#went with this

[kingdomtual]

‘Accept my fate and turn my back on the world,

I’m runnin’, runnin’, runnin’ ‘

Kingdom - Karma (Chiwoo Focus)

[phantom-does-a-thing]

The villagers speak in hushed warbled tones, speaking in a language you cannot understand, you speak back unknowingly. Some of the older ones know your language, it’s ancient and lost but they can remember, they tell you their names and you try to put it to memory. They ask where you came from but you don’t know the answer, you came from somewhere. Right? Somewhere far away? Or somewhere nowhere at all?

You don’t learn their language but you learn their habits. You can read the symbols they show and follow their rules. They tolerate you while you are in their village walls.

The villagers give you supplies and you thank them for their hospitality but they only stare at you with blank expressions, nodding mutely as you leave.

You notice you look strange in comparison, taller and slender, fingers long and sly as you flip through the pages of a book the symbols spelling words and phrases that you can recognize and speak aloud. You don’t know what your face looks like, you’ve never seen a clear image, only through the ripples in the pond as fish tug at the worthless bait, unknowing of their soon demise. The villagers pull their children away when you pass, everyone stares but they do not yell or force you to leave.

In the morning after you’ve risen from a sleep that never feels long enough, you follow the same routine. You feed your animals, milk your cow whose name you’ve forgotten long ago, you harvest sugar cane near the ponds and split planks into sticks to trade for currency. The villagers watch you work with side glances from their workshop windows. You call out with kindness in your tone, they look away.

You speak with the oldest villagers often as they can speak back to you in a tone you understand, they do not tell you why the language is so different, they do not tell you why you do not look the same as everyone else. They tell you none of the answers to the millions of questions because they themselves do not know, for that was before their time. Their parents and grandparents might have known, they might’ve been able to tell you, but there is no one In the village that has the answers.

You continue reading the old musty books that you’re able to buy. Trying to search through the familiar language for clues or answers. You come up only with spells that you know not how to use. No one is there to teach you.

You find comfort with the animals for you will never know their language and they will never speak yours. You feed them and provide care, you’ve earned their trust.

One of the villagers shows you how to create tools, how to mold and press the metal and stone until it’s something that you can use. You thank them and find more work to keep you busy through the days. Between the nights that you lay awake, unable to sleep as creatures of the dark growl and hiss from outside. You’re too busy thinking.

Questions are always there. Where did you come from? Why are you different? Why do only the oldest speak your language? Surely you’re not that old, are you?

Why are you here?

A villager gives you a book for free, possibly out of pity when you show up the next day dragging your feet, exhaustion dripping from your posture. They give you useless instructions that fall onto deaf ears. You do not trade anything else that day, returning to the rickety home you’ve built, words from the book dripping from your tongue.

The words tell of different worlds. Places that seem fabled but could only be true. A voice whispers in your ear, you have to go.

So you leave the next day, you do not tell anyone and you do not know how they’ve reacted. Only carrying what you need on your back as you search through caverns and trees. The oldest villagers have given you instructions, the knowledge needed to survive on your own.

You find a portal hidden behind dusted cobwebs and cracked stones. Lava bubbles and the remains of what must have been a guardian at one point lay in the corner.

You step through the portal.

For a moment there’s nothing at all, then you feel cold. All around you Is a white stone, radiating a chill that settles a pit of dread in your stomach.

Waiting on the surface is a beast of which you’ve never seen, and ones you have seen before. Shrieking in a tone that sounds so familiar yet already too lost to time to make out. Something has urged you, pushed you forward, sword gripped tightly in your hands, to kill it.

So you do.

The mother of an unborn child slain, not so much a beast in its chilling death. Body fading and fizzling into nothing, leaving the egg it had been protecting. You leave it be, it would only escape your grasp if you tried to take it with you.

There’s a hum now, a familiar light drone that eases the tension out of your shoulders. You step through the final portal.

Voices whisper loudly in your head, speaking in a language you finally understand. They tell you a story. They tell you everything. The questions that you’ve had since the beginning answered finally. They tell you who you are and give you a name, how you came to be but not where you came from. They tell you of the universe. They give you the knowledge that you set out to find, yet you can only sob, more questions brimming, yet you have no voice to ask.

They tell you that they love you. That you are love. They tell you things that would make no difference to know or not.

They tell you to wake up.

[witchingrey]

leans into her side with a quiet breath, pressing his face into the curve of her shoulder.

‘…..you always come back. ‘ It’s soft; her hair and eyes glimmering in the darkness of the half-light; ethereal; lovely, unchanging. As he removes his mask, she shifts her weight on the couch; a thing that should be dead in living view. After all she is the Wicked Witch for the Noble Knight to have slain.

Instead he nestles into the slender; ivory curve of her flesh and presses sweaty curls from wearing a mask that was both his curse and his living death into her as if he could merge their sufferings together. Silly boy, but you haven’t been one for a long time…since Genbu, right, she thinks softly, with an odd sense of that long buried sentimentality she hasn’t been able to let go no matter how long the centuries have passed. Normally a glib, blunt remark would follow; as if to fill the chasm that fills their hearts. 

They miss him. Perhaps even in some ways resent him. The feelings are too deep and run too far to name; but they are beyond their mere connection of a dead emperor. The fleeting witch who keeps vigil as she comes and goes as she pleases on the dead Noble Knight turned ‘Savior’. Zero, Zero, Zero —

—- Requiem. 

‘I know.’ It’s simple and soft; almost gentle voice filling the protected darkness and silence that cradles them, has long cradled them before Lelouch died. Something she finds herself keeping emotions long buried now revived in the most ironic of ways. She does not talk of her feelings, does not speak them to the lost boy, the dead Knight, the dead man who clings to life in simple touches of her skin. 

‘I know.’ C.C. repeats; pulling his head upwards until it’s against her chest; lacing arms around soaked, caramel curls and sifting unblemished fingers through, lips against his head to press the words tight and close. She wants him to hear the only thing that resurrects him, the only thing that puts them both into a glimpse of an era they have both created and let pass by. 

“I know…”

Her chin atop his head; the Witch murmurs it plaintively to the dead, Noble Knight who should have slain her Wickedness long ago …. to the voidless entity of Zero, she gives life in the shadows to a name for him alone to hear:

“ Suzaku. “ 

[notenoughmuses]

@lepusmagicae

He thought he was a goner. He should have died. The heat alone from the molten gold as it poured over his head but his whole body felt warm and the pain subsided once he fell unconscious. As he came to, he found himself left in the dirt, but not the Dothraki sea and no Dothraki structures were around. Just a bunch of people in strange outfits and some with....were those pointed ears? Viserys scrambled to get away from the person’s touch, feeling the hands pull the last bit of gold away from his head and he touched his head as a reaction, feeling hair and not hardened material.

“Where am I?” He asked, still trying to back up away from the strangers as the one who seemed like she was in charge looked towards a woman who was coming forth. She seemed to have a kind face but Viserys was not going to trust anyone and for a moment he swore he was looking at his sister until he focused on her features seeing her blue eyes and the pointed ears.

“I demand to know where I am” He repeated, his voice growing stronger as he tried to remain resilient in the face of so many unknown.

[forgedinglass-a]

             @herowithmuchfear​ 💙’d

          she sits by his side patiently . there wasn’t any use in waking him now , especially when he needed to heal   ---   the brush hid them enough   &&   moving around at night wouldn’t help anybody . she feels the hurt pressing into her chest , but tries to think elsewhere . her   only   job was to protect him ,   &&   she couldn’t do that while focusing on the pain  . the other jedi told her it was all PSYCHOLOGICAL , right   ?   this body wasn’t   REAL   , how could she even feel pain in the first place   ?   ❝   okay ...   ❞ she pulls her knees to her chest ,   &&   watches the dark horizon .  ❝   it’s not like this is anything   new   for us ,   ❞   she thinks out loud in a small voice . out of the two of them , ani was the one with the plans (   impulsive or not   ) .   that   may be the one constant in their lives .

[yorlabo]

365 Day Song Challenge:

Day 111: Favorite song from a musical

Do You Hear the People Sing I had many choices. Including Stephan Sondheim songs D: I didn’t know what to choose.

[teyalora-blog]

Uh. Only kinda a girl? Mostly?