Anemoia (How Long Will You Reach For The Ghosts Of Distant Stars?)
Anemoia (How Long Will You Reach For The Ghosts Of Distant Stars?)
They could see the stars tonight, bright splatters of light across the shadows of the sky. They don't really know why they decided to come out here, so far from the comfort of their little cottage, but they don't want to return, not yet at least. Wrapped in their cloak, they nestle themselves into the trunk of an old, hollowed out tree as they crane their neck upwards. The stars flicker and blink down at them, almost as if they were waving a hello. A ridiculous thought they don't mind entertaining as they raise their own hand to wave back. Maybe they are a bit of a fool, but they never claimed to be wise in the first place.
This reminds them of dreams they could have sworn they had forgotten, the wisps of names and faces that linger on their tongue even as the memories faded from their mind. They could almost feel the leathery skin underneath their fingertips, the sharp edges of scales too big. The blooming feeling of awe as feather and fur alike curl around their shoulders. Even the whistling winds, rustling through leaves and grass, remind them of the songs they used to sing, the lyrics long forgotten. Not quite unexpectedly, it hurts. Aching something fierce and bold in their chest, that forces tears to well in their eyes. Logically, they know it's silly to cry over something they can barely remember, over something that the world doesn't remember existing. At least, not in this life.
But they don't swallow down the sob that leaves their throat nor wipe away the iridescent tears that fall from their eyes. They don't mind the chill that seeps into their chest as their tears soak through the thin fabric of their shirt, far too busy watching the stars drift across the skies. They think, at first, only distantly, that they can see the twisting shapes of long serpentine bodies and billowing wings. They swear they can hear the timber of voices overlapped, the shadows of all too human bodies that they should know but can't quite remember. They wonder if they can miss people that don't exist.
They wonder if these memories are what drives them away from the people, the connections, of this earth. Star child, they remember their grandmother whispering to them in the late hours of the night. You are loved, they remember her murmuring to them every day from then on. They remember clinging to her feeble form as she spun tales of mystical beasts and stories of man made gods. Rivers to a lake, spiraling into the deep caverns underneath, hoarding knowledge underneath their silence. They wonder if there was some truth to her tales after all.
Star child, that name, title they suppose, has haunted them throughout their entire life. They wonder if it is why they can taste lightning on their tongue even when the skies are clear, if it is why they can feel the brittle-snap of thunder between their teeth. They wonder if it is why frost cradles their skin even when hearth-warm fire curls in their chest, the duality often leaving them sick and bedridden. Wildfires spark to life, just shy of burning and charring the vulnerable flesh of their heart. That coil around their ribcage and rumble as though the earth was quaking under a cat's quiet purr. All the while, ice forms at the base of their throat, encircling their arms like sharp shackles. They don't mind the chill, even when it hurts to speak. They welcome the frost and the cold, wrapping themselves in snow to stave off the constant heat.
They suppose it is, just like the winds that push for them to wander the world. A wanderlust unseen in their family, where others root themselves into the soil, they take to the skies. Following where the breeze and the gales blow them, the peaks of snow-capped mountains and the depths of oceans. Their body is not meant for travel, frail from the war that wages inside them. But it's not as if they could stop. They ache for the road, to chase after the stars as if they could someday reach up to pluck them from the skies. Their only real companion over the years, the feel of coiled bodies in the palm of their hand and the sound of an echoing roar in their ears.
Sometimes, they still expect a tail to curl itself around their legs even though the creature that tail is connected to only resides in their dreams. They still turn and expect to see the divine tipped claws of monsters, to have to tip their head back to speak to looming shadows of those they should know and still somewhat do, even if they haven't met them yet. Their disappointment when all that greets them is silence and emptiness is often crushing and immeasurable, inconsolable grief that drapes across their shoulders like a dark veil. Those days, they spend their time inside, away from the sun and the stars, away from the gaze of the people that stare and stare. They spend those days painting and writing, over and over, trying to capture the faces and forms of their companions they so desperately want to remember.
But it never looks quite right. Something is always wrong, always off. Failure is a bitter thing to swallow, it tastes of bile and blood and tainted honor. It is the shattering of pride, the sting of human hubris that leads them to bury their half written journals and messily sketched paintings. It is what forces them to grip the few pieces of their memories close, cradling their dreams like the most precious of treasures. Long fluttering scarves and cloaks, flowing fabrics that hide the invisible pouches of chiming bells and glimmering scales. Though they carry little on their journey, they can't help but feel an anchor's weight on their shoulders, Atlas heavy. A worthwhile price for the imaginary companions that drive away the loneliness, even if they do still want to feel the steady heartbeat underneath their hands.
Star child, they muse to themselves, it grows more fitting by the year. Stardust in their veins and the world at their fingertips, it is only a matter of time before they will be cradled in the careful coils of their once lost companions, one way or another.
@n0tamused
More Posts from Creationsabyss and Others
I'm also going to go on a small ramble in the tags because I love your interpretation but I also have another that I really want to share.
Your Faith Has Made You Complacent (And Thus Your Pride Will Bring You To Ruin)
Another piece inspired by @m1d-45. I have normally have great impulse control unless it's writing. Then this happens.
Instincts honed
Through years of wear
It has led them well
When their heart was torn
And their mind in shambles
So why?
Why is it now
That they fail to listen?
It pulls back
Desperate to get away
To plead for forgiveness
For ignorance and arrogance
They do not listen
Not this time
Emotions surge
As their heart thunders
Their mind races
Ignoring the sirens that blare
They raise their blade
Even as something
Someone?
In the back of their head howls
The weapon plunges
Sinking into soft flesh
The thud of a guillotine
A hasty execution
It is a graceless death
That prickles their skin
As a sense of wrongness settles
Something is not right
When they fall to their knees?
Why were they trying to heal the dead?
Why did their soul ache?
Why does it feel so wrong?
Oh.
What have they done?
Freedom's Blessings (Leave Behind Broken Chains)
@sagau-my-beloved, here it is! I tried to send it through an ask and failed. I got an error message instead? So I'm tagging through a post instead.
Where lightning ceases
The earth shall guard
Where geo can not follow
The wind shall accompany
It is a faithful companion
That tells of stories and songs
From places and times long past
By your side he forms
Cheerful and bright
Loving and sweet
Though it seems honey thick
Desperate and latching
Your presence is like water
A substance they cannot live without
Or perhaps pooling blood
That seeps into every crack
Sealing it tight
Leaving an aftertaste
That reeks of addiction
Perhaps you'd think it of a warning
Were it not so innocent
His joy is infectious
And his charm irresistible
Ignore the danger lurking
He is of no harm to you
A tamed pet for your eyes alone
Enrapture his gaze
And direct his blade
Change how the winds should blow
And he shall bend to your command
He is yours
So won't you be kind?
Even those who stand the trial of time
Can be even more frail than those who fall
Cherish his heart
And the world is yours
The Universe Loves You (Its People Are Blind But It Hopes That Forgiveness Can Still Be Found)
A small piece based off of some of @i-put-the-yan-in-polyandry's works.
When your blood runs gold
Who will you run to?
When your wounds fade
Into shining star silver
Who will you trust?
When the world hunts for your head
For a crime you did not commit
Who deserves your favor?
When the world is kind
Where its people are not
Where will you turn?
When you are scorned
Turned away with glare and blade
Will you return to its cradle
Be embraced in its loyalty?
The world knows and will never turn
You will find safety here
Amongst the fauna and the flora
Your reign is undisputed
The world knows
Its people shall know in time
So I wonder
Where you'll end up next
Beloved One, Where Has Your Humanity Gone? (Exalted One, Your Monstrosity Is All That You Need.)
I've sat upon this throne
For a century it feels
But I know
Not a decade has passed
It is velvet plush
And silken smooth
Crafted of sunbeam golds
And starshine silvers
The jewels that adorn it
Are precious and lovely
From the deepest blues
That remind me of oceans
And the empty gaze
Of a devout follower
Stained by ink and blood
The shine of peacock teal
The glimmer of amethyst violet
The spark of sunset topaz
Devotion and adoration
Swirl and coil in irises glazed
A whirlpool of desire
That drags me under
Drowning me in their affection
They've crowned me honor
Exalted me above all
Their touches are butterfly light
Their words dripping with honeydew
Their bodies for me to use
Their souls for me to savor
A title
A crown
So light upon my head
A responsibility
Utter trust and loyalty
Heavy upon my heart
"Absolute power corrupts absolutely"
I've heard it said a dozen times before
But here in this world
Paradisiacal as it is
I can't seem to care
I am their God
It's only right I take my due
i support all dark content writers and artists and readers and enjoyers; i don’t have to love everything that you love to respect you and to have your back.
It Is In Death You Shall Find Peace (I Pray That The Living Will Haunt You No More)
A small piece inspired by @m1d-45. I realize this is might be a little morbid for new years but I'm sick so I'm going to blame my inability to read social cues on that. Also I really had fun writing this.
You are prey in this game
Skittish and timid
Gentle and kind
They are the hunters
The predators that prowl
Hunting for your head
You are the hunted
But you are a human
Albeit one twice wronged
Hailed by the world as its God
And accused of malicious imitations
You are capable of reason
And of surrender
Powerless against the powerful
You can run
And you can hide
But you may never win
So the choice is made
Though you find it cruel
Once beloved characters
You built with time and love
From ashes to gold
And from indignity to glory
Now shall stand as your executioner
And be commended by the masses
For being the one to slay you
With the power you earned them
And the weapons you gave
They shall be your end
You find it cruel
And a tad ironic
But perhaps
If it is your favored
Death will be just a little bit kinder
A Home Amidst The Infinite Stars
He looks inhuman, with his smile that strains just a little too much at the corners and eyes that gleam with an artificial liveliness. An ink black stain on his skin, marring his neck and displaying his sin. Dangerous, you hear the whispers, mocking and cruel with a hint of caution that feels ice cold. Aventurine, they call him, with eyes of vivid colors that perhaps would have been mesmerizing once, but were dull and glassy now. A gem, polished and set on a pedestal for all to see.
You find it, and him most of all, tragic. Someone clearly put effort into making him presentable, clothing him in bright hues that are impossible to ignore, and his personality is loud, ringing in your ears like the echoes of a scream within the long halls of desolation. He hides himself away, protecting himself in the only way he can. Even then, you see the scars that chip away at his mind, the tiny nicks and scratches that feel like chasms to your stardust vision.
You want to reach out, wish you could cup his soul in your hands, and hide him away beneath the starshine veil you wear. You want to fill his wound with sunglow and stitch him back together with a long thread, shadow stained to prevent another scar. Perhaps he would not notice a new mark on his skin, but you did not wish to add to his canvas. Perhaps kindness is poison to him now, years of cruelty that led to painful isolation.
He is frozen, frostbitten limbs that burn as they warm by the fire. You wonder if he would cry if you hugged him, the steady pulse of a star in your chest that reaches out for him just as it has for your cherished companions. You wonder how long it will take before he willingly returns to your side, head bowed as he presses himself into your chest and shudders as though he'll fall apart the moment you let him go.
You wonder when he will relax in your hold and when he will not flinch but lean willingly into your touch. Perhaps it will take years, or even decades. Perhaps he will never lose the sharp, jagged edges of his broken pieces. But that's okay, you have time. You will wait however long it takes, just as you have for each and every one of your beloved companions.
My thoughts on the Aventurine drama
I've been inactive for a while, I was (still am) busy in real life but coming back online to post and seeing discourse about a newly crowned favorite character is disheartening. Even more so, that people are harassing other writers over a drama I feel is overblown.
I have thoughts regarding it but I'm unsure if my opinion would be appreciated. But if you'd like to peacefully talk it out with me, I'd be happy to lend an ear. I'd like to hear both sides, as meager as my opinion may be.
Oh boy, here we go.
Aventurine is a character, a fictional being born to entertain the players. He is not real. He can not be offended by what you create of him. There is no point getting upset on the behalf of a character and prioritizing fiction over a person who does actually exist.
If we do want to condemn slavery fics, why not also cancel slave reader fics? Or ones that include things such as dead dove (including yanderes in general) fics because those topics are equally terrible to condone and write about from that point of view. Or how about other characters that have similar topics in their lore. Should those also be canceled too?
*There are also folks who make problematic pieces to help cope with their own trauma. Does that mean they should be canceled too? (On that note: making a piece that holds problematic content does not always mean the person condones it in real life. Fiction is fiction for a reason.)
In the end, I think everyone can have their own opinions, but I would like to say that your opinions do not justify terrible actions. Just because you disagree with something does not justify you bullying someone into deleting one of their works, whether it is art or writing or anything else, I do not think that is justifiable. Harassing someone or calling people to harass them is not right either.
*If you did disagree with it, why not message the author about it instead of making accusatory posts? Even when done with good intentions, all it does is cause harm when it's practically inviting people to go harass someone over a fanfiction. A very mild fanfiction at that.
If you disagree with a piece, cool. That's your opinion. Just don't interact with it then. Block that creator or that tag or whatever it is that led you there. Or if you're curious, ask that creator.
Also, to reiterate, in my opinion, fiction is still just fiction. Especially when it's a fanfiction about a fictional character. Yes, his canon lore exists, but people can use that basis in fanfiction, something that will inherently warp canon because we are not the original writers and can not capture him in the exact way he was created. In case that doesn't make sense: Fanfiction does not have to comply with the original lore. Also since some of you seem to be forgetting: fiction does not mirror real life.
If you are truly that concerned over sensitive topics like that, directing that energy towards projects that involve such topics in real life would be much better than attacking people on the internet.
some people think writers are so eloquent and good with words, but the reality is that we can sit there with our fingers on the keyboard going, “what’s the word for non-sunlight lighting? Like, fake lighting?” and for ten minutes, all our brain will supply is “unofficial”, and we know that’s not the right word, but it’s the only word we can come up with…until finally it’s like our face got smashed into a brick wall and we remember the word we want is “artificial”.
Monstrous Devotion (It Will Devour You Whole)
Another piece for @m1d-45. It was meant to be short but as you can tell, got out of hand.
Desperation
You remember it well
How it sparked your blood
And got it to run
How it tasted of bitter and tang
Much like the sting of blood
You remember how it kept you alive
Made your nerves so sensitive
It prickled with every breeze
Every slight disturbance
How it kept your sleep light
And your dreams even lighter
Even now as you watch
The archons who adorn your body
With the most precious of gems
And the rarest of treasures
They who once tried to shed your blood
To water their blade
You see the warriors of each nation
Who tried to rend your soul from your body
Attend your every need
Degrading themselves as objects
As lesser than human
To try and exalt you higher
You feel more than you hear
As you watch once beloved characters
Stain themselves with sin
Desperation of their own
Rising to the surface
Their desperation is monstrous
Predator to prey
Your own desperation has not waned
It has only grown
Writhing under your skin
Fueled by fine jewelry
Silken clothes
And bloodstained manic smiles
Your forgiveness is not sincere
It is learned
Through a lifetime of pain
Of a death so vivid
You're desperate to stay alive
You are willing to do anything
But what once kept you safe
Will now be the one to deal a fatal blow
You already know this
Alarm bells ringing
With every minute move
But it's far too late
You're stuck in puppet motions
That are to never cease
Until the life drains from your eyes
Desperation made you learn to survive
And now that very same lesson shall be the one to end you
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| Serial fandom hopper | Poetry and snippets | Vicenarian (20s) |
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