only by the stars @constellares - Tumblr Blog

felicity & micah

Felicity dreamt of Liyana, more so now that she was gone. She dreamt of stolen kisses at midnight, often waking, drenched in a cold sweat, reaching for the solace of a hand that is no longer there.

She was beyond finding comfort in Gatsby; not for the fact that she realized her own selfishness, but for the fact that he had seen that last kiss goodbye and had not touched Felicity since.

He’d become more distant too; it wasn’t until they’d left Liyana that Felicity realized she had been the only thing keeping him grounded.

He no longer sang, speaking in short, terse phrases and averting his gaze, scribbling furiously in his sketchbook and softly cursing under his breath as the charcoal tip of the pencil snapped again, and again, and again.

But retreating was not Felicity, she could not just write her worries away. She had tried, and it had ended disastrously — an embossed leather notebook, the only remnant of her luxurious life, the only reminder of where she’d come from, thrown into the fire, dissipating in a curl of smoke that made her cough.

She relished the burning in her throat, the distraction it offered, and she would have stood there the entire night, breathing the smoke and coughing until she bled, had Micah not taken her arm — gently, for it was so rarely he ever lay a hand on her — and tugged her away, holding her and tipping water into her mouth until the convulsions ceased.

“It’s alright,” Micah said, though a moment later he barked out a mirthless laugh. “It’s really not,” he amended with a long, heavy sigh.

“Of course it’s not,” Felicity snapped back, wondering why he would even say something so absurd.

It’s alright.

It would not ever be, not unless she could hear Liyana’s laugh again, see her smile, feel the soft curls of her hair . . .

Felicity’s gaze found the blazing flame once more, focusing of the crackle of embers on wood, glowering at the ash that had once been her journal.

She wanted it back, now.

Silly, really, that she hadn’t missed it until it was already gone.

“We should get some rest,” Micah said, shifting so that he blocked her view of the fire.

Felicity opened her mouth to argue that there was no point in resting because they’d be just as fatigued tomorrow, that it was impossible to even attempt to sleep when her mind was racing so, that —

She took a deep breath.

She nodded.

“Tomorrow’s a new day,” she remarked. “A new sunrise.”

Micah almost smiled at that. “It is,” he agreed.

Felicity did not say goodnight as she stood, making her way back to her tent. She did not thank him, or wax poetic about how good of a friend he’d been to her tonight.

She offered a quick, fleeting smile, there for such a brief moment that it almost wasn’t.

Then she retreated to her bunk and, as had become the norm since Liyana’s departure, fell into a restless slumber.

The sun did rise the next morning.

It was far too bright.

@spookysiggie / @penumbvra / @dramaticvoiceover / @northern-rose / @lady-redshield-writes / @goreadabook2102 / @omgbrekkerkaz / @sekhtmet / @emmaewatson / @call-me-maddi / @nepeinthe // be tagged in only by the stars content!

#only by the stars #felicity matsuoka #micah regales #eloquencenet #theplannet

constellares

journey to the past / anastasia soundtrack

13 beaches / lana del rey

landslide / oh wonder

shine / years & years

defying gravity / idina menzel

this side of paradise / hayley kiyoko

idealistic daydream / amy jo johnson

secret for the mad / dodie clark

survivor / destiny’s child

pocketful of sunshine / natasha bedingfield

l i s t e n (x)

@areixs / @penumbvra / @dramaticvoiceover / @northern-rose / @lady-redshield-writes // be tagged in only by the stars content!

#only by the stars #liyana montgomery #self reblog

excerpt: micah & liyana

Micah’s laying face-up on the ground, acutely aware of how the grass tickles the bare skin of his arms, and wondering how a world so beautiful and serene on the surface can possibly hide so much turmoil beneath it.

There’s a war going on — yesterday he had watched as a bullet struck a man, seen the light fade from his eyes — but now it looks as though tragedy is nothing but a far-off memory.

Maybe he could learn a thing or two from the world, he muses.

“What’s on your mind?” Liyana asks from her spot beside him, arm stretched overhead so they’re nearly touching.

Nearly. But not quite.

Micah doesn’t mind; he knows that she’s in love with someone else. And even if their hands were joined, even if she did tilt her head just so, so the tips of her braids would trail against his shoulder . . .

He isn’t sure how he would feel about that.

It is nothing against Liyana — he likes Liyana. He likes her infectiously bright smile, the way her eyes catch the starlight and sparkle, and the way they’ve crafted a tentative sort of friendship, one characterized by stargazing and, currently, questions with the intention of keeping them grounded.

Between the vast sky and the endless war, after all, it’s easy to get lost.

Micah’s lips quirk into a smile as he replies, turning to look at her. “Oh, you know,” he says, “how I’m going to take over the world, how yesterday I saw Gatsby looking at Felicity again — you might want to get on that —” he winks, grinning as Liyana’s cheeks take on the barest hint of a blush,” —the usual.”

His hazel eyes narrow into a squint as he trails off, mentally tracing the path of a constellation high above. “The sky’s really clear tonight,” he remarks a beat later.

“Oh,” is all Liyana says in reply.

Micah wonders what’s on her mind, but he knows better than to ask. Amicable as there relationship might be, it’s decidedly one-sided. Though he has no one to blame that for but himself — his cautious, careful methods of giving and taking, all hiding behind that flippant, carefree smile.

He thinks he might have given a little too much tonight, though, as Liyana remains quiet, and deeply in thought.

Micah opens his mouth to say something, to offer some story about how he’s been through something similar, the usual drivel of it gets better that is the only solace they get nowadays, before realizing he has nothing.

“Yeah,” he says instead, in a rather luckluster sort of tone.

He knows Liyana knows that he meant to say something else.

And she knows that Micah knows there’s something she’s not saying.

But both of them let the silence hang in the air, a moment of peace and serenity, tranquil as the night sky, and fragile as spun-glass.

#micah regales #liyana montgomery #eloquencenet #theplannet #my writing #spilled ink

micah regales. xvii. collapsar.

yet we do not seem to realize that the brightest of smiles shield the deepest of wounds.

careless laughter hiding deep sorrow behind it, something you can detect in the almost hollow sound of it, but only if you truly listen. sunbeams bouncing off burgundy wine, the crimson stain it leaves on your lips reminiscent of blood in the fading light. the elusiveness of masquerade balls, fancy dress and allure hiding a thousand different truths. the subtle sort of magic you don’t see until you notice, always lingering just beneath the surface. the foreign yet familiar scent of saffron and rose, mingling with that of a crisp ocean breeze.

#micah regales #only by the stars #eloquencenet #piszenet

im here to beg you to tag me in your beautiful work!!

anne i’m here to tell you ily and of course darling 💕

only by the stars (excerpt)

“One of us has to stay back,” Micah said.

Much as Felicity loved to tease him for his lack of strategic thought, to say that his ideas were idiotic, unfounded, bound to get them all killed, this time . . . he was right.

So why was there that terrible pit in her stomach, why did she grab the nearest thing to her as she felt her center of balance tip forward, why did she not let go when she realized it was Gatsby?

“It should be me,” Liyana’s voice was soft and careful, so slight Felicity hardly heard it over the rushing of blood in her ears.

“Why?” she snapped without thinking.

Even though she already knew — Liyana was injured; her leg had still not healed and her gait was a stilted limp. Even without that limitation, she was their weakest soldier, her heart-shaped face and wide, innocent eyes not suited for any battlefield, especially not this one, supposedly more treacherous than any war fought before.

“That’s a stupid question,” Micah scoffed, throwing Felicity’s own taunts back at her.

But the look she gave him was so scathing he shrank back, and it was Gatsby who finally broke the tense, heavy silence. “It only makes sense,” he remarked, though his voice broke as he said it, and his hand went slightly slack in Felicity’s vicelike grip.

She wondered what he was thinking of when he said that — perhaps of a friendship crafted of spun glass, of melodies sung at midnight that Felicity heard, floating into her tent like the song of a nightingale.

She was still trying to decide if it was weak or strong of him to be willing to leave this all behind for the greater good of the army and their side when her voice betrayed her.

“Does it?”

Liyana caught her eyes, her gaze then falling to Gatsby’s hand still in hers.

Felicity let go, turning away.

Her words were sparsely more than a whisper as she said it, as she felt her heartbeat slow and her chest tie up in knots that would never be undone, not if they —

“Then we should go ahead, and Liyana will stay back.”

Micah dipped his head in a nod. “And quickly,” he added, and Felicity lunged at him with such a ferocity that Gatsby had to loop his arms through hers to hold her back.

He whispered something soothing, breath feathering against her ear, but she did not hear.

And then goodbyes were being said and Liyana was being pulled into hug after hug and someone was crying quietly and Felicity bit her tongue so hard it bled to keep from shouting at them to stop.

And then Liyana was in front of her, her once-luminous eyes dimmed, tears pooling on her dark lashes. “I’ll find you,” she said softly, hands tentatively taking Felicity’s.

Felicity wondered if she was remembering Gatsby holding her, just moments ago.

“I promise,” Liyana said. “This is not where we shall end.”

Felicity nodded, tipping her forehead so it was pressed against Liyana’s and all she could see were her eyes.

Something smooth and folded was pressed into her hand, a piece of paper, wax seal against her palm. “Send this to Amahle for me,” Liyana whispered.

Felicity nodded. “I will.”

She didn’t want to say it, but the word hung in the air and she was sure Liyana heard it nonetheless.

Goodbye.

“For now,” Liyana added, and by some miracle of the cosmos, she managed a smile.

Felicity could not force herself to do the same.

So she did not.

She leaned in to kiss Liyana’s cheek, against the silvery track of the first tear as it fell.

And then she spun back to her army, to Micah and Gatsby and the rest of them, half watching and half staring at the ground in shame.

She did not know which she preferred.

It did not matter.

Because as they started to walk away, for once Felicity did not lead but follow. There were no orders she had to give, except to herself.

Do not look back.

She did not follow this one. Just before they crested the hill, she turned to look over her shoulder.

Liyana still stood, a lone silhouette against the night, head tipped back as if waiting for the sky to swallow her whole.

#only by the stars #felicity matsuoka #liyana montgomery #gatsby eiddwen #eloquencenet #piszenet

how to let go

this is not an excerpt from only by the stars. this is a much more personal, more sensitive piece regarding toxic and emotionally abusive relationships. trigger warning for the aforementioned topics, do not read if you are not comfortable doing so. <3

this piece is dedicated to some of the strongest people i know. @sanskrits @zabinibarnes @nine-realms @wintrsoldiers @buckychrist @crypticavengers @delmars and you, whoever is reading this.

i promise you, darlings, it gets better. <3

It was freshman year, and he told me I was pretty.

He was pretty too, with bright eyes and an open smile and full lips that told me whatever I wanted to hear. He was pretty, with honeyed words and soft kisses and promises of great things to come.

And I was young, naive, and desperate for more; I was clinging to every word he said like a lifeline.

So when he opened his arms, beckoning for me to come closer, I was happy to go.

He was not pretty words after that; he was harsh whispers telling me what to do and who I should be. He was texts to my friends telling them to stay away. He was a storm, a whirlwind that I could not help but get swept up in.

And I was a freshman whom he thought was pretty, and so I was foolish enough to call it love.

His promise of great things, I soon learned, had been a promise to no one but himself. The great thing was me, but nothing was as great as the cost. It was not one he had to pay but I, a contract I’d let myself fall prey too, leaping wholeheartedly into something that was now determined to drown me.

Breaths of fresh air became sparse, rare things.

I saw those I loved, truly loved, through a faded window, carefully constructed by him. That desperate sort of need for him, I soon realized — it wasn’t love. It was something darker, something he learned to twist and control and use for himself.

I was a sophomore when I finally found the strength to say goodbye.

I did not feel pretty when I did; I felt broken and tragic and shattered, as though I’d thrown away the one person who truly meant something to me.

Because I may have bid him farewell, but he did not go away.

He did not leave me alone.

He was everywhere he should not have been, in my dreams, in my memories, in my mind — in my heart.

My friends, my real friends, the ones he’d convinced me were not, were careful now not to get to close. I was different, they would claim, and they were right.

There were some nights when I could see nothing but him and feel nothing but the empty chasm he’d left behind.

There were some nights where I wished him dead, still others where I stared at my phone, almost nothing keeping me from dialing his number and begging for him to take me back.

But for every dark night, there was a day where I would walk with my head held high. There was a day where that smile on my face was not something conjured from sorrow and thin air. There was a day when I felt that real sort of love, for someone who truly deserved it.

And later, much, much later, the days eclipsed the night. His number and his voice and my desperation lingered no longer on my tethered soul, setting me free.

This does not mean he is gone forever.

This does not mean I no longer think, cry, wonder, feel.

But it does mean that he no longer controls me. Because the trick is not learning to forget them completely; it’s not something of magic and amnesia.

No.

The trick is remembering who you are, because you are so much more than what they made you.

The trick is finding that strength, however deeply buried it may be, and realizing that you do have it.

The trick is saying goodbye, and wholly, truly, meaning it.

It is finally moving on without once looking back.

#writing #my writing #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #relationships #emotional abuse #abuse tw #writers #original writing #memoir #my story #savage-words #abstractcommunity #piszenet #eloquencenet #writerscreed #userjohn #artemisial

theplannet

hello and welcome to the plan:NET, a minimalist approach to a network for the writeblr community.

APPLICATIONS ARE OPEN

about us: ➳ the plan: NET is a place where writeblrs can engage and connect together while sharing their works and projects. we mostly work on technical skills in writing through prompts, daily warm-ups, NanoWriMo, or even a personalized game plan to make your WIPs into a finished novel ➳ promoting positivity and support is essential to us and the community that is our main goal for this network. perhaps it may ignite your passion in writing again! ➳ we will host various events, from themed ones or challenges. members and non-members will have a chance to participate and be part of the network! ➳ as a writing and a positivity project, we believe you, the writer, should chill and relax so there will be no deadlines because we all know we work in different pace.

requirements ➳ if you post writing-related content or a writeblr ➳ fill out the application form ➳ reblog this post to spread the word (likes count as bookmark) ➳ follow us and track #theplannet to stay updated on news/events! ➳ follow the admin, optional but it’ll be appreciated!

closing words ➳ between 15-20 people will be selected (depending on the application we received). more people will be added if the network is successful ➳ don’t be afraid to ask questions or for clarifications ➳ application closes in October 26th, 2018

fairycapital-deactivated2024030

reblog this if ur a writeblr i need more people to follow

today-only-happens-once

To Tired Writers. To the people out there whose hearts very, very much want to write and work on WIPs, but who are just mentally and physically exhausted right now. It’s okay. It is okay to rest sometimes. Allow yourself time to rest.

librarysilverfish

How to get back in the flow

(from someone who just got back into the flow)

1. Find your minimum wordcount sweet spot. If you write 100 words, do you just keep going? I don’t. My minimum wordcount sweet spot is 1,000. I might stop when I hit that, but usually I won’t. 1k can easily become 3k if all goes well. Your minimum wordcount sweet spot is the lowest goal you can set that by the end of it you’re ready to write more. Find it, use it, swear by it and be ready to change it as your sweet spot changes.

2. Do some character backstories. Write about their lives in the past. Think about your story, but what’s going on in the background. It might give you plot ideas. It might get you hype to write about them again.

3. Assess your Future Plot. Do you have no future plot? That might have you stuck. Do you have a lot of future plot but you just don’t know how to get there? Buddy it’s time to take the train off the tracks. If you’re blocked up because you don’t know what’s happening next, your outline needs editing. And on that note…

4. Get Hype About What You’re Gonna Write. Think back on your WIP and the root idea that got it started. Think about failed WIPs with concepts you adored. Do you like black markets? Characters who one-up their abusers? Do you want to wax rhapsodic about character x’s clothing choices? Are you vying for another fight scene? Guess what you’re doing next! Doesn’t fit the plot? Doesn’t matter, you can the plot. If you’re writing something from scratch then you still have room to play. Go on a tangent. Wear your self-indulgence like a badge of pride.

5. Bore yourself into it. Do what you can to remove all distractions from your immediate area. This means something different for different people. Me with my ADHD, I give myself less-favorable options. I don’t hate doing dishes, but I’d rather write. But then at some point writing will become excruciating, and I can go do the dishes. If I really want to be in the flow, I cut contact for a whole weekend. Not everybody has a whole weekend. Try for an hour, half an hour. Go for as much time as you can get away with.

finickyquint

THINGS WRITERS SHOULD DO TODAY:

Write

Straighten their backs

Celebrate their victories

Write anything

Take the empty cups out of their rooms

Seriously. Stop overthinking and just write

ageofavalon

writeblrs reblog please :-)

i only follow a few writeblrs so i decided to make one of these posts. please reblog if you are a writeblr and you write/post:

fantasy

historical fiction

contemporary fiction

horror

writing references

moodboards

edits

and just a reminder, i follow from @opcnarms so if you see it that’s me!💗

liyana & gatsby

this excerpt is written for the @eloquencenet melody challenge, and is inspired by the song lost girls by lindsey sterling and also a huge thank-you the beautiful @artemisial for helping me with this as well! <3

Music is a rarity in a time of war.

And so, when Gatsby hears the faintest melody in the dead of the night, he finds himself drawn to the source, as if in a trance.

He’s heard voices far more finessed than this one, opera singers whose perfect pitch could shatter glass. But this tune is softer, sweeter, and tinged with raw emotion that is as foreign to opera singing as this song was to the battlements they camped upon.

There’s a slight, waifish figure sitting cross-legged in the moonlight, thin arms wrapped around thin legs, trembling slightly in the night breeze. Despite the chill, however, her voice does not waver, carrying with it something that knots in Gatsby’s chest, before suddenly he’s back on the train, and the lights are flashing and —

Liyana jumps to her feet, spinning towards him. Her eyes are wide — that serene trance has been fragmented, leaving only fear — and Gatsby can tell there’s already an apology forming on her lips.

It tumbles out a moment later, “I’m sorry, did I wake you? I’ll just . . . head back . . .” and he struggles for a moment to find his own voice.

“No!” he says, so loudly and shrilly he winces.

Liyana does too, shrinking back and taking one more tentative step.

“No, it’s okay, you don’t have to . . .” Gatsby trails off, words falling away.

Liyana shook her head. “It’s like Micah said.” She sighs, tipping her head back. “We don’t have time for such ‘frivolous things.’”

“I think,” Gatsby pauses. Micah was like Felicity that way, always giving his thoughts regardless of who wanted to hear them.

And Liyana was like him, always unwilling to tell them otherwise.

“I think we do,” Gatsby whispers.

He has not sang since before.

Before the war, before the world had crumbled into chaos.

Gatsby’s eyes find Liyana’s, both full of meaning and heartbreak and the faintest glimmer of hope, barely there, before he clears his throat and starts to sing.

The glow of the moonlight is ethereal as it bathes the two figures in a delicate silver light. The sound of their melody carries through the crisp night air, two bright voices against the darkness.

Perhaps they are not strong enough to hold it back.

But for them, for the soldiers who hear it, daring to peer at who they might be, it means hope.

@acheloides / @penumbvra / @dramaticvoiceover / @northern-rose / @lady-redshield-writes / @goreadabook2102 / @omgbrekkerkaz / @sekhtmet / @emmaewatson / @call-me-maddi // be tagged in only by the stars content!

#only by the stars #gatsby eiddwen #liyana montgomery #eloquencenet

omgbrekkerkaz

since it’s the weekend and i actually have some motivation, i wanted to do some more oc moodboards for y’all!!! except this time you request one instead of me randomly making them??? i also wanted to take another oppurtunity to thank you all again for the continous support of my beginner’s (luck) writing and kindness these past few weeks!

so, if you’re awesome and want an oc moodboard:

send me an ask (you can always send me multiple i don’t mind lmao)

let me know if they have a name, face-claim, or a description of their appearance!

their ‘aesthetic’ or ‘vibe’, just any form of characterisation works tbh

a quote from your oc (since they are ALL AWESOME!!!)

tysm!!

p.s. if mutuals could boost this, that’d be nice?? xx

omgbrekkerkaz

would it be super bad if i opened this again?? unless it flops obviously… i just really wanna continue making these because everytime y’all send in your descriptions they actually I N S P I R E me and i’m finally getting the hang of pinterest (i think)

anyway.. um if ur interested send me an ask?

newdivinities-archived-deactiva

👀👀👀👀👀

#yeet

You should add me to your tag list!!!! 💕💕💕

omg i def will thank you so so much babe <3333

CAN YOU ADD ME TO YOUR TAGLIST PLEASE LOVELY ZAV ❤️💕

YES I CAN I LOVE YOU 💕 💕 💕 💕

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