade.    

“ did i startle you earlier ?  my apologies.  it was very inappropriate of me. ”

" 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌. and so far, you have endured well. " // @meteorea

— Mary Oliver

But where was my body? Where was I in these words? What of this belonged to me?

Jasminne Méndez, from Night-Blooming Jasmin(n)e: Personal Essays and Poetry (via lifeinpoetry)

" 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐒 ; or are the deeper interiors leading to the fayth something that unsettles you ? i noticed you have grown tense upon our visits. " // @reginrokkr