#no one read into any of these I am unknowable and faceless

[notasouleater]

!!! ah! thank you for the tag!

Three Ships: Lucky Jumbo - Luke Carder/Mumbo Jumbo (Inscryption + Hermitcraft + the person I am reblogging this from), Johnathan/Mina Harker (Dracula), Dumbass Dads (me. suffer)

First Ship: oh jeeze. I definitely remember first character obsessions better than ships. Esp. bc I didn't really, like, ship things when I first got interested in things? Like I enjoyed pairings that were there, but I don't think I like. Actively did until I saw it in fandom? so probably something sanders sides

Favorite Color: blue! :)

Last Song: ... Awkward Marina - Entropy (Sim Gretina Remix) (Bomb's playlist)

Last Movie in Theaters: uhhh. hm. come back to me

Last Show: probably The Owl House? still losing it over Many things, heyo

Currently Watching: I'm trying to catch up w/ hermitcraft. I'll remember to watch the next episode of leverage,,, someday

Currently reading: I just finished my most recent book, but I'd also recommend the one before that- this is how you lose the time war- bc it was so good! One of those books where every moment of spare time I would open it up, and in between couldn't stop thinking about it!! (I have a sherlock holmes collection on my nightstand but it's also... been there for months. I don't exactly have a bed lamp, I'll finish it eventually, I swear!)

Currently Working On: Where The Heart Is, The Cube (placeholder name), and I am very close to starting either a fae duel or active writing for the thing the orbs are for. Or picking back up the demon au.

oh crap I nearly forgot the pokemon comic. uh. that's a fine sign. It'll get updated... eventually

Current Obsessions: I'm currently on a My Ocs kick and I can't even be sheepish about it, I love them. Hard to say bc I always have a lot of background things that activate When I See it- but Widdershins and Aurora comics, Hermitcraft, drawfee(?), Half-a-dink Charleston, Epic the musical (new), Taz balance (currently reignited)

@self-deprecation-tank @fennecfox2121 @plantsnnstuff @floofylion @justheretolurk24 If you want !!! no pressure

Rules: Tag nine people you want to get to know better

Thanks for the tag @louwhose !

Three Ships: Zelink, Malink, and Sylki

First ship: umm idk Finn McMissile/Holly Shiftwell I guess? But I like barely shipped them. It was more of a ‘oh well this fic is pretty good so I’ll put up with the pairing’ kinda thing XD If we’re talking first serious ship then Sylki

Fave colour: blue

Last song: Heartbreak Feels So Good by Fall Out Boy

Last movie in theaters: Thor Love and Thunder I think? I don’t go to theaters much lol

Last show: Hero’s Purpose

Currently watching: …nothing (I’ve been too busy playing Majora’s Mask lol)

Currently reading: whatever fluffy or whumpy fic I can get my hands on

Currently working on: too many wips

Current obsession: Legend of Zelda and Linked Universe (it’s not obvious at all 🙃)

No pressure tags: @telemna-hyelle @skyward-floored @tired-twili @zeldaelmo @blossomingwaters @uncleskyrule @srah-the-violist aaand I can’t think of anyone else cause my brain has stopped cooperating

[fedonciadale]

I’m a fan of the “the Maiden lay athwart the Warrior, her arms widespread as if to embrace him” line from Davos POV. I just have to laugh that certain J0nerys shippers think Dany = the Maiden! Dany, the one who enjoys f**king Daario? I’ve also seen a J0nrya or two interpret Arya = the Maiden, when in my opinion, she’s far closer to the Stranger. The lengths readers will go to deny any possible Sansa+Jon foreshadowing. They can take it up w GRRM!

     Flickering torchlight danced across the walls, making the faces seem half-alive, twisting them, changing them. The statues in the great septs of the cities wore the faces the stonemasons had given them, but these charcoal scratchings were so crude they might be anyone. The Father's face made her think of her own father, dying in his bed at Riverrun. The Warrior was Renly and Stannis, Robb and Robert, Jaime Lannister and Jon Snow. She even glimpsed Arya in those lines, just for an instant. Then a gust of wind through the door made the torch sputter, and the semblance was gone, washed away in orange glare.                  The smoke was making her eyes burn. She rubbed at them with the heels of her scarred hands. When she looked up at the Mother again, it was her own mother she saw. Lady Minisa Tully had died in childbed, trying to give Lord Hoster a second son. The baby had perished with her, and afterward some of the life had gone out of Father. She was always so calm, Catelyn thought, remembering her mother's soft hands, her warm smile. If she had lived, how different our lives might have been. She wondered what Lady Minisa would make of her eldest daughter, kneeling here before her. I have come so many thousands of leagues, and for what? Who have I served? I have lost my daughters, Robb does not want me, and Bran and Rickon must surely think me a cold and unnatural mother. I was not even with Ned when he died . . .

Lost and weary, Catelyn Stark gave herself over to her gods. She knelt before the Smith, who fixed things that were broken, and asked that he give her sweet Bran his protection. She went to the Maid and beseeched her to lend her courage to Arya and Sansa, to guard them in their innocence. To the Father, she prayed for justice, the strength to seek it and the wisdom to know it, and she asked the Warrior to keep Robb strong and shield him in his battles. Lastly she turned to the Crone, whose statues often showed her with a lamp in one hand. "Guide me, wise lady," she prayed. "Show me the path I must walk, and do not let me stumble in the dark places that lie ahead."

(ACOK, Catelyn IV)

And this:

And the seventh face . . . the Stranger was neither male nor female, yet both, ever the outcast, the wanderer from far places, less and more than human, unknown and unknowable. Here the face was a black oval, a shadow with stars for eyes. It made Catelyn uneasy. She would get scant comfort there.   

I think if we read that together with the Davos chapter, we might get a clue.

Catelyn is the mother, but she will be the crone. Sansa is the maiden, and I am fairly certain she will stay a maiden, because she already survived several attempts on her maidenhead. By the end she’ll probably turn into a mother (if maybe only figuratively for her people). Catelyn sees Arya in the warrior’s face and that makes sense.

She prays for her children and from her perspective it makes sense to pray to the Maiden for Arya and Sansa, but I think it is important what she sees in the statues, because that is not influenced by her wishes.

It think that the description of the Stranger is interesting indeed. The Wanderer from far placed could be Arya who went over the Narrow Sea or Jon who went beyond the land of the living. The fact that the Stranger is a shadow could point to the Faceless men or to Jon, the ‘shifting shadow’. The Stranger changes can be male or female and that could point to Arya and Jon as well.

Very interesting that the Stranger has “stars for eyes”. That might be an allusion to Simon Star-Eyes a legendary hero who shares traits with Jon. Simon Star-Eyes might have been blind and that would point towards Jon as well, or Arya the blind girl.

So, I think Arya and Jon might be a variant of the stranger, respectively. And both are also the warrior.

And yes, I agree, Dany is not the maiden.

Jonsas and the rest of the fandom will probably never agree on how to interpret some of the more blatant foreshadowings.....

Thanks for the ask!

[qedavathegrey]

As some of you know, I have used the name MARAKALA thrice before: the initial instance being in The Instantaneous Conception of MARAKALA; then in RAKALA & the creation of humanity; and most recently in {A} Creation, which discusses MARAKALA’s “creation” and hints at her broader function in (and as) the Great Schema. I hope to further explore today both what and who MARAKALA is in greater detail, as well as to look more closely at she and RAKALA’s connection to one another. I will add that, given the nature of what I have undertaken by attempting to make sense of what I am given, there is a good chance that what I write today will need updating tomorrow. This has been the case already with what I have written about RAKALA (formerly called the Red Queen), whose enigmatic and mercurial nature makes her difficult to categorize or simplify in words. Thus, let this preface make clear that what is written below will be correct if only representative of a fraction of a fraction of the whole. In other words, I’m working with what I’ve got and who knows what else I may get moving forward that might reshape or redefine how these things are viewed. Expect updates and appreciate the process, I guess.

With that being said, let’s dive right in to take a closer (or broader) look at MARAKALA.

Understanding MARAKALA

In {A} Creation, I expanded upon what was pictured earlier in The Instantaneous Conception of MARAKALA. Therein, she is described as Thought made action, as the preserved Consciousness of MĀ. She is pictured as a severed head, she wields a blade and is the butcher of the Singularity. She is the one who divides One into many, beginning with her own “conception” and ending — at least in {A} Creation — with the creation of RAKALA from both MĀ and herself. And “conception” is an important word here, because MARAKALA is very much conceptual: she is a thought, an idea. In this sense, she is Creation itself. She is the moment MĀ recognizes a new possibility and that possibility is made real through MARAKALA. Thus, when speaking of MARAKALA as MĀ’s preserved Consciousness, it should be understood that MARAKALA is, in essence, MĀ. But the part of MĀ that is “disembodied,” or without physical substance. The conception of MARAKALA, then, might be better understood as the birth of matter whereby MARAKALA defines matter as opposite or at least inherently different from herself. And this is a recurring theme in {A} Creation, where something is defined only by that which comes after, as in the “birth” of MĀ and the naming of OMĀ. “Something isn’t really something until there is something else to compare it to.” 

But what does MARAKALA as Thought and as the Consciousness of MĀ really mean? What is she really? 

At the most fundamental level, she is Order. She is Law, she is Fate, she is Omniscience. She is, herself, the Great Schema upon which everything and every possibility relies. She is physics and quantum physics, she is spirit, she is consciousness beyond physical processes. She is so very much that it is much easier to define her by what she isn’t. And what she isn’t (at least when distinguishing her from MĀ as a Whole) is matter. Obviously any attempt at distinction between matter and energy is a fool’s errand, but for the sake of applying “ownership” over the states of matter to the Sisters, one must at least attempt distinction. And those lines separating matter from energy or states of matter from other states are anything but concrete, nor do they really need to be. They are all MĀ, interconnected but not Singular. And that’s the most important distinction to make. MARAKALA allows for the existence of matter and defines its qualities, composition, etc. but lends ownership of it and its states to the Sisters, who are about as distinct from MĀ and MARAKALA as matter is from energy. Which is to say not very or at all except in that they are and aren’t. Really clears things up, I know.

Another thing she isn’t (and again, not an easy line to draw) is action. MARAKALA is the framework, but RAKALA is the force which drives change and all that “moves'' within the framework. This is represented by MARAKALA as the Head and RAKALA as the Hands: MARAKALA is the thought that dictates Action, but RAKALA is the Action itself. Or, to give an example, we know matter can change states based on temperature. The fact that this can happen at all is MARAKALA, but when it does, it is the work of RAKALA. Thus, one might consider MARAKALA the omniscient consciousness that dictates RAKALA’s omnipotent hand. And while RAKALA is not herself truly omniscient, her relation to and mutual reliance upon MARAKALA means that she is “not far off.” This, of course, makes her delightfully fit for tricksterhood: she knows nearly all there is to know and what fate has in store both at the cosmic and individual (and even smaller and greater still) level. Her Sisters, however, are not privy to this same knowledge and thus, what animosity manifests does so almost always from this difference of knowing. As humans, this is easy to comprehend as we ourselves are ignorant beings bumbling around trying to make sense and plan accordingly for things we simply cannot understand. But then imagine for a moment that your arrogant, omnipotent, know-it-all little sister shows up and says “Sorry, whatever you’re up to isn’t going to fly, chief,” gives you a wink and then renders you effectively powerless to do anything. Valid cause for frustration, I think, but what do you do? You grumble something like, “She’s always been mom’s favorite,” then do what you can to move forward. 

MARAKALA’s omnipotence is also the cause for her “Silence,” which is another of her defining features. This concept of silence was introduced in The Instantaneous Conception of MARAKALA and further explored in {A} Creation, where it is written: 

Finally, what parts remained of MĀ — the Mysteries — MARAKALA devoured for fear that those Great Secrets might escape into the Nothing. To ensure this would never happen and that MĀ could not be reunited before such was meant to be, MARAKALA sealed up Her mouth never to Speak again. Thus, MARAKALA is the Keeper of the Mysteries and the one who ensures that their powers are kept in check by wielding them with Consciousness.

 And in The Instantaneous Conception [...]: 

Her presentation without a mouth symbolizes her Silence, Her incomprehensible vastness precluding Speech or human understanding. As such, RAKALA — “eldest” and “youngest” of the Four Sisters as she is and is born of MARAKALA — acts as Her intercessor: the Face of the Faceless, the Mouth of the Silent.

These passages both explore the relationship between MARAKALA and RAKALA wherein MARAKALA exists as vast and unknowable and RAKALA acts as her intercessor and “Mouth.” This, of course, is symbolic of what has already been discussed: MARAKALA is framework while RAKALA is action. But there is more to her Silence than this.  

Existing as the Great Schema, MARAKALA’s Silence is a necessary one. It is crucial to the “success” of creation that its “subjects” remain ignorant to Fate, otherwise the function of separation and distinction (i.e. creation itself) would be moot. Which, of course, brings us to the function of creation itself. 

Creation is best thought of like a grand experiment. It is a game MĀ plays with herself and MARAKALA exists as its rules, the board, the story, or however you would prefer to define it. RAKALA, thusly, is the game’s master or officiant: the one who ensures that things move forward in accordance with the rule book. The rules are written, the board is set up, but without players and a moderator to guarantee things move as planned, the game goes nowhere and nothing is gained for their is no structure or action to make the rules reality. And certainly some of you are thinking: if MARAKALA (as the consciousness of MĀ) is omniscient (and omnipotent) and thus already knows exactly what will happen, then what function does the game serve? I could speculate, but I won’t. That’s an answer that I do not and cannot know. But I will say that there exist infinite “places” possessing different rules where infinite eventualities can be explored. Maybe there’s something to it, maybe there isn’t. Can’t say for certain, but it’s above my pay grade and does not affect me in any way. I was not there at the beginning and will not be there at the end. Humans are the product of what rules govern this existence and others, but I would not be so self-aggrandizing as to assume that we are some great subject which entire universes were formed to wrought. That being said, life and consciousness are something relatively unique and interesting subjects. At least as far as we can tell, which isn’t saying much.

If you refer back to what is written in RAKALA & the creation of humanity, you will find I assigned some importance to humanity. After all, we are the product of RAKALA and her tricksterism. But you will also find that what function we serve in the great scheme of things is a question left unanswered. We create religions to place and understand ourselves in a world and universe that is big, unknowable... often terrifyingly so. We are a species which seeks answers and delights in categorization. Hell, you’ll see that this exercise in itself is one meant to categorize what cannot be categorized: to give dominion to things whose separation we, ourselves create. But you read above how difficult it was to segment even the limited existence of which we are aware, and even more so to personify these forces. Was I effective? Likely not, but it doesn’t really matter. As I said, this is an exercise: one to apply meaning to what can often seem meaningless. And maybe it is. But I choose to find and apply meaning because it’s such a delightfully human thing to do. And whether humans are of any import in the greater scheme of things doesn’t really matter, because we are here and we do what we do. And what we do is powerful, interesting, and more recently quite horrific. Strange, isn’t it, that in 200,000 years of existence that we humans typically only remember the last 15 thousand? To put that in perspective, writing has existed for only 0.2% of all modern, human existence. Agriculture? ~5%. Electricity? 0.007%. We so frequently define humanity by our “progress,” but rarely by what things have truly made up the bulk of human existence: living in nature, cooperatively with one another. And undoubtedly creating countless cosmologies lost to time. But I digress... 

MARAKALA and RAKALA make up two halves a whole: Thought vs. Action; potential vs. kinetic; not at odds, but working in tandem to create existence as it is fated to be. Neither is far from humanity, though one remains decidedly unknowable if at least in her entirety. But we are constant witnesses to her Law and can gain knowledge and insight through partnering with her intercessor, RAKALA. What wisdom and meaning one takes, of course, is up to them. 

[hecohansen31]

Ok imagine: (part 1) you're friend with Michael on a website created for shy people, who don't post any picture and hide their identity to not be bother and one day, because you really like each other, you decide to meet in person. But when you see him, tall, blond, handsome, you can believe he is the lonely boy, bullied by his neighbors and who never even kissed someone. You think he is lying, pranking you and you run away before he could see you.

(A/N): Hello there, lovely!

I am rather sorry for posting this rather earlier and I swear that with tomorrow, I’ll have almost finished all my asks, which is... marvelous, hence I can focus on new writing projects and the beautiful asks you sent on my way!

(If you have more outside of CF’s character, continue to send, also I would love some Xavier’s ones, if you have some!).

With this being said, I hope you’ll enjoy this, I loved this idea, because a while ago, I had a similar, but never got around to write so it was nice to finally do!

Have a nice day, sweetie!

WARNINGS: Body Issues, Self-Consciousness, Depressive Thoughts.

You weren’t exactly self-conscious about your body.

But if you could have worn a paper bag onto your head, you would have gladly chosen to do so.

And not only as fashion statement.

You didn’t remember exactly where your self-consciousness had begun.

Some part of you wondered, whether it had always stuck with you.

Your friends had introduced you to “Faceless” a new social network where people could upload mostly status and quotes, without the need of an image to represent them, being indeed “faceless”.

It could have alarmed your “stranger-danger” sense, but your friends always used it as a way to facelessly make fun of somebody, resulting in it being an extremely mean place.

Except for you and Michael.

You had met Michael after you had discovered you liked the same artist.

You had published some of his art, resulting in Michael commenting about how he had recently visited an exhibition of his, which he had loved, and asked if he could share of the photos he had made there, with you.

You hadn’t minded, although you had been ready to block him if he even thought about sending you dick pics, which he didn’t, sending you the exhibition’s photos indeed, and you couldn’t help but appreciate the sweet gesture.

From then on, you couldn’t help but feel like there were more and more things that linked you two together.

Most importantly your self-consciousness.

Michael admitted that he had discovered “Faceless” on his own, meanwhile he was skimming through the internet and had been rather pleased to discover that he didn’t have to show his face and show himself around to talk with people.

He didn’t feel in the slightest confident because of his grandma, who had kept him segregated at home, till her own evilness had gotten to her and she had died from some lung malfunction due to the perpetrated use of cigarettes she had done.

She had died screaming at her nephew and Michael had never been able to forgive himself, thinking that he had been the one who had killed her.

Thankfully after this bad experience he had been able to move on, being moved to a new house and meeting Mrs Mead, who took care of him lovingly and brought him to exhibitions and galleries, since he didn’t mind in the slightest the painter life, although “he wasn’t very talented” according to him.

He used “Faceless” also to publish his sketches and you had eventually gotten him to submit his art to a context for unexperienced artists.

“It isn’t even that good” he had written to you, after he had submitted.

And guess what… HE HAD WON.

In the end, time had come, and after you had exchanged phone numbers, you had thought about seeing each other in person, since you didn’t live far.

You felt extremely nervous but the possibility of finally meeting Michael, somebody who understood you and cherished your fidgety and self-conscious personality, made you extremely excited and daring.

You were still scared that he might end up being some kind predator, hence you had suggested to meet at a park, in order for it to be full of people, but also somehow private and they would both be wearing something that could make them stand-out.

Him a yellow shirt, and you a polka dotted dress.

Since you were anxious and excited, you ended up being a few minutes early and examined the elegant place, watching through your lashes anybody that came down from your avenue, meanwhile you tried to fake being absorbed in the book you were reading, although nothing would make your mind stick to it.

In the end, something yellowy caught your eyes, but it was just a young boy going around with his parents, who raised him slightly off the ground, to make him giggle.

A truly adorable scene that got you distracted enough that when an older boy with a yellow shirt passed in front of you, you didn’t stop him.

But immediately your gaze was fixed onto him, and you were unable to stop yourself from staring at the gorgeous angel in it: he was desperately handsome, in an ethereal way, almost shy to his own light, made by his golden curls, decorating perfectly and styled around his face.

His pretty eyes held some kind of shyness to them, and insecurity brought them to shine duller, in a greyer shade of ocean, still appreciable but you couldn’t help but wonder what they would be like at it brightest.

They had to be stars, shining in a dark sky.

He was the kind of guy that you would see outside and take a good look, dumbfounded, but then you would turn away, knowing he was waaaayyyy out of your league, hence it got you even more depressed than usual.

But the fact that he was wearing a yellow shirt made you ogle at him even more, trying to make some sense into what you were seeing: was there a possibility that that handsome boy was your Michael?

The shy and not confident Michael, who thought he looked like Frankenstein’s creature and didn’t like going out, since everybody made fun of the way he walked, talked and even looked with gangly arms and clumsy legs.

But that boy was in no way any of those things: he was a classically handsome man, a Michalangelo’s human carved statue and with an androgynous shape that brought interest and uniqueness to him.

A truly masterpiece.

… that didn’t match with the image of Michael you had been given.

You, at first, thought it was just somebody with a very yellow shirt, not your Michael, but then you had seen him look around, almost as if he was waiting for somebody and this got to you.

It was truly Michael.

But not your Michael.

Not the one you had known through internet.

Maybe it was stupid but the fact that he was gorgeous made you uneasy.

It almost felt like you were being played a cruel joke by Michael.

Maybe he had just wanted to gain your confidence then to break your heart, making fun of you, some people did that, although it seemed disturbed.

And you just felt extremely uneasy, enough that you just picked up your book and moved away, before he could glance at your polka dot dress, as you tried not to let your waterworks open in that moment, worried that it would make you seem even more an idiot, and when you were behind the walls of your house, you crouched to the ground.

Your view became hazy for your tears, and before you knew it, you were clutching your chest in a fetal position, unknowing of what the hell was going on, trying to make sense, in how cruel the Destiny had been.

It had given you finally somebody who understood you and cherished you for all your fears and insecurities, and then he had taken him away in such a horrible and embarrassing way.

You couldn’t help but feel grateful that he hadn’t noticed you, since it meant that he wouldn’t have to witness your embarrassing form.

You would stay faceless, but you were a bit glad to have known such an angelic face.

… although you would never be worth of it.

After you felt a bit better, since your stomach basically grumbled back to life, you brought yourself out of your miserable self-pity and onto the kitchen table and there you had left your bag, probably after you had smashed it onto table, in your mental breakdown.

Something inside it was ringing, probably your phone.

You had expected it to be your friend who had known about your little “blind date”, and was worried sick about you meeting a stranger on the internet:

“What if he tries to kidnap you, (Y/N), haven’t you thought about it?”.

“You seriously think that there would be anyone interested in kidnapping me?”.

But it wasn’t your friend: it was Michael.

You let your phone ring, till it got exhausted and your screen showed you a few of the many messages Michael had sent you, which you looked into from the preview, in order not to give away the fact that you had read them.

The first ones were nervous and shy, asking you whether you had found the right spot and were already waiting by him, or if you were some minutes late.

“… if you are late, don’t worry, I just thought I’d come here early”.

“I am nervous, I honestly am scared to meet you in real life”.

“Hey (Y/N), you are coming, right?”.

“Did you have some problem at home?”.

“Hey… aren’t you coming?”.

“Gosh, (Y/N), I am honestly worried… did something happen to you? Please call me!”.

And then he had started calling you indeed, almost frantically, and you were pretty sure that you would find something in your voicemail, but you didn’t check it, and eventually just let your phone ring.

Till you had enough, and you finally replied.

“Won’t you leave me alone?” you sputtered, knowing that it was just a stupid cruel joke, made by an ignorant jock.

“Oh, thank God, (N/N) you replied!” he didn’t seem to acknowledge in the slightest your tone, just happy as a puppy waggling his tail at his owner “… I was getting worried honestly… did something happen this morning? We can reschedule…”.

“I did come today” you felt an uncomfortable silence go through you, but you didn’t let it affect you, pushing yourself further “… and I freaking saw you, Michael, you are certainly not an ugly ducking”.

“Oh, then if you saw me… why didn’t you…”.

“Why don’t you do us all favor and drop this act?” your voice was harsh, your mood quickly swinging from sadness to rage “… I know that you had quite the fun, convincing somebody that you were nothing but an ugly nerd, to make them believe and confide you, just to make fun of them when you finally met them face to face”.

The other line was silent, before a slight hiccup was heard.

“I don’t know what you are talking about (N/N), I honestly had no ulterior intentions than to meet you, face to face” his voice was a rollercoaster of emotions, swinging from calm to whiny and then full-blown teary “… I honestly would never ever make fun of you, you have to believe me”.

“I am barely a five, on a scale from one to ten, Michael…” you mumbled, calming a tiny bit down, mostly because Michael’s voice seemed damnably honest, but you knew better than to trust easily people “… and you are a freaking eleven… so I think that it is better for us to never see us again”.

“No, no wait… (N/N)… if I did something… I am sorry, but please don’t…” his voice right now was extremely sad, and you were absolutely sure that he had started crying “… you are one of the few people with whom I can be myself and seriously the sole thought of you leaving me, make me sick…”.

“I am sorry, Michael, but it is better for both of us, with time, you’ll come around”.

You didn’t want to be hurt.

Even if this wasn’t a joke, Michael was too good for you and eventually he would grow out of a crush on a stranger he had idealized, and to make it even more clear, you chose to send him a photo of you, mostly because you thought that once he saw you, as the mess you were, he would have finally understood.

You then decided to switch off your phone to sleep a bit peacefully, something that might help with your broken heart, but you couldn’t help but keep on replaying that morning meeting, although it always ended up badly: Michael would reveal himself to be a pompous prick and you would end up humiliated in a corner.

When you had woken up, mostly because your roommate had come back home, you had switched on your phone remembering about your friend’s worry, but it wasn’t any message of hers that caught your eyes, it was instead… Michael’s reply to your picture.

One of your favorites, because you smiled brightly and the dress you had chosen made you definitely feel pretty, but you didn’t think that it would even come close to Michael’s beauty.

Still he had replied that you looked gorgeous and that maybe the true reason why you hadn’t wanted to meet him was due to him not being enough for you.

And he had heartbreakingly replied, with a last message, that he wouldn’t have bothered you in the slightest.

The thought of it made you slightly sad, but you were resolute.

Your new week without your “best friend” ended up being extremely difficult, at first you were confident you wouldn’t be missing him too much, but you had had to delete the “Faceless” app from your phone in order not to check it continuously, alongside having to push the laptop away from you.

Your anxieties still didn’t go away, but you were able to reach some kind of balance on the second week, unlike Michael, who had tried to send you some messages, mostly to check in on you.

You never answered, because they reminded you of what it might have happened, had you seriously met.

But it still made you nostalgic, you were completely unable to feel like you had somebody who understood you, who you could talk with no judgement.

It almost made you feel like you might have overreacted the entire thing, almost as if the thought of risking it with Michael might have made it all worth it, had you succeeded in your whole plan.

But maybe… as life had proven you many times, you might have ended up with one more reason to hide yourself from the world.

That morning you had been out for some grocery shopping, and meanwhile you were moving in the street from the little supermarket to pick up some food, to the florist’s shop so that you would be able to have some flower to brighten your dark days.

But as you were coming inside, you saw a movement, and turned around, but soon found a pair of unknown arms around you, startling you enough that you couldn’t help but sigh and try to push yourself away, thinking it was some kind of way to run.

But your mysterious assaulter ended up revealing himself to be a blond angel, you knew all too well: Michael.

He immediately realized your discomfort and he distanced himself slightly, blushing awkwardly and standing there with a hand onto his arm, looking down, before he muttered a shy “hello”.

You couldn’t help but be embarrassed a bit by the entire scene, although your heart roared at knowing that Michael had wanted to make you receive such a genuine reaction, something that convinced that maybe… just maybe… he hadn’t meant anything.

And that somehow… he liked for what he had seen and known.

“… I am sorry, I know that you said that you didn’t want us to meet each other again, but I just… I just felt the need to finally meet you… and hug you… but…” he twirled one of his blond curls between his fingers “…you must think I am a psycho”.

“Just a bit” you replied, softly, trying to make some sense in what was going through your brain “… I honestly have to say I have overreacted a bit… I have missed you in these days…”.

“I have missed you, too” he replied gingerly, meanwhile he went to kiss a bit sloppily your cheeks, making you laugh a bit, at his enthusiasm “… I was hoping that we would be able to finally meet each other… I prayed for it each day…”.

You blushed at his eagerness, and at the fact that it was what you had thought all the time you had spent away.

“I…” you didn’t know what to say anymore, and just stared at Michael’s pretty eyes, thinking that maybe… for one day… it was good to try things, to risk it all “…think that maybe we have closed one door, but we might start again, face to face, instead of ‘faceless’ “.

Michael giggled at his corny humor, and meanwhile you offered a hand for him to hold, he guided you in another soft hug.

“Well then it’s nice to meet you, I am Michael”.

[saywhatjessie]

Share your self care!

Tagged by @toast-the-unknowing 🤗

🌿 Favourite comfort food

Mug of cereal standing at my kitchen counter at 2am

🌼 Favourite alcohol (or hot drink!)

Alcohol I go with mixed drinks, usually a Screwdriver, because I don’t like carbonation, but I have been known to approach a bartender just like “fuck me up, fam.” Hot drinks my usual is English Breakfast Tea with milk and sugar

🌷 Favourite relaxing activity

Reading or coloring. Usually art with an audiobook or Welcome to NightVale on in the background. Or sometimes both, like now, when I’m listening to the audiobook for The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home

🌸 Favourite fluffy/feel-good fic

“Little Numbers” from the Glee fandom was a staple for a long time but now, deadass, I usually go back and reread Toast’s Pynch fics 

🌻 Favourite calming scent

Motherfucking GARLIC. I smell garlic, onions, and olive oil cooking in a pan, with that faint sizzling sound as accompaniment, and I am fucking gravy

🌺 Favourite relaxing (or uplifting) song at the minute?

Currently the song playing in my head is “Little Numbers” by Boy because of that question two up, but my fave Get Hype at the minute is “Truth Hurts” by Lizzo. My fave relaxing song, probably “Vienna” by Billy Joel (or Ben Platt, fucking love Ben Platt). bUT the song gaurunteed to get me out of a bad mood literally every time is “Famous Last Words” by My Chemical Romance

🌵 Favourite white noise

Harry Potter soundtrack I know it’s not actually white noise but sounds like rain or the ocean aren’t engaging enough for my brain to cancel out my thoughts like white noise is actually supposed to do. So the Harry Potter soundtrack keeps my brain occupied without giving me any actual thoughts. Does that make sense?

🍄 Favourite book to get lost in

I’m not entirely sure what this means.... like lose track of time with? Hopefully every book I read I get lost in. That’s the goal, at least.

💐 Favourite chill-out TV show

Whatever tv show I’m getting my dad caught up on. Used to be Supernatural, then Brooklyn 99, now we’re watching Schitt’s Creek If I’m by myself, I just watch Jenna Marbles videos

🌹 The best advice you’ve ever had

Everyone’s so caught up in what they’re doing, no one actually cares what you’re doing. So do whatever you want.

Picking favorite things usually fills me with so much anxiety but this actually wasn’t so bad! So I’m tagging @casthegrumpy @torimouto @abejiitaa @deanismypatronass @ozonecologne  and @fourthbagel! I didn’t know how many to pick so these are just the people I currently have chats open with in my sidebar lol

[simonalkenmayer]

“Monster”

The logic you employ is perfectly reasonable. I eat humans and you are one, so, of course, I am your predator. For that reason, you ought not consort with me or treat me lightly. Makes perfect sense, if one never looks very far.

All this I can see very well, and indeed have coped with for centuries. What I don’t comprehend is why humans feel - and have always felt - the need to call me wicked no matter what  evidence of my character or integrity exists. 

The word “monster” is a highly "charged” term for me. You don’t care, and why should you? It pertains to a species that can’t possibly exist and if it does must be awful. Just absolutely rubbish. Just everything you hate, would burn as soon as look at, an spit upon. People see me employ that word, using it to point out the flaw in your heavily weighted reasoning, and they think that every phrase from my mouth must be some sort of arch-demonic, Machiavellian ploy. Use one word, just one, and the perception is always against you.

Now, we all know I’ve lamented this before, and I likely always shall, but I am not bringing this up now to feel sorry for myself. Such things have no purpose and do nothing to solve the problem. I am bringing it up because it shines a light on a particularly egregious character flaw that humans possess and protect with defensiveness the likes of which has never been seen elsewhere.

Bigotry. Racism, sexism... hatred of a group because they don’t live as you do, though their life harms you in no way. I comprehend the complexities of the world, I promise you. I know how difficult it is to allow to exist a group who does things in a way that is counter to your nature. I live alongside you lot, remember? I’m not here to debate those complexities. 

I want to talk about words.

You use such densely packed terms. These names pressed and pressed by time and history and all manner of atrocity. And only now are people pointing to these words and saying “Do you see what this carries with it?”

Take the word “villain”. We discussed it the other day in my “Simon Teaches Old Words” post on the Middle French word. A “vilein” was a vassal, a serf bound in service to a nobleman on a specific piece of land. That low status became a synonym for dirty, mean, stupid, and so forth. When the word found its way to England, to become the modern “villain” it is, all that classicist rhetoric espoused by the elite ignoramuses of the day was condensed down into a name you began using on each other. Now you use it interchangeably with “evil” or yes, even ”monster”.

Where does the word “monster” originate?

It comes from the Latin “monere,” which means “to warn” or “portend”. You see to the ancient mind, portents and warnings were equated with those Unknowables  and Faceless Ones in caves and forests. We were not doom. We were a caution. One could even go so far as to say, we were a reckoning.

Perhaps we are the sign of what man will do to itself. Perhaps we are the foil to any discussion of the true character of mankind. That all seems terribly grandiose, doesn’t it? I know I am likely far too lazy to uphold that image for too long.

But really it’s your perception that matters. If indeed the ancient humans saw an omen on the horizon, one that foretold a very grim outcome - an outcome of humanity’s own making - why, of course they’d “vilify” it.

Do you see why I want this word back? Do you understand why I object to humans reading my blog description and thinking that because I self-identify as a monster, I must mean it in the way they mean it? I mean it the way I mean it, in the Old Way. It isn’t yours to have, though you may have crafted it. It was the name you gave us, to control us. You have forced me to accept language, your meanings, your edicts, your rules, but I am taking this one name for myself. 

I am entirely at home with being monstrous. I will not let you turn your own future into fear and wreckage. If that makes me a villain...then so be it.