#really it is

[faerieinthehumanworld]

No because it makes me so pissed off when people are all like "oh, I wouldn't want to be immortal, being immortal would suck, it would be so boring."

CLEARLY YOU'VE NEVER TOUCHED A HOBBY IN YOUR LIFE

I mean, you could spend six lifetimes sewing ALONE. Then after that there's quilting (2 lifetimes) and weaving (12) and spinning thread (10) and tablet weaving (at least one) and leather work (15)!

Gold work embroidery takes up AT LEAST five lifetimes to even learn and probably another 12 to get bored with, if not more.

That's not even mentioning other fields! Become a brain surgeon over three lifetimes! Learn carpentry and make an entire castle out of wood! Learn stonemasonry and make another castle! Learn to make tapestries!

SPEND 50 LIFETIMES READING EVERY SINGLE BOOK TO EVER EXIST

Become an archaeologist and starts learning more about the past!

Advocate for climate change!

Climb every mountain in the world and then explore the whole ocean! Get invested in space travel!

And that's not even TOUCHING if you're a writer. If you are then write a thousand books on a thousand different topics, and then write another thousand all about the same one. Write poetry for gods' sake.

Get on a boat and learn how to sail, and then sail around the world and make a new friend every place you go. Visit every country and every people and learn everything you can.

Spend 300 years breeding crows strictly for intelligence and then teach them language. I do not care, just DO SOMETHING.

Christ alive, there's a WHOLE WORLD out there, and we humans can never get to all of it.

So if you ever become immortal, LIVE. EXPERIENCE the world, don't just lament that you're different.

GO DO THINGS FOR THE PEOPLE THAT WON'T GET THE TIME.

[justagirlhockeyfan]

Seeing the panthers be CREAMED by the Hurricanes is so nice to see after them being at the White House with the felon.

[beanclam]

Twitter really is a hellsite, but sometimes, a beautiful meme sprouts from the shitpile.

[seveneyesoup]

i can’t believe i used to think fashion is real the top three most complimented pieces in my wardrobe rn are a pair of sorta-cheap platforms formerly belonging to the 14 year old i drive to school every morning, a black lace scarf stolen from my sister for her school formal outfit, and a bigass cross necklace from spirit halloween

[mpsansy]

Just cause I think it’s a little funny. I’d like to think that the Ghostly trio, before they were dead, were dating monsters without fully realizing it. Like literal witches, werewolves, and swamp gals, that kind of thing. And not bat an eye either. Not cause they were dumb, no. They were simply better to talk to.

I’m legitimately thinking about them brushing off a woman that was a standard of beauty at their time and going for the total opposite.

[crispmarshmallow]

the fact that no one has ever called me their sweet villain is kinda insulting

[talesfromthegameff14]

Prompt #22: Veracity

Path To Nowhere - Part Four

Writing Music: https://youtu.be/9SSUQxGjZZ4

The trek south from the Empire’s lands towards Gyr Abania was a difficult one.  The southern mountains were unforgiving in the relentless cold and snow that was dumped upon the lone Duskwight.  Fortunately, Rose’s gear was designed for the cold and the hunter hadn’t forgotten the lessons in survival taught to them where they were many fulms shorter and decades younger. 

Snares made from under bark twisted into twine then later fashioned from sinew of the various small animals killed.  Arrows whittled from branches sharpened to a point and dressed with feathers scavenged from the forest floor and any bird that got caught up in the snares helped bring down small game also.  The arrows allowed Rose to stay mobile, moving ever south through the unfamiliar terrain.  Their own feet made the best defense when paired with ticks crafted of aether to confuse any of the larger animals that took offense at their passing.  A sharpened stick made an impromptu hunting spear, but Rose had no illusions as to it’s actual use as more than a walking stick.  It was a last ditch defense, as was their hunting knife, and nothing more. Luck was on their side when the exhausted hunter finally reached the warmth and sands of Gyr Abania.  Their gear marked them as Garlean, but more importantly as Alaudae.  The truth of Rose’s claim helped along by the scars on their neck, wrists, and back.  The scout they bumped into gave the marks a knowing look before inviting the Elezen back to camp to share stories and a meal.  It was a good night, the best Rose had spent in years.  The food was plain, but there was enough. The stories good and the moonshine enough to shake off the fear and paranoia that clung to them like a second skin, for a few hours at least.   It didn’t cloud the oddness of the scout calling them Gramps when both of them were well into their cups.  Though the fuzz kept Rose from correcting the woman or thinking much on it as sleep claimed them by the crackling fire.  It didn’t keep the memory away in the morning, the thought of it lurking in the back of the Elezen’s mind as they broke fast in comfortable silence.  Excusing theirself to get cleaned up, Rose took advantage of a nearby stream.  Kneeling before it to wash face and hands with eyes closed.  Gramps? Did the damage run that deep? Did.. No way to tell but to look. 

A few deep breaths, time to let the water turn still and calm after the splashing of a morning’s ablutions.  Time to steel the spine and hope that what they feared wasn’t true.  Mismatched eyes slowly opened and peered into the water.  The reflection was too refracted by the movement of the water to be useful, but a bit of aether and a light touch of fingertip to the water fixed that problem.  The surface turned mirror perfect, reflecting the visage of an well aged Elezen back at Rose.  The eyes were the same, jawline still square and strong, but wrinkles beyond their years graced more than the corners of eyes and mouth.  It was as if the passing of every moment in Garlemald was writ upon their features tenfold, if not more. 

Tears broke the mirror's surface, Rose releasing the bit of aether as they brought equally weathered hands up to their face in denial.  The tears turned into broken sobs, a gamut of emotions denied in the pursuit of survival spilling out all at once.

Yes, they survived, but at what cost? 

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Path to Nowhere - Part One Path to Nowhere - Part Two Path to Nowhere - Part Three Path to Nowhere - Part Five and Final