#mun writings; endless chatter

[thekavseklabs]

If you noticed that my writing in the last ask was a little extra poetic and emotional that is because my grandmother, who is not doing well and has recently been moved into a home to be cared for while her cognition fades and we clean her house, has always had two frames up on her hallway wall, each with several sets of tiny foot and handprints pressed in white plaster and painted in primary colors. I found myself missing those plaster frames while I was writing. They were a little sign of how I was loved even when I was too little to remember it. My siblings and cousins were right there next to me. I have faint memories of cleaning the plaster off my baby cousin's hand.

Idk. Something to think about I guess. Such heirlooms fall in the same category as children's finger paintings or a favorite bracelet. It has no technical value in terms of money. But I know my grandmother would have sold her house to keep those two plaster frames. Just the same as how much she would give to keep the quilts sewn by her mother, quilts we recently split amongst my siblings and cousins. Mine is tattered, but it's the softest, because it's the one we got to snuggle. I called dibs and I know some were disappointed. It will be me that gets to sew the places where stuffing is falling out. I took her dishes, too. I left the expensive ones for siblings, because what mattered to me were the everyday things.

Cherish the silly things. Keep that sentimental item. It doesn't hurt anyone. If it comforts you, do it. Make a plaster frame or a clay tablet. Gift it to a loved one. It might not matter to you, it might not matter to them. But it probably will. And there's nothing quite the same as an everyday cherished thing.

[rose-from-ashes]

It has been said that Solus zos Galvus had never once shed a tear. It had been said that nothing could shock him, that he was a strange man wise beyond his years, that he acted as though he had already seen most things. Most of it was true. But the claim that he had never cried was not.

It was not the day the ordinary young man came home from hunting subtly changed by something no one else had witnessed. It was not his first battle, or his fifth, or the one where he lost near everyone close to him and won the day in a fight so long and gruesome that it had marked the turn of the endless war between Garleans and the world. It was not the day he was married to his cold wife Marcella or the day his first child was born.

It was the day that first child was laid out in his coffin for his father to look upon. Marcella had not been there, and his other son had been out for war. But little Varis had been. He'd seen that single tear roll down his grandfather's cheek. He'd clung to his sleeve, hoping both to comfort and be comfort, only to be chilled by the cold and hate filled gaze shot his way by the man who had always been a somewhat distant but warm and comforting figure before, someone he could turn to when his father was busy.

Varis did not only lose his father that day, but his grandfather too. With that single tear shed, Solus zos Galvus seemed to release the last dredges of his humanity. A cruel grandfather, a strict and harsh ruler, cold and mean and power hungry with a love for vengeance. He sought war with a hunger and Varis had seen on his face the cruel satisfaction when the emperor learned of the calamity in eorzea his people had caused. Varis did not know what drove him, but he knew that though Garlemald prospered, that was only a side effect of Solus's true goal.

It would only be years later, when Solus died and Varis was crowned, that he learned what his grandfather had truly wanted. It was only then when he realized why the man who had raised him could never love him. It was only then that Varis realized he had been the one to witness the last tears shed by an ancient for his mortal son, the one to witness Emet-Selch of the world unsundered lose his faith in the life of sundered mortals.

[passingeternity]

" do you hear it little one ? the buzzing in the air ? the endless chatter of a thousand voices , long dead ? they are gone , and yet they speak . neither here nor there . "

lit / semi - lit multimuse crossover friendly rain world blog

likes and follows from @distrxst

rules ;

no nsfw , mod is a minor .

no bigotry ( racism , sexism , homophobia , you get the jist. )

no pro-shipping .

no godmodding.

personals may interact , but i will not write threads with you .

be respectful , we're all here to have fun .

muses include ;

five pebbles , looks to the moon , seven red suns , four needles under plentiful leaves , six grains of gravel mountains abound , rhinestones beneath shattered glass , the monk , the hunter , the artificer , the spearmaster , and the saint . list is subject to change .

all slugcat muses will have a human verse , but no changes will be made to iterators or echoes as theres truly no point .

mun uses he / they pronouns , if you have any questions feel free to dm me .

[eludin-realm]

Christmas With New Friends Pt. 1 - Writing By Eludin Mun

Write date: Dec 25, 2019 Notes: Nothing sad/angsty here (except for maybe a few parts, but nothing too bad), just happy li’l fluff including DV and everyone else. With that being said, this takes place during some time in my work “The Quest”, where PV is kidnapped and held captive in Izheim, and thus DV goes out on a quest to save him. Along with Yang and others, he also comes across new friends: Niserie, Wulfric, Yusei, Aria, Ebany, Sector, Rento, and Octavia. And that’s pretty much it. Under the cut you’ll find it. Enjoy, and Merry Christmas!:

The ground beneath Dark’s feet crunched as he carefully trudged through the endless blanket of fresh, crystalline-white snow. In his arms were a tall stack of various wrapped gifts, almost exceeding his height. His red eyes strayed for a moment to watch the dancing flakes in the air, before fixing their gaze back in front of him. A small smile slipped onto the bundled up dark-clad’s features as he continued on. He may not be spending Christmas at his home in Solerin of Aeredale at the palace with everyone, but he had friends in Traice helping him. And since it was Christmas, he decided he’d slip out one early morning to thank them for their assistance in his journey to save his brother. And that was just fine. As long as he had people to confide in and battle with, he felt at ease and safe for the most part. “That’s a lot of gifts you’ve got there, young man,” a passerby citizen noted. “Who for? Do you need help?” At the offer, Dark’s smile only grew. “No, I’m good. Thanks though. They’re for friends of mine.” “Mmm? How nice of you! I’m sure they will love them,” answered the citizen. “Well, be careful. Merry Christmas!” And with that, they headed on their way. Dark always loved how the people of Traice were with their hospitality - it made him feel much more secure in a country unknown to him. Everyone seemed so nice, and in times like these, it was something he needed. Something to lift his spirits. He continued down the snowy path until he stopped in front of a large, but cozy and inviting inn building that was several stories, and made out of half-timber. Not far from the building was a sign that read  “Round Warrior Inn”. This was the inn he and his friends were staying at. Carefully, the dark-clad freed an arm to twist the knob to the door and push it open, stepping in. His sneakers met the rug inside, to which he carefully cleaned the soles, and placed the wrapped gifts aside. Then, he took off his dark scarf and black jacket and hung them up, before gazing around the room. As always, the inn itself was well kept-and clean, as well as fancifully decorated! Pausing, his red eyes gazed to the ceiling. Another soft smile came upon DV’s features as he noticed the glowing gemstones set into the ceiling, keeping the room lit. It was one of his favourite parts of the inn, and likely a lot of other peoples’ too. “Hey, there he is,” a male voice caused Dark to gaze to his left. All of his party members were situated at a long table near the fireplace of the inn. It was Sector noticing his arrival! “Where were you?” “Sector, dude!” greeted DV. For some reason, he was always pumped to see him... maybe because he found him awesome as all get out. “I was just out taking in the winter scenery of Traice. And not only that, I’ve got some stuff.”  “You must be cold. We’ve got hot chocolate, and saved you a mug. It’s still warm! Want some?” offered Aria with a warm smile. “Why not?” responded the dark-clad, going to take a seat, pausing for a moment after doing so, the relaxing warmth from the fireplace radiating seemingly across the entire table. He gazed to his left and right to see who was next to him: Yusei to his left, and... “We were wondering where you were, you know,” a female voice piped up. His head swiveled to the right. Yang. “Sorry,” laughed the dark-clad. “I wanted it to be a surprise, so I kind of left earlier than usual. I didn’t mean to worry you guys.”  Yang reached for her boyfriend’s palm, and gave it a gentle grasp. “Well, you’re here, and that’s all that matters.” Yusei then proceeded to take his mug of hot chocolate and hold it up. “Merry Christmas. Cheers!” “Cheers,” everyone responded, clinking their mugs together. Dark took a sip of his beverage, humming contentedly at the taste of the hot chocolate. “Innkeeper knows their stuff!”   “Hey,” Niserie piped up a while after various chatter from the group, causing Dark to redirect his gaze toward her instead. “DV, I know you’re not home. And I’m sorry about that. But we’re going to spend here. Together. As friends. And make the best of it. I’m aware it’s not the same thing as being back home, but... We can try and be like family. And hopefully, us being here will maybe make you feel a little bit better.” Dark then smiled a little after Niserie finished, nodding his head. “Yeah. Right. Things may not be the best right now, but as long as I have you guys, it will all be alright in the end, despite the things I may go through, the things WE may go through. We’re gonna get my brother back no matter what it takes.” “Right,” Sector agreed. “We’ll be with you every step of the way.” The group then proceeded to go back to their hot chocolate, before Ebany gazed to the presents, surprised at how tall the stack was. “Um.. DV, these gifts... Those are all for us?” Rento butted in. “How did you afford all of that? You’re in a different country and we’re helping you out.” Dark stood up for a moment, and approached the stack, grinning almost ear-to-ear. “All of these is an individual present for everyone. And Rento... I have my ways. Remember? In the town square there’s a bulletin board for various jobs, like clearing out monster hordes, taking down a single monster for someone, finding an item, and so on... When you complete it, you get paid. And sometimes you can get items you can sell FOR currency. I’ve done some of these and got paid back as a result.” “Like in a video game!” Octavia said as a matter-of-factly, causing the group to bust into hearty laughter.  The dark-clad then proceeded to pick up gift by gift on the stack, and give them to their respective recipients.  “Okay. I’m giving you guys these as a way of gratitude for helpin’ me out. Plus, it’s Christmas. Ebany, why don’t you go first?” ”With pleasure,” she accepted before reaching for the gift. ~~~PT. 1 END~~

[beyondhatred]

* SEASONAL  AESTHETICS.

WINTER.    a chill right down to the bones.   tobogganing.   teeth chattering.   sleeping all day.   sitting by the fireplace.   spending time with family.   layered clothing.    seeing another’s breath.   loving the cold.   a state of inactivity.    cold hands.   blistering winds shaking the closed windows.   a bookcase full of brand new books and all of the time in the world to read them.   cable knit socks.   a bitter remark.   a log cabin in the middle of nowhere.   hating the cold.    full length windows to peer out of.   pale skin.   deep conversations.   watching the snow fall.   sharp  edges.   hot cocoa.   smelling every candle in the store.   a wild snow storm.   melancholy.   lighting candles around the bathtub.   snow globes.   expressing yourself but never finding quite the right words.   the softest of blankets.   liking, but not loving something or someone.

SPRING.     the smell after it rains.   being in control of yourself.   a soft breeze blowing your hair.   lightning when it strikes.   cherry blossoms.   bright mornings.   the first sign of hope.   the relief of finding something you lost.   paris in the spring.   birds chirping.   the art of growing.   a kiss on the cheek.   the clap of thunder.   a tornado in the valley.   smiling at a stranger.    planning.   saccharine pinks.   making promises.   trying something new.   hugs when you need them most.   a bee sting.   sitting on the steps of the met.  coming inside drenched from the thunderstorm.   picnics on a red checkered blanket in the new sun.   that feeling you get when you put on a good dress.   a long hike.   rushing when you can take your time.   going to the gym/training at ungodly hours.   excitement for what’s coming.   becoming yourself.   rain boots.

SUMMER.     lanterns lit around a campfire.   seeing the sunrise like it’s the first time again and again.   melting ice cream.   the warmth of sun rays upon skin.   fireworks.   the feeling of never wanting something to end.   beach days.   the lone blow up floaty left in the pool.   drifting with the warm nights breeze and nothing else.   music blasting at 3 am, loud and proud.     palm trees on sunset boulevard.   longer days and shorter nights.   wanderlust.   nights spent staring at the stars.   sand castles.   road trips.   blood orange sunsets.  leaving the laundry to hang outside.   flowers in bloom.   sneaking out of your room late at night.   pure contentment.    barefoot in the sand.   the street lights coming on.   the sound of the ocean in a seashell.   freshly squeezed lemonade.   loose clothing.   a cannonball into the pool.   sunflowers.   the hazy pink before dusk.   relaxation.

FALL.     the leaves changing colors.   a heavy backpack.   the smell of old books.   eating until you’re stuffed.   deep, dark woods.   the silence in loudness.   abandoned houses.   ripped jeans.   crunching leaves beneath feet.   feeling like you’ve been somewhere before.   sitting at a bay window.    having endless amount of work.   charcoal drawings.   screaming into a pillow as loud as you can.   pumpkin patches.   creaky floorboards.   accepting that some things do have to change.   museums.   small talk.   being ignored.    procrastinating.   a door slamming shut.   going to bed early.    baking pies.    the fear of walking alone in the dark.   feeling  completely and terribly lost.   a twig snapping.   crisp, cool days.   belly laughter after crying.   converse.   foggy mornings at the shoreline.   writing a daily entry in a journal.   a lonely day.

tagged by:   @pasttorn

tagging:   the mun reading this!

[murroyilodel]

               RANDOM FACTS ABOUT THE MUN.

Repost, not reblog! Tag muns you would like to get to know better when done!

Name: Gina Nickname: Panda Age: Above 21! Faceclaim: Pandas

Pronouns: She/her Height: 5′2″ Birthday: April Aesthetic: Hot chocolate chasing morning slumber and notebooks filled with scribbles, a sling bag bouncing on the hip and white clouds covering blue skies, the serenity of a library and the hubbub of downtown, endless streets and countless destinations, beloved musicals in solitude and chatter of loved ones. The step is light; the heart is full. Last song you listened to: GOT’s theme song, if that counts!

Favourite muse(s) you’ve written: I’ve only ever written this one muse. :’)

What inspired you to take on your current muse (that you are posting this on): It was made for Courtney’s Frollo​. It’s astounding how our muses developed and grew together. Who knew that creating a blog on a whim would turn to this? On a different note, over the years, I have also been extremely fortunate to write with not only talented people, but lovely people.

What are your favourite aspects of your current muse: Everything??? If I pick one aspect, it’s always her ability to stand up for what’s right against all odds. It’s something I largely admire and feel I can’t live up to, even though I wish I can be more like her. Proactiveness over passiveness. Another aspect is her selflessness, I’ve ranted about it often, so I won’t repeat it here. XD

What’s your biggest inspiration when it comes to writing: The movie and the soundtrack always help. When it comes to RP-ing, the biggest excitement comes from receiving a response. RP-ing is dynamic, because one doesn’t know how their partner will reply. The thread can take unexpected turns, even in situations when people have a general plot discussed beforehand. The partner’s response sparks new possibilities that one may not have considered.

Favourite types of threads: Threads that build a story, and develop the muses’ relationship with each other. After RP-ing a few years, I confess that threads with people who have become my friends become the easiest for me to write as well, because I am comfortable with them.

Biggest struggle in regards to your current muse: Making sure I do her justice. In my replies, I always think about things such as whether a certain expression is characteristic of her, a certain reaction is realistic, or a certain word is something she will use etc.

Tagged by: @chngexfheart (thank you very much!)

Tagging: @thecurseisinourblood @sanctamater @seraphsang @licensedpermafrost @pistolslang @gutyou @xprodigium @asundrop @femmelieutenant @mouthofporcelain & anyone who wishes to do this!

[thekavseklabs]

"There is a sense of solidity in Appalachia I am from here, I am from the earth I am Adam, made from the soil of this land The trees grow tall above me I name their leaves as Adam named each creature I let the ants crawl over my face I cradle bugs in my hands to bring them outside My mother calls me when she sees them Because she knows I love the feeling Not because she is frightened to hold them herself She is Adam, too.

When the snow comes in, I wonder The ice age is solid in the soil Melted but marked forever Do my winters stay in my bones? Will I always have ice this beautiful? When I am buried I wish to be under a tree I will feed it; I will have no box Let me return to my cradle.

I tell my brother how the sun makes new stars Early in the morning shining off the dew A small universe by my pond from the mullein and hemlock I hold leaves to the sun as I eat clover and honeysuckle I harvest pokeweed and persimmon And my hands are covered in the dirt I was born from.

I have read that Appalachia is older than bones I believe that is far truer than any other wonder For if Adam is made from dirt then that must surely be the bone From which Eve was fashioned as well We are all the mountains. That is why our blood holds iron That is why our bones hold calcium I am a mineral deposit My eyes are the finest gems the mountain could offer me They let me see the wonder.

Appalachia exists in Scotland and China We are brothers of the same old soil. The dissolution of Pangea Was the exodus from our garden. But we find our way home With the elk and chestnut to follow In rocky mountain spring and holler In the den of the snake beneath our porch In the bird’s nests above it In the blooming vegetable garden Appalachia = Eden."

Poem inspired by my professor's sign off for the last email she sent to me in response to my thanking her for a wonderful semester

[thekavseklabs]

{ ! } - It had been a few months since their children’s birth. She had pondered over what to get him for the day of fathers - what do you give a man who has everything?

Ultimately, she settled on 3 little hardened clay tablets. Oh, but that wasn’t the gift; the gift was the little feet and hand prints hardened into them, with the children’s names at the bottom.

“ One day, they’ll be much bigger than they are now. But this way, you’ll be able to see forever just how small their little hands were, once. Happy day of the fathers, my love.”

Vynathr spent many hours each day at his desk, a pen in hand to scratch away at stacks upon stacks of papers. The throne was never empty, but neither was his office where his true self lied, his self duplication once again coming in handy, and here, he could truly focus on the things he heard each day, the multitude of tasks to take.

Even with the weight of the world on his shoulders and the thousands of pages under his hands, there was always a place kept open for his family. His absent sense of time ensured he had little idea of what was to come, but as always, the constant sound of writing was replaced with the soft click of the pen being set down the very moment that the door was shifted by his wife, and his gaze lowered to focus upon her with quiet but undeniable attention.

Her approach was regarded the same, and for a moment, so were the tablets, before his pupils dilated and he leaned in, staring in breathtaken silence at those wonderful, simple, and so heartachingly normal prints. They were spectacular in their everyday and messy nature. He knew in that moment that when he was gone and dead, if he was ever gone and dead, those little tablets would be plucked down from the wall by grandchildren, perhaps, and an affectionate and simple story would be told about where they had come from, and how he had never gotten rid of them. Because he never would. They would be his, his remnants of little babies running about and getting wet clay between their toes for some poor fool to clean, and he would cherish them.

Silence wore on for a long moment, careful fingers tracing over the edges of the tablets while his breath caught, before he dragged his hand away to instead pull his wife into a tight embrace, nuzzling into her shoulder and hair.

"I love them."

[rose-from-ashes]

It's in the ruins of something resembling the Bureau of the Architect that she finds him. He's on his hands and knees, and his breath is heavy, rapid and ragged, the uneven gasps of someone who has been screaming and crying for hours. Her steps are muffled by the dust and ash, and the warping of the ground, but footsteps had always echoed clear in the Bureau, and Emet-Selch hears her, rearing up off of the ground and turning to face her with wild eyes and desperation shaking through him. He gasps, then, and rushes forward to grab her, his fingers gripping her sleeves as if she might fade, and his voice tears out of him like a fist through stone, ragged and scraped.

"Venat! You're- you're alive, you're- I thought I was alone- how did you- what happ-"

"The sundering." She interrupts him, and her voice sounds somewhat alien to herself, distant. Or perhaps it was her mind that was distant. Normally, her heart would ache with sympathy for someone so distressed, but somehow, she felt nothing in that moment. It simply passed before her eyes. Perhaps, even hours later, she had still not processed what she had done.

"What?" Emet-Selch's voice, so shaky and breathless, draws her from her thoughts. Of course. He didn't know- no one knew. Only she knew what she had done, and only she would know why. She remembered the tale that strange little thing of the future had told her. Emet-Selch would become her enemy. She could not explain to him why she had done this. He would not understand. He might even try to fight Meteion alone if he knew. He would stand no chance- such an emotional and delicate man could never stand his ground against hopelessness. He had never experienced it before. He would have no defenses.

She had made the right choice.

"The sundering." She echoes, then takes a breath. "The splitting of the world into thirteen. Every soul within it made into smaller shards of people, weaker, independent. Save for a few."

"... What do you... What? How do you know of this?" Emet-Selch is confused, but desperate, afraid and grasping for any sort of grounding. He had no idea what had just happened to everyone around him. He could see the aether, she knew, would eventually have figured it out either way, but the words fell out of her regardless, and now it was too late. She sees him begin to grasp for some kind of understanding, to shakenly offer her something, anything to respond to him. Gods, he was so frightened and alone. She had done this to him.

She had made the right choice. She reminded herself that, as he continued to speak. She had done the right thing. He wouldn't understand.

"Did you- was there some prophecy? I don't understand, Venat, you have to tell me- Venat!" He was getting angry, in his confused fear. She could hear the tightness in his throat where he was about to start crying again. "Speak to me! Tell me something, you have to tell me! I have to fix this! The world is broken, Venat, I can't leave it like this! There were too many sacrificed, and now they're gone, please, tell me!"

"I did this."

The change is instant. Emet-Selch stops in place, where he'd been inhaling to keep pleading, and the silence is deafening. The confused fear in his eyes doesn't go away, but it changes. A stunned comprehension. Good. She'd known beforehand, and now, he was beginning to catch up. To understand, in his skewed and flawed way, what he believed to be the truth.

"I struck out at Zodiark. He was too powerful. And now he is sundered."

"You..." The anger isn't there yet, but she knows it won't be long. He's too stunned, with just enough within him to release her sleeves and stand up straight. "You destroyed everything... To fight Zodiark?"

Venat says nothing.

"Zodiark- he was made of our loved ones! Hythlodaeus, Elidibus, do they mean nothing to you? You did this to hurt them?"

"I regret it," she says, but Emet-Selch can see through the blank and half hearted lie as well as he can see any soul. His breath catches, and his voice trembles with a deep loathing.

"You." He inhales to say something else, but Venat turns around before he can continue, and wisely, summons up a shield around him. The thud against it is immediate, as Emet-Selch throws his weight against it, pounds his fist against that translucent wall and screams, rage and grief filling it in the most haunting sound she had ever heard before, and the ground keens with the force of his rage-filled magical strikes. But he is distracted, scared. Far too much so to stand any chance against the second primal to be brought into existence, even for a moment, in this state. She vanishes to the sound of a second scream, and knows that he will find the other survivors.

Too late to go back now.

She had done the right thing.

[rose-from-ashes]

New chapter up!

[rose-from-ashes]

Next chapter’s up!

[rose-from-ashes]

Oops. Words

[rose-from-ashes]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54690181

Emet x Exarch jumpscare

[rose-from-ashes]

Chapter 3 is up!

[rose-from-ashes]

Chapter one is up~!