#journal entry kinda

[szynkaaa]

His travel companion asked him if it really was necessary to kill every single enemy they encounter, so he decided to push the yaoguai back into the ground

based on the One Piece scene with Luffy and a zombie

[theatrum-tenebrarum]

Lampyris noctiluca (common European glow-worm) commonplace entry. ☀️

Did you know that the organic molecule called 'luciferin' is in part responsible for the fireflies' bioluminescence? Yes, it got its name after the mythical light-bringer, Lucifer 🤍✴️

-Heidi 🖤 (@theatrum-tenebrarum)

[southernroach]

thinking of roach's coping mechanisms and i kinda think that he would have a log of all of his scars. maybe in his journal, written along the edges as if they were afterthoughts to his actual entries.

the first couple entries are clinical. they list:

the body part

the general weapon type (gun, knife, rope, whatever)

if he got revenge

all the usual stuff that he would find important

just enough to document them, in case they fade or to use as a story for later. every time he dots a period, it's with a warped sense of pride.

and then one day he gets a scar from someone protecting him. they had pushed roach out of the way a second after someone screams about a sniper through their comms and takes a bullet. roach ends up falling onto his own knife and gets sliced for it but that’s nothing compared to his savior.

when he goes to write the entry, it’s noticeably shakier, scribbled over and smudged like he couldn’t decide what to write and then got far too frustrated for what should be gratitude.

he’s seen people die but it’s never been for him. he makes sure that guy’s name is clear, makes sure the ink dries before allowing his hands to touch the page.

then another one happens. an enemy tosses a cooked grenade. they have a split second to react and the guy upfront turns around, looks him in the eye, and slams his palms into roach’s chest.

roach crashes to the ground, barely notices that he got hit with a nasty piece of debris until he’s crouched behind a wall and realizes that what’s dripping down his body is too hot, too thick, to be sweat. and another entry appears.

the scar, the location, his savior’s name. how it felt to look someone in the eye moments before death, knowing again that it was for him. another messy entry, cut only by the pristine printing of those names.

he’s lucky he doesn’t have to write one for every close call but even those have lost that naive arrogance from before.

the more it happens, the more he survives and other don’t, the less it becomes about the scars.

[sleepinglionhearts]

Hobonichi updates 🖊 📖

[elliewiltarwyn]

FFXIV Write 2024 | #2: Horizon

Word Count: 775

Third Umbral Moon, 28th Sun

The boat left this morning, and we’re on it. It’s finally happening: we’re on our way to Tural.

Some of the sheer excitement that had churned in my stomach the day we met Wuk Lamat is beginning to return now that the day has arrived…which would be great if it didn’t manifest as a bit of seasickness. Been holding it together better than Mia, though: she’s planted herself on a chair in our cabin and is determinedly staring out the porthole at the horizon to try and keep herself from pitching up breakfast. It’s hard enough for her already, and the waters are calm and inviting right now; I dread to think what’ll happen when a storm approaches, which is practically a given with how long the voyage is. Poor baby.

She insists that we shouldn’t dampen our excitement on her behalf, though, that we should go and chat with our shipmates about our destination to see what we can learn - as if I haven’t spent a good part of the past several moons in the company of the Third Promise of Tuliyollal, hearing her excitedly explain to me the wonders of the nation she seeks to claim rule over. And I’ll not deny: Tural sounds incredible. Wondrous sights the likes of which Eorzea can only dream of, an incredible mixing pot of culture and peoples - if nothing else, I think this journey will be worth it just to confirm the wonders she speaks of, that’s certainly an adventure in itself.

And yet…

There’d been a hesitation in her whenever she spoke to us of her home, and till today I’d never been able to put my finger on what that was. The realization dawned on me and Lily as we spoke to the other passengers on the ship; some of them were merchants that spoke in awed respect of the Pelupelu’s shrewdness and aptitude for bargaining; someone else spoke of the Turali names for the races, such as Hhetsarro and Xbr’aal for what we call the Miqo’te and the Hrothgar. Then there was the one Mamool Ja merc who got two sentences into the “simple-minded brute” act before groaning about it becoming impractical, with how more people were visitng Tural and learning what they were actually like…

It occurred to me then: Wuk Lamat had spoken to us of how she grew up as a daughter of the Dawnservant, how well she got along (or didn’t) with her older brothers, and the various awesome feats her father had performed in uniting Tuliyollal under one banner. She spoke of things like her favorite foods or favorite sights of the capital, and she spoke of how much she loved the Tural her father built… but this was the first time Lily and I had heard of things like the Pelupelu or the Turali names, or how rich and varied the Mamool Ja are as a people despite whatever assumptions Eorzeans concocted about them. Things beyond the borders of the capital city.

“I don’t think she’s been hiding them from us or anything,” was Lily’s take. “I think she might not actually have seen as much of Tural as she feels she should have as the Third Promise.” She giggled and added, “It’s funny that she felt it was easier to cross the ocean to Eorzea and ask for help to explore her own homeland.”

It certainly is funny, but I think there’s a little more to it than that. It’s obvious Wuk Lamat doesn’t have a dishonest bone in her body; she’s bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, incredibly earnest, and very extremely naive. She’s excited to learn what her homeland has in store for her on her upcoming journey, but she’s also well aware of her own limitations and need for support from experienced adventurers like us. She put on a brave face when she first met, but as I look at her now standing upon the ship’s bow, grinning wildly at the distant horizon as she anxiously stretches her arms… she looks so young. I’m not certain she’s older than I was when I lost my parents.

But she’s determined to reach that horizon regardless. And, well, if there’s something I can do to support her in that endeavor, I can reach out and be the hand I needed in times like that.

…gods. I just told Lily this, and she gasped and looked at me, delighted, and whispered “El, you’re adopting her as your protege!” I immediately protested, but stopped mid-sentence because. Yeah. Yeah that’s definitely what I just wrote. Gods dammit. I’m getting older, but I’m not old enough to be a mentor, am I…?

[samnarc]

Dean was Sam's dad, brother, mother, and in every sense his lover and soulmate.

Dean held Sam the second he woke up when he was a baby, crawling into his crib just to hold him and protect him. He keeps his eye on Sam every single day, he makes John swear that he will take care of Sam, and he watches him so intently that John knows how strong his love for Sam is - that Dean would die to keep Sam safe.

If Sam was in trouble, who was there to protect and keep him safe? Dean. He loves Sam so much that he would kill for him, sell his soul for him, do /anything and everything/ for him.

[king-midas-fortnite]

📿

Journal Entry

Ask: A dream your character believes is prophetic

I have this dream so often. I have had it hundreds of times since Jules was born, and I'm likely to continue having it for the rest of my life. 

I know what is coming every time the dream begins, and yet I am powerless to stop it. The painful irony in how little I am able to sleep these days, but yet somehow never being able to wake myself from it in time. 

Jules comes to me in this dream while I am standing in the same spot I was with Marigold. I am in the field behind our home, my hands brushing against the plants there as I go, turning the overgrown weeds to precious metal. I am trying to reign in control over the curse when she reaches me. 

There are only a couple things that change.

Sometimes Jules is young, my little girl just barely taller than my knee. Sometimes she's the young woman she is today. 

Sometimes, I reach for Jules just as I had my first daughter. My body moving as if I don't know I will kill her as I did that day despite my mind screaming in anguish to stop.

Sometimes, I try to back away from her, warn her.

The end does not change.

Whether I embrace her or she reaches for my hands to comfort her selfish husk of a father, I kill her. Just like Marigold, her skin turns cold and lifeless under my own, and her body glistens under the midday sun so horrendously beautiful as if her death by my hands is not an atrocity. 

Sometimes her face is frozen in pain, sometimes an expression of anguished betrayal, and sometimes it is placid. As if she knew it would happen. 

Regardless, I am only ever able to wake after I look at her from on my knees. 

I have to believe that this dream is a manifestation of my guilt. In much the same way the Underworld's shades used it to torment me in the visions they inflicted on my undead mind that could not sleep, it is my soul reminding me what I lost. What I still stand to lose. 

Marigold has told me as such when I have confided in her. (And how cruel fate is that I know a version of myself that bares her name. I care deeply for the woman, but saying that name aloud for a person never gets easier.) I have to believe this to be true. 

However, I can't. Not fully. There will always be a part of me that believes it's a sign that I am destined--cursed, to repeat the same mistake. To kill the person I love the most. It is why I stayed distant from Jules most of her life. I still largely regret my conscious decision to miss out on her formative years, but I also wonder if she only turned out as good as she is because I wasn't there after all. 

I want to be closer to her now. I am trying to be, but I am still afraid that this dream is more of a prophecy. I will always be afraid until it either happens, or I die again and she is truly safe from me.

Reminder: these are not "public" to other Tumblrverse characters. Okay to reblog, but please do not roleplay on journal entries!

[mephiles-the-jester]

billford fankids,,,,they dont have names yet,and also explaining their backstory is convoluted when i type it out,,,so im just putting them on the screen for now because i think theyre neat

[burbs-are-fake]

There's something about hands

Pulling a thing-

A machine

A tool-

Apart

Gently,

Oh so gently,

And putting it together again

Better

Fixing it by breaking it

With attention

With care

Yes, something about hands

And the want-

For hinges

a motor-

To be pulled apart

In the same way

[cryolyst]

~

[ljubimaya]

TIKTOK????

[crediblebombthreat]

had a day off about a week ago. walked around the city, looking around in the white woman boutiques and buying an overpriced coffee. didn't want to sit inside so I decided to sip my coffee out in the center of the square. a bird hopped out from the brush and looked at me in the eyes, expectantly. I jokingly said "nah i ain't got nothin on me brother" and it chirped real fuckin loud and then hopped away. ???

[shadowwizdaily]

The Shadow Wizards of the Day are Spellcasting Heartless from the Kingdom Hearts series!

[yuuugay]

The bunny project

Wanless Journal entry #23

My day wasn't supposed to end up in a wild chase to find that stuffed rabbit Caine lost. (Note: Give the kid advice on how to not lose his things. Or other people's things.)

We did end up finding the rabbit near a bunch of small cats who tore that stuffed animal to it's last threads. I said to the kid to take it back, but Caine insisted his friend, Claire, wouldn't mind. Why he made that decision without Claire's input, I don't know. Nevertheless, I just offered to make him a new one. He was skeptical that I could sew and make things because in his words, "You just don't look like the type of man to do, like, crafty things, you know?". Like yeah, whatever that means. But I couldn't help but check my appearance earlier and I still don't get his point. But who cares, I don't know what someone "crafty" is supposed to look like.

But alas, it happened. And it...wasn't bad. The kid was happy. He gave me some weird card of Tallys(?) as a reward, which I just stuffed in my pocket. I was more annoyed he put his ENTIRE NAME on that damn board. Careless brat. Did no one teach him that his name could be used against him?

(Note: Force Red to give Caine lessons on magical name manipulation.)

Either way, I haven't gotten to sew anything for a while now that I have enough money not to refurbish clothes, so I might've pricked my fingers a few times. I had to use my only pillow to make that rabbit, but that's not really relevant, I'm used to sleeping on a flat surface most of the time anyways. Shery looked at me some weird way when I mentioned that fact, just like the time she found me sleeping on the floor one day. But her concern is not of my concern.

Gods, that girl cares too much.

But to end this stupid journal, that Shery, once again, somehow convinced me that I should do.

It...was fun. As long as he's happy, I'm hap- Why is this so embarrassing to write? It's not like anyone's gonna read this kak but me. I set up multiple enchantments so no one, especially Caine could find and open this book. Not that I'd expect him to read through people's things. He's a good kid.

[sealrock]

decembhyur, day 16: journal

9th sun of the 1st umbral moon, 15XX

it was supposed to be a simple job: find the mark, take off her head as proof of the kill, bring it to these uppity inquisition people who'd rather eat chocobo shite than look me in the eye, leave with a sackful of gil. they had no clue she had a babe with her, and neither did I when I took this bounty. knowing this lot, they'd throw in an extra thousand if I got rid of the child. I've had my fill of killing women with children... why must the little children suffer unjustly? these people are no different than the corpse brigade, they just wear fancy robes and preach their holier than thou rubbish. I walked away empty-handed that day. well, not entirely. she said his name is achille.

when the woman—an elezen named tauvane—discovered my intentions, she looked... how can I say it? she was more savage than human, with her claws and brute strength. she put up quite a fight: she had the strength of damn near twenty men. she nearly ripped my face off before she slammed me into a nearby boulder to make her escape. I took note of unnatural black growths trailing along her arms and legs, much like a dragon's scales. her hair was matted and filthy, and her eyes screamed distrust and panic, like a wild animal backed into a corner. she was by the river with the babe; I managed to catch up with her just before she plunged him in the rushing water. whether it was a cruel act of survival or sparing her child from the hands of her homeland, I cannot say. she was dealt with an unfortunate hand in life, that much I can tell. whatever crime or crimes she committed had the inquisition desperate enough to seek outside help. but I couldn't go along with the plan. I pitied her, I pitied the child clutched to her chest and swaddled in tattered rags, his mewling cries muted by the driving rain. instead, I let her escape... but she left achille in my care. she said he'd be better off with me, and that she'll return for him 'when the time is right.' and just like that, she dashed away into the trees with a speed I never witnessed before. I couldn't stand there and gawk, however. I needed to find shelter. as I write this, achille is sound asleep on my bed. I found temporary respite in this hunting village called tailfeather, and I leave on the morrow. apparently tauvane stayed around these parts, but the locals were unaware of her bounty when they allowed her a safe haven before she gave birth. rhalgr's cock, I never expected to become a father again, not after... what happened in ala mhigo. he's not a replacement for the son I lost. I have too much blood on my hands as it is. the families I killed for the sake of the king, they torment me. I cannot pass this fate onto him. he's too young to be separated from his mother, she made a mistake. besides that... he's very ill. I don't have the proper medicines to help him. he may not make it by next sennight. maybe I should have put the two out of their misery when I had the chance. I'll leave him here in the village, there's a woman that's able to nurse him. he'll be better off here.

24th sun of the 1st umbral moon, 15XX

... I found myself unable to leave this child behind. it's been roughly a fortnight since tauvane entrusted her son to me, and she hasn't returned to tailfeather. I fear she must have perished in the storm. but to happy tidings: the healers here saved achille's life with their folk magicks. it was then that I learned he was half-blooded; his ears were barely pointed, meaning his father was a hyur like me. I'm ignorant of ishgardian politics, but if the whispers of the healers are true, then achille would've lead a difficult life in tauvane's homeland. to condemn a child just for the manner of his birth, it sickens me. I'm relieved that he'll pull through, but... I can't bear to hold him, much less look at him. he's not my son, I am but a stranger to him. just before I said my final goodbyes, when I took a glance at him, I found him staring back at me. his eyes were the same shade as his mother, a brilliant red hue that reminded me of blood. it matched his fuzzy crown of dark red hair. he was quiet for a long while before he broke out into a smile. he smiled at me, someone he doesn't know. I am not his mother. I couldn't leave him. I am not his father, I doubt he ever knew his father. but he chose me as his provider, his protector. when he's old enough I will take my leave of this place, I am sure that is what tauvane wished for me to do. as of now, he's a little menace, and I say that with affection. he's incredibly curious about my hair. he won't stop tugging at my beard and braids with his mighty grip. he's so small that I can carry him with one hand. but I know he will grow into a strong young man someday... he and tyro would've been like brothers, if tyro had lived. my poor tyro. he will not replace the one I lost. but nevertheless, I believe what was destroyed can be rebuilt. what was cut down can grow again.

[anarcholive]

11/07/24

Quero não acreditar nisso, mas deve ter mesmo algo fundamentalmente errado comigo. Talvez outras pessoas simplesmente conseguem identificar isso e eu não? De qualquer forma, isso pode só ser um complexo ridículo e fudido de vítima falando alto na minha cabeça. Odeio falar sobre isso com outras pessoas porque fico sempre parecendo só um chorão, um dramático chato pra caralho.