okay :p officially moved everything over to @echosdeath ehehe

oozey mess
AnasAbdin
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

Love Begins
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Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

shark vs the universe
Xuebing Du
i don't do bad sauce passes
we're not kids anymore.
styofa doing anything
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todays bird
noise dept.
Cosmic Funnies

blake kathryn
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

Andulka
Three Goblin Art
Jules of Nature

seen from Malaysia

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seen from Australia

seen from Malaysia
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@shekofeh
okay :p officially moved everything over to @echosdeath ehehe
okay decided to remake instead bc i need a fresh start <3 will be moving everything over in the next few days and then following ppl but :p i will also be moving over my other single blogs to the multi so i can force myself to write there ehehe
working on refreshing this blog with new graphics, a soft blocking spree (+ drafts cleanse…. if i’m brave enough) and perhaps a new meme call but i have been waiting for witch hat atelier to premiere so now that i’m free you know what this means
coming home the end of this week and i have saur much planned hehehe
have a bunch of work trips planned + some other stuff coming up so i shall put this blog (and all others) on a semi hiatus until the start of april <3
have been so sick lately so not to say this again for the 27th time but i will be a little slow ooc bc this is how you’d find me
okay (for real this time) can i offer anyone fencer verse shams 🙂↕️
hello how are we doing everybody. recently started playing ace attorney and heavy rain so you know what this means (insane thoughts for shams' modern verses that have investigative themes)
[ 07 ] the space between two shelves stuffed with magical tomes and old leatherbound journals
Q. FANTASY SETTINGS, ALWAYS ACCEPTING.
"IT MAKES YOU WONDER, DOESN'T IT?" fingers trail over the dusty spines of books that should, by all rights, be brittle & crumbling. being left to rot in such a dank, dark place as the winding, crumbling halls beneath skyhold. but they remained perfectly intact, obscured by a layer of dust & cobwebs, but otherwise perfectly preserved. evelyn would not pretend to understand anything about magic; the mark on her hand was perplexing enough. it seemed a perfect puzzle for shams, landing well within her realm of expertise. "about the people who resided here before, and what made them leave such things? were they chased out?"
shams' response was a simple silent contemplation. leaning back with a subtle adjustment for comfort, her gaze fixed on the shelves. she loved knowledge in all forms, it was true. but she would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the peace of knowing that there was information before them and that there will be more after them. she took notice of the silence surrounding them both, no hum of the usual life, no whispers, no murmured distant conversations. yet, the space still stood like its usual self— a strong sense of belonging. or perhaps she was looking too much into it. either way, she traces one of the books, a small dot of dust on her finger and her head tilts. ❛ there could be many reasons. chased away or perhaps, they left to make sure what remains here does not become corrupted. ❜ a pause. she understands the passage of time too well. it is a familiar friend and foe, one that takes her away and brings her back to real life every single time. one loses their place in this world, only for others to search for them near and far until they finds them in what's written. it is simply soul - shredding; it is serenity. stagnant and swaying, simultaneous. ❛ i believe it is difficult to know by merely standing here. what do suspect? ❜
can i help? i still– i want to help.
her jaw clenches as she reaches for another piece of fruit, turning it over in her palm to examine the unblemished skin. the morning market buzzes around them— vendors calling out their wares, the gentle splash of the water nearby, the warm press of bodies moving through the narrow aisles between stalls. she exchanges a quick glance with the vendor, offering them a smile, and then turns to @saintsdawn, holding the fruit out for him. ❛ this one's nice, no? it would be nice to use it for after dinner today. ❜ at that, she notices his impatience by the way he seems to look at her, a laugh escaping her. she doesn't bother hiding the satisfaction in her voice or the smirk spreading across her lips. ❛ c'mon, i promised you you'd do more than just accompany me here. be patient. ❜ she hovers her hands over the selection, glancing toward the vendor who's now deep in animated conversation with another customer. their easy laughter and familiar banter makes something twist in her chest, that effortless belonging she's still learning to navigate. and that gives her the perfect opportunity to properly speak to bramble. ❛ most of my reluctance is because i worry. i worry about everyone, not just you. ❜ she hums. ❛ but i do suppose it would be unfair to keep you from helping. so i would like you to join the journey tomorrow. you have many talents that have always been needed. what do you say? ❜
carmilla had long learned to shield any surprise that would show, and she was not sure what she was expecting in demanding a meeting with such an elusive entity, but she was grasping at straws. she had sauntered into the snake's hide, where she could have met her end had she played her odds incorrectly. every bit of escaped death had left her dangerously confident, but even here, that would falter the slightest as she searched for glimpses of an illusion, as though a switch would exist to turn it all off and lay it bare. she drank in the sight of whatever magic had been showcased before her eyes, had she been less cautious she would have found her air caught in her throat, lungs starved of oxygen as she would have rather been consumed wholly in the goddess's presence. they contrasted one another in colors, in stature, but there was a kinship to found and forged. carmilla had mote it so. she was all the more intrigued to hear the syllabics of her name dripping from that sweet tongue of the immortal. “ either is fine, should you have a preference. i would imagine you liked the taste of one over the other. ” the vampiress was subtle in her advances to inspect the figure before her. she could feel the intoxicating wave of intrigue coursing through her, and she needed to rein herself in. “ and yourself ? shahmaran, or ... ? ” vermillions would quirked into a ghost of a smile as she neared her, much like two apex predators taking lay of the land, in acknowledging one another. “ so i've impressed you, then ? ” teasing lilt, and she began to circle around her. “ i do not wish for things. i'm sure you have gathered this in your ... little spying on me. you know why i'm here. correct me otherwise. ”
❛ one over the other? that's an interesting observation. ❜ and yet, she does nothing to refute the statement, smile on her lips. ❛ shahmaran is just fine as it is. ❜ she tilts her head slightly, inspecting @svetle. she's long understood that to survive their world, she must learn that one must become brutality themselves; play up the weakness and vulnerability in a granted madness, an abandon, return it tenfold and emerge as the victor. such is the nature of them, a fated downfall and so she learns this cruelty like it is a close friend, a lifeline, a becoming. as if seeing eye to eye, she notices the strings that fall from both their fingertips that attach themselves to something else, the control in their hands, this puppet show a never ending tragedy and game. ending in lies and deceit or perhaps, something more. ❛ i do, yes. then i'll have to ask you for your hand, if you'll allow me. ❜ she's not as keen to continue this conversation here, knowing her city's not too far away. for her, at least. the summoning comes like a thunder from the sunlit heavens, a call sent through the scorching wind running along their surroundings. some may say that the word of what is happening would reach maran, but only time would tell. anyone who had the visit in person knows that just one look into the eyes of its lake, carnelian, blood in color, reveals to them all the hidden truths. and to her, as well. one - third human and two - thirds blessed, no insolence passes by in her small kingdom unnoticed, like a prey hunted by those very eyes. she grins, something more wicked. ❛ i know the perfect place to discuss this matter further. ❜
a soft note escapes that could almost be misconstrued for laughter. or an echo. caught was not the right word for it; her thoughts ran rampant across her face even with the tightest of leash, there was no hiding. but caught, all the same, was what she felt beneath the dragon's gaze and it lights across her cheeks. speak plainly, an order of deceptive simplicity.
slowly, alanna lifts her chin to meet her eye and hold it. and faintly feels the ends of her mouth twitch upward. it is a paltry mirror of that of the claw’s—unmarred by the same violence and sacrifice. she purses and unpurses her lips.
“if you could perhaps share, with me, your designs on the lands between, I could better act on your behalf,” she says, jaw tightening as she squashed the impulse to look away—to look down again—and continues, urging her voice up an octave, “as it is, I can only guess at your wishes.” and it would seem she was failing. the unspoken hangs between them, clotting the air. and finally she relents to impulse, dropping her gaze to the floor.
she hums at the statement. her wishes have both to do with shams and the lands between. there are too many ways to count, and not enough lights in her gaze. but she holds onto something intangible and does not let go. a lone emotion will escape through a crimson drop, staining the corner of her lashes. she cannot tell what it is, this shard of a broken heart. something in her that she wish to chase after, but the night is too deep and dark to break through, too tainted by the passage of time. ❛ my design, you ask? my design is here. the same thing that saved you shall be the reason for my own undoing. all of it is needed to preserve the history of this place. ❜ a strange thing to say while holding a blade to her own heart, its handle poking at her spine, an icicle of nihility. hoping the dragons may reveal their secrets behind their shroud, she wonders what alanna truly wants, but it is too late to dive into the murk of her mind; she has to state her ground. live or die, welcome the rain with a face either burning from exertion or just as cold, forgotten by life. ❛ what is your wish? mine will fulfill itself once the time is right. i am more interested in yours. ❜
as she listens to what he seems to be saying, she notices that the inside of her home makes something in her ache. as if she was still inside, books piled on every available surface, herbs hanging from the rafters, dried and fragrant. the table was covered with food and there's a fire crackling in the hearth, filling the space with warmth. it smells like rosemary and woodsmoke and something else. something she never had a word for because she's never experienced it before. something she wished to create for others, perhaps, but never personally experienced. home, maybe. if she knew what that meant. her childhood residence in her village had been pristine by camp standards. pristine in the way a blade is pristine— functional, cold, sharp - edged. her parents weren't sentimental people. hard to be sentimental when there's no love to be sentimental about. it was simply a place to sleep and train and prepare for the next day. a roof over her head. she'd learned to move through it like a ghost. leaving no trace. taking up no space. it's different now, for her. her apartment has multiple signs of life. everything that says that shams lives there; gifted books and baskets that were once filled with her own delicacies.
her thoughts bring her back to @asidhara. she's still kneeling down in front of the flowers, her hands fidgeting, wanting to pull at her sleeves, smoothing down the fabric. instead she forces them still, but then she's shifting her weight instead, and gods, when did she become this person? she tilts her head, then. ❛ you're the same as always. is there anything that can truly change your perspective? until when will you remain in the dark like this? how long will you watch your own people suffer like this? ❜ her eyes move to scan his siphons, then. the sun catches them, making them gleam deep blue, and her eyes linger on them. her village didn't have many warriors who earned siphons; she could count them on one hand. her brother used to say if they were in a different world, she could've had some of her own, but she never lingered on the thought. she'd grown up on whispered stories of the great warriors who bore them, tales of their ruthlessness and cunning that mothers used to frighten children into obedience. during her time there, rumors would drift in about the most powerful illyrians in nearby and distant camps, legends that seemed too large for most illyrian men. she clicks her tongue. ❛ what a great warrior you are, azriel. what exactly are you protecting? ❜ a pause. ❛ forget it, then. i have no idea why i expected otherwise. ❜
❝ ahh, so you are taking pity on me, then? ❞
how long had it been since joy spilled over from herself , from these walls that once felt hollow &. empty ? two ladies talking together , someone she could see herself grew fond of. her silk skirts pooled around her as she sat on the carpet , the ornate rug beneath her slippered feet. an array of pastries laid out on the table. ❛ i am doing no such thing. i am many things but dishonest &. pitying are not on that list. ❜ finger wagged in the air , offering her a pastry off the silver tray. ❛ when i invited you to come , it was not out of pity. it was an invitation to what i hope would be ... ❜ lips pursed , rouge upon them still glistened. ❛ friendship. ❜ blue eyes dropped to the fringe , fingers straightening it out. from what she had observed of shams was that she was humble , quiet , &. reserved quite the opposite of elodie herself. everything about the delwyn was made jagged , sharp , &. harsh cold like winter. shams was warm , soft &. like the morning sun. the loneliness had seeped into her core , decayed her heart , but there was a spark of something in their brief interactions. &. on a whim ... she had asked.
silence dug itself into the brief pause between words as elodie decided to do something out of the ordinary for her. she let her ice be shed to show just the tiniest bit of vulnerability - a token for dragging her all the way out to this gilded cage. ❛ this life can be terribly lonely &. most of the people i meet are awful. however i felt something different with you. ⸻ something genuine. ❜ sad smile grew upon her face as she let out a light laugh. head leaned back against the embroidered couch with ornate wood carvings. gaze studied the woman that sat across from her. beautiful yet something felt otherworldy , unfamiliar. her brown eyes that shimmered gold from certain angles. ❛ you are free to leave &. never speak to me again if you wish but i insist that you steal a few pastries &. candies before you go. they are divine. ❜ @adamanteine.
blood and darkness - accepting.
the sight before her feels like watching someone else's life through a window— beautiful, warm, and somehow something she can reach for if she leaned in. against every instinct, and the deep desire to belong in a different way than she usually does, she could never bring herself to face it. the mere idea gave her a pit in her stomach and she didn't particularly like anything in her stomach besides the dishes she so dearly enjoys. this is different, however. there's a sense of peace she feels now, overjoyed with the possibility. this is what connection does, after all. rewires everything. she's always been good at being strong— at withstanding, but now her body is doing this simple thing without asking permission. two souls cooperating in something you're integral to but can't control. she could hold her breath but she can't pause the want if she tried. once it starts, this wish inside her became immediately, irrevocably out of her hands. a true lesson in surrender. she's quite good at those. not that she would want it any other way. she hums as she offers a softer, genuine smile.
❛ i am merely fooling around. thank you. that does indeed sound very lovely. ❜ the two of them fall into another comfortable silence as she takes a look at her surroundings. the atmosphere is warm here, a true sight to behold. it's nice; not having to perform fully around elodie. even if she still cannot let herself go, not having to worry about saying the wrong thing or reading her micro - expressions for signs of possible judgment has been a delight. right now, her thoughts can actually quiet, can focus on what matters instead of what she assumes needs her attention. she tilts her head and eyes the pastries candies in front of them, reaching for one sitting there. ❛ they do look divine. ❜ she pauses. ❛ if i do get the chance, i'd love to bring some of mine for you to try. i often bake them myself to get my mind off things, so i don't tend to give them to many. if you'll have them, that is. ❜ a simple offering of her soul.
[𝓣]his was of another tongue, another gesetnes: a toil that will not lie still upon papyrus, that gnew the hand that would set it down. It had the virose of the senticous unshrived: sin unconfessed, wound unsealed. It belonged to the night’s judicature, where avow is writ in marwe, where kerygmatics is not unveiled but exacted, and attestant is purchased by the body’s own gylt. He had learned that some veritas, once spoken plain, become lugent: they name thee, bind thee, and summon thee unto account before pessundate. Therefore he set down no particulars, only the request:
[ 𝚂𝙼𝚂: 𝙰𝚉𝙰𝚁𝙸, 𝚂. ] : A private meeting, off the record. Today, if possible.
He chose an unadorned café, busy enough to blur faces into plethora, loud enough to drown the finer syllables of confiteor. He came early and his coffee cooled untouched before him. His gaze moved in continence: counting exits, taking the room’s angles, and weighing reflection. A habit he wore as a second skin, as though vigilance itself were a vow, and to look away were breach.
When the bell above the door chimed, he lifted his head. Respite crossed him, something he could afford to wear without inviting teeth. ❛ Miss Azari, ❜ he greeted @shekofeh, debonair then warmore, because it was her. ❛ Thanks for coming. ❜ He rose, rendering it as prebition. ❛ I’m sorry for the short notice. I know you’re busy. ❜ His fingers tapped once against the rim of the cup, a tell he did not bother to bury. ❛ I’ll be straight with you — this isn’t a Neon Knights situation. ❜ A beat. The air holds his sigilism, as though the room itself hath been quaeritated to witness. ❛ And I can’t give you everything upfront. Not yet. ❜ His eyes held hers; steady, asking without command, trusting without surrender. ❛ But I need your help with a case I’m working on, and I— ( … ) I trust your judgment. ❜ Obacerated, he let his breath go slow, as though measuring what portion of truth might endure the open air. ❛ This one’s different, it’s dangerous. And I don’t want the wrong people catching wind that I even asked. ❜
Then, without further sermon, he reached within the inner pocket of his coat and drew forth a small thing — no thick file, no stamped dossier, only a single piece of evidence. He slid it across the table with two fingers, as one offers a koinonia that is not bread but an admonition.
it had come as a surprise to her when she first received the message. not because of who sent it, but because of the way the message was written. when she arrived at the cafe, tim was already there waiting for her. and he was so obviously deep in thought that it set her teeth on edge. from the moment she caught sight of him from outside the window, she could tell something was off. he was sitting where she could see him, his hands a blur as he placed it next to the untouched coffee cup. he must have been keeping an eye out for her, because the moment he spotted her as the bell rang, he lifts his head. shams tilts her head, bangs swaying with the motion, streaks of brown showing. she's smiling, face lines illuminated by the lights overhead. she gives the barista a small greeting before she sits down, listening to every word he was saying. ah. so that was what's happening.
her nods and she patiently waits for him to finish before she continues by herself. ❛ don't worry. i don't need to know a thing more than what's necessary. even if you don't want to tell me the rest later on, that's completely fine. ❜ her voice is gentle, different from the way she speaks to her clients, but still similar. she always seen her clients vulnerable; curled in on themselves in nervous anticipation, all alone, second - guessing their sentences and tripping over your words. she knows how to act in situations like these, no matter how different the demeanor is. her features remain soft in the glow of the place— at peace despite whatever may come, and allowing him to see it. so she knows what to say, what to do. but this time, instead of protecting a client, she is simply there for a friend. ❛ that's the last thing you have to worry about. many of my cases are confidential in a way that no one could hear about them. if you're sure it is my judgment that you want, i'll give it with nothing in return needed. ❜ she takes a look at the piece of evidence that was placed in front of her and tilts her head again. ❛ this is interesting, i'll say. ❜ a pause. ❛ is the case time specific? ❜
summer marks the dying of a child she once knew as akio. he will be remembered only as a faceless bully. the news do not mention him by full name, nor do they mention the true cause of his death; the circumstance of what led him there. despite herself, her blood begins to simmer. his face is the only coherent thought in shams' head, a gaping wound that won't stop bleeding. everything else is a blurry, dizzying mess: the sound of his cries and the way he stood. it won't leave her. it's in her mind and her memory. she tastes his death in the back of her throat, and the world sickeningly laughs at the decay. his blood is on her hands despite never having laid a finger on him— guilt by inaction, by looking away, by trust. the casual cruelty of it all is dehumanizing in its efficiency. and it will simply repeat itself until someone puts a stop to it. it should ignite something. fear. rage. the basic drive to react. no, all she feels is pure shame.
it's winter now. the trees have already changed shade from the vibrant greenery of summertime, their branches no longer full and weighty with the flourish, blossoms no longer bursting and coating the courtyard in soft pinks and whites: only in the outskirts of where she stands are the sweltering flowers, behind the train station thirty minutes over by foot, swaying its thousand eyes in the haze of what little remains of the heat, which is none. the air smells of pinetrees and residual smoke. sunshine gone to rot. she lets out a short breath, because she knows she's not alone. in front of her stands @zetsubocho and she cannot help but believe her terrible gut feeling. if what she thinks is true, then there's blood on both of them now, the same cursed line that binds them to this place, to this case. it occurs to her, with the bitter clarity of the already - damned, that if kuwana truly had something to do with his death, then he will be the last thing the memory of akio will offer her. and for once, she feels like she does not want to speak, or else a dam will break.
why're you here? you should know by now i'm not going to tell you anything.
kuwana's voice is flatly acknowledging. he must have tired of feeling her stare prickle at the side of his throat. must have sensed her the moment she stepped onto the field, waited patiently for her to make her presence known. ❛ my bad. i'm pretty good at finding people. ❜ she tilts her head. silently questioning, coaxing his lips to part again. it's an old habit she has never really wanted to get rid of, knowing it becomes useful in her line of work. usually, with the teachings she's received in the mafia, she can find her way out of them without issue, but it's difficult not to linger, not to trace the imaginary walls with her fingertips (she can feel it when she closes her eyes; every room is empty. the silence stretches out beyond her, haunts a ghosting touch behind her ear). she hums. ❛ i'm not easily fooled, i'll have you know. i could stand here and devote my time in trying to understand your twisted sense of justice and how you seem to use it to rid yourself of the guilt you know stems from your inaction. i could speak about the justice you parade, as you hide behind the people you've put in harms way by using the one thing they could never forget. i could tell you how shameful it is. ❜
how shameful you are. but she won't. she's here for a different reason. ❛ you know something. something i'm very interested in. ❜ kuwana seems to be good at waiting. she's better, that's all. and truly, despite both of their conflicting natures, she doesn't need to wonder what kind of life it takes to become that kind of person, to be surprised when loathing begets loathing. she's lived it, hasn't she? how could a counter - attack ever be unaccounted for? that is a lovely way to think if this was not real life, but it is, and she knows this will change nothing. crimes will continue and people will grieve their loved ones. ❛ and i don't need to say it. you know what my question is. and you probably know the answer. ❜ a pause as she smiles, but it does not reach her eyes. ❛ i'll wait. i have all the time in the world, after all. ❜
shams.
" who, me? " a hand rested upon his chest, lashes fluttering as though he were trying to blink himself awake. she didn't gape, stare at him slack jawed and past his earnest attempts at conversation. she wanted to know more about what made him, him. jonathan mimicked her head tilt, blues widening in some sort of boyish gleam as though her fascination had rubbed off. " i supposed i should introduce myself, huh? " no assumptions his name had already reached her ears, he offered a hand and followed her steps. " johnny storm. " the human torch part had been left out, display of power clear as day. her question had nearly stumped him, his steps faltering.
" this thing? " playing oblivious, head tilted her way while oceans turned into fiery pits. both eyes a near stark white, heated whisps pouring from his lower lid. it didn't last too long, both mind and body aware of his surroundings. " i'll show you more once we get where we're goin'. i'd hate to draw attention in the middle of the street. " spoken as though he weren't already a walking symbol. irises returned to their original hue, building closer now. " never seen that before? "
❛ shams azari. ❜ she tilts her head, smile on her lips. ❛ and why, should i have seen it before? ❜ there's a hint of some teasing in her tone, but only slightly. ❛ kidding, kidding. i've heard about it before. seeing it is different, though. ❜ truly, the sight in front of her had intrigued her. she's only ever heard of flames as a rarer, powerful storm of the world. the type that caused the sky to turn to charcoal, produced lightning that illuminated the canopy of fall leaves and made them seem like flickering, live fires. a younger her has always fought the idea; that a thing could only cause harm, coming from a mind that always believed in the best. it's what's gotten her in this field in the first place. change can happen because the two sides exist together. and now that she's seen it in front of her, she cannot help the excitement she feels. and then questions she wants to ask.
although, she's been known for speaking too much when she has one question after the other, so she decides to try something else. ❛ it seems like your flames are different, is all. i mean, they don't feel like normal flames. ❜ she turns. ❛ since you can control fire, can you also control the heat of things? it could be similar to changing energies from one form to the other, no? ❜ she pauses, then, noticing the building in front of them. ❛ is this it? ❜