swimmingbird-aâ:
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You are free to drop any thread listed here, and are equally free to unfollow me. I will be a bit more restricted with the new blog owing to someâŠpretty wonky activity on my dash + just feeling generally cluttered / stressed here. Will be posting a fresh plotting call here.
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swimmingbird-aâ:
In the process of archiving this blog! Threads kept:
@/beliefruined: Â x, x
@/silvcrreaper: x
@/likeagcrl: x
@/forgedstar: x
@/hopeandharmonizing : x
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ALL OTHER THREADS HAVE BEEN DROPPED.
You are free to drop any thread listed here, and are equally free to unfollow me. I will be a bit more restricted with the new blog owing to someâŠpretty wonky activity on my dash + just feeling generally cluttered / stressed here. Will be posting a fresh plotting call here.
NOTE: for the listed threads, kindly tag me if further replies are posted.
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swimmingbird-aâ:
In the process of archiving this blog! Threads kept:
@/beliefruined: Â x, x
@/silvcrreaper: x
@/likeagcrl: x
@/forgedstar: x
@/hopeandharmonizing : x
@/featherchan : x
ALL OTHER THREADS HAVE BEEN DROPPED.
You are free to drop any thread listed here, and are equally free to unfollow me. I will be a bit more restricted with the new blog owing to someâŠpretty wonky activity on my dash + just feeling generally cluttered / stressed here. Will be posting a fresh plotting call here.
NOTE: for the listed threads, kindly tag me if further replies are posted.
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swimmingbird-aâ:
In the process of archiving this blog! Threads kept:
@/beliefruined: Â x, x
@/silvcrreaper: x
@/likeagcrl: x
@/forgedstar: x
@/hopeandharmonizing : x
@/featherchan : x
ALL OTHER THREADS HAVE BEEN DROPPED.
You are free to drop any thread listed here, and are equally free to unfollow me. I will be a bit more restricted with the new blog owing to someâŠpretty wonky activity on my dash + just feeling generally cluttered / stressed here. Will be posting a fresh plotting call here.
NOTE: for the listed threads, kindly tag me if further replies are posted.
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swimmingbird-aâ:
In the process of archiving this blog! Threads kept:
@/beliefruined: Â x, x
@/silvcrreaper: x
@/likeagcrl: x
@/forgedstar: x
@/hopeandharmonizing : x
@/featherchan : x
ALL OTHER THREADS HAVE BEEN DROPPED.
You are free to drop any thread listed here, and are equally free to unfollow me. I will be a bit more restricted with the new blog owing to someâŠpretty wonky activity on my dash + just feeling generally cluttered / stressed here. Will be posting a fresh plotting call here.
NOTE: for the listed threads, kindly tag me if further replies are posted.
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swimmingbird-aâ:
In the process of archiving this blog! Threads kept:
@/beliefruined: Â x, x
@/silvcrreaper: x
@/likeagcrl: x
@/forgedstar: x
@/hopeandharmonizing : x
@/featherchan : x
ALL OTHER THREADS HAVE BEEN DROPPED.
You are free to drop any thread listed here, and are equally free to unfollow me. I will be a bit more restricted with the new blog owing to someâŠpretty wonky activity on my dash + just feeling generally cluttered / stressed here. Will be posting a fresh plotting call here.
NOTE: for the listed threads, kindly tag me if further replies are posted.
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swimmingbird-aâ:
In the process of archiving this blog! Threads kept:
@/beliefruined: Â x, x
@/silvcrreaper: x
@/likeagcrl: x
@/forgedstar: x
@/hopeandharmonizing : x
@/featherchan : x
ALL OTHER THREADS HAVE BEEN DROPPED.
You are free to drop any thread listed here, and are equally free to unfollow me. I will be a bit more restricted with the new blog owing to someâŠpretty wonky activity on my dash + just feeling generally cluttered / stressed here. Will be posting a fresh plotting call here.
NOTE: for the listed threads, kindly tag me if further replies are posted.
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swimmingbird-aâ:
In the process of archiving this blog! Threads kept:
@/beliefruined: Â x, x
@/silvcrreaper: x
@/likeagcrl: x
@/forgedstar: x
@/hopeandharmonizing : x
@/featherchan : x
ALL OTHER THREADS HAVE BEEN DROPPED.
You are free to drop any thread listed here, and are equally free to unfollow me. I will be a bit more restricted with the new blog owing to someâŠpretty wonky activity on my dash + just feeling generally cluttered / stressed here. Will be posting a fresh plotting call here.
NOTE: for the listed threads, kindly tag me if further replies are posted.
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swimmingbird-aâ:
In the process of archiving this blog! Threads kept:
@/beliefruined: Â x, x
@/silvcrreaper: x
@/likeagcrl: x
@/forgedstar: x
@/hopeandharmonizing : x
@/featherchan : x
ALL OTHER THREADS HAVE BEEN DROPPED.
You are free to drop any thread listed here, and are equally free to unfollow me. I will be a bit more restricted with the new blog owing to someâŠpretty wonky activity on my dash + just feeling generally cluttered / stressed here. Will be posting a fresh plotting call here.
NOTE: for the listed threads, kindly tag me if further replies are posted.
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swimmingbird-aâ:
In the process of archiving this blog! Threads kept:
@/beliefruined: Â x, x
@/silvcrreaper: x
@/likeagcrl: x
@/forgedstar: x
@/hopeandharmonizing : x
@/featherchan : x
ALL OTHER THREADS HAVE BEEN DROPPED.
You are free to drop any thread listed here, and are equally free to unfollow me. I will be a bit more restricted with the new blog owing to someâŠpretty wonky activity on my dash + just feeling generally cluttered / stressed here. Will be posting a fresh plotting call here.
NOTE: for the listed threads, kindly tag me if further replies are posted.
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swimmingbird-aâ:
In the process of archiving this blog! Threads kept:
@/beliefruined: Â x, x
@/silvcrreaper: x
@/likeagcrl: x
@/forgedstar: x
@/hopeandharmonizing : x
@/featherchan : x
ALL OTHER THREADS HAVE BEEN DROPPED.
You are free to drop any thread listed here, and are equally free to unfollow me. I will be a bit more restricted with the new blog owing to someâŠpretty wonky activity on my dash + just feeling generally cluttered / stressed here. Will be posting a fresh plotting call here.
NOTE: for the listed threads, kindly tag me if further replies are posted.
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In the process of archiving this blog! Threads kept:
@beliefruined: Â x, x
@silvcrreaper: x
@likeagcrl: x
@forgedstar: x
@hopeandharmonizingâ : x
@featherchan : x
ALL OTHER THREADS HAVE BEEN DROPPED.
You are free to drop any thread listed here, and are equally free to unfollow me. I will be a bit more restricted with the new blog owing to some...pretty wonky activity on my dash + just feeling generally cluttered / stressed here. Will be posting a fresh plotting call here.
NOTE: for the listed threads, kindly tag me if further replies are posted.
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likeagcrlâ:
Toph isnât surprised that heâs declined her offer-theyâre largely strangers, after all, and just because he seems nice, doesnât mean he has her trust just yet, and if she had anything to bet, she would be willing to bet that she doesnât have his yet either. Sheâd be surprised if she did, given that theyâve just met. Besides, on top of that, sheâs pretty sure that between herself, Katara, Aang, and Sokka, they donât really have the room for someone else.
âUh, well, these kinds of houses are really the closest thing this city has to an inn.â Toph offers. âIâm sure if you find Joo Dee running around, sheâll be happy to point you in the direction of somewhere you can stay. That lady is everywhere.â Not to mention thereâs just something weird about her that Toph canât put her finger on, too, but she doesnât say this. Thereâs no point in making him concerned over something that may not even be an issue to begin with.
          NOT EXACTLY AN inn, he wagers this to be a guest house. Better than a home stay. Get one â lucky he managed to get something to pay with here. Make himself stand out less. If heâs luckier than that, could get some way to get the oscillator up and running in the ship. Could get out of here.
âJoo Dee ?â
Familiar â the syllables sharp, running over. Mandarin? Sounds that way. Seemed thereâs a strain of it here and maybe â he bites back the frown. A thought for later. He pauses, his head tilting up. Not like heâd stumbled in here withoutÂ
âWouldnât happen to be a woman with a...permanent smile, would it?â
Only barely stops himself from adding âcreepyâ. Glasgow smile, detached. Canât quite feel anything. Out of place, something sour in a patch of sweet. Makes him feel less out place than she is. Instinct kicking in, and his gut tells him itâs best to keep his curiosity from running ahead of him. Something about curiosity, something about cats.
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@meodu-swete
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beliefruinedâ:
Poet. Philosopher. She had always seen him that way. A man hungry to learn. A man with a poetâs heart. Love in him he expressed better and more beautifully without constricting himself to its simplest terms. I love you. She whispered, and in return he crafted beauty as he tried to pour his heart out for her to see. If the offering is my heart, you have it, he told her in reply. He brushed his fingers into her hair, and whispered her the names of gods. Of saints. Of immortals. He held her in his arms and helped her to dream of a future.
It wasnât a new way she was seeing him, sheâd long since seen him in this light. A softer, rosier light than most, it might be. It wasnât as if she wasnât aware of how dangerous he as. She knew. Sheâd seen it. He was an almost unmatched martial artist, and a steady, deadly shot. She had known that about him since they met. You didnât rise high in the syndicate, you didnât become a prince ready to be crowned without being good at killing. Mao, even her father, both men had been capable of spectacular violence. She had known from before the moment she pivoted around, the moment her eyes had touched his face, he was dangerous.
It had taken her a little longer, to know he was brilliant. A little longer to know he had a loverâs heart, hands, lips. Not so long as other though, if they ever got to see it at all. He had showed her these parts of himself, as they had gotten to know one another. She saw him clearly, the romantic, heâd put Keats to shame.
âI wouldnât worry too much about being a starving artist, honey,â she said, a grin curling her lips as she leaned in and stole a kiss. A thief in the night. âApparently you never make any money bounty hunting, so sounds like starving artist wouldnât be a big change in salary,â she teased. âAnd besides,â she said, settling her head back against his uninjured shoulder, âYou shouldnât write poetry for money, you should write it because you have something say.â Money could be made off of art, and art could be made for a profit, but the primary reason for it should always be that there was something inside that needed to be expressed.
Mundane little task, grocery shopping. An errand, plenty didnât want to take up at the end of their day. She offered it out to him. Go with her, or he could go ahead without her. A choice, always. She didnât want to control him, didnât want to tell him where to go or what to do. It was his time; he could choose how to spend it. But she hoped he wanted to spend it with her. It mattered more to her though, that he chose to spend time with her, rather than being drug along some unwilling participant. The want to be there. The want to be there with her, that was what mattered to her.
Not like thereâll be anything better to do.
Her blue-dark eyes shifted up wards towards his face, towards that sloping smile of his. It seemed it didnât matter how often she saw that easy grin, it always caused the same reaction for her. She wondered if it would ever change. She hoped it didnât. She wanted her heart to skip a beat. She wanted her blood to warm. She wanted it every time he smiled at her. âGlad I rank above being bored anywhere else,â she joked. âWeâll shop, then go back to the ship. Donât let me forget about your shoulder,â she murmured. She doubted she would forget, if it was on her mind even now.
Her blue-dark eyes closed, her breathing soft and even as she fell asleep. When she woke the sun was coming in through the gauzy white curtains. She woke curled into him. She stayed like that a moment, listening to the strong and steady beat of his heart. Her eyes opened, and sunlight filled the room. White and blue. Sunshine and sea salt. It may be artificial sunlight, but he looked beautiful in it all the same. Reaching up she brushed her fingers against his jaw, his cheek, his nose. Even if pressed, Julia was not sure she could name a more beautiful person in the galaxy than him.
          HE STIRS, BARELY making words spin in his tongue a little. The sentence is stolen by her lips, she takes a delight in that, lets that bleed into his own lips â and heâs left bringing his thoughts back in. Waits for them to burn, and drop into his mouth and melt to form words again. The grinâs made into something like a thin line, balancing between amusement and mock scepticism.
They havenât told her why they donât earn enough money. Why he doesnât. Hungry, could be on the brink of starving, still picky, choosy, spoiled. Wonât be long before she sees that â and he doesnât intend to hide that. Shrugs without a reply, his eyes seeking out hers. Gives into a steady humor-induced line on his face, sheâs never failed in drawing that out of him. Never failed in drawing them over his face.
âAnd you expect me to sit and write?â
Not any different from any writer â but it isnât as safe, writing isnât as risky. You sell your life, you sell your heart, your soul. Publish something, thereâs a price tag on it. Most cases anyway. Everything somewhere with a price labelled across the cover. And your heart, bleeding.
...wonât pick that. Not even âpart timeâ. Better off saying something, whispering them to her.Sheâll remember, sheâll fill her skin with it. Knows she does that.
He knows he does that with what she tells him. No care for what it is about â some task to be done, something made to be forgotten (he doesnât forget) â a bill for some purchase, some drink.
Makes to reply, and he falls quiet. Can just make out her face â night-cut, silver under gold, azure taken in by copper. Tomorrow, then â when words are spilling from them, a pomegranate cut open, red spilling, falling into ceramic.
Lets himself lean further in, gaze fixing on the ceiling searching his thoughts. Thereâs something sharp under his tongue, and he tries to push the thought away, bury it down his throat. A tooth missing, a tooth misplaced, a tooth â teeth sinking into flesh.
It has to happen, eventually. Hypnos dragging your bones down, down, down a whirlpool rinsing your bones, prying off consciousness, being awake from under skin. He stops, hand settling to hold her shoulder instead, lean in, he knows how theyâll be a mess of thread, warmth, skin entwined when they wake up.
Takes him longer, itâs uneasy â always is, blame a decadeâs worth of being reminded that security didnât equate with safety. But itâs there, an isle he can call sleep. An isle beating, beating under her ribs. Devouring dark in ways she can conjure without even thinking, without waking. Tomorrowâs still there, thereâs a vague itch for nicotine in the inside of his lungs, sheâs breathing, breathing, breathing. Tequila dark, itâs cool. Not burning.
And it is burning now, nightâs architecture, a rhythm of sleep in blood beginning to fade, and he doesnât  - doesnât let himself wake yet. Not ready to unbind her from him yet. Thereâs always another night, another morning, heâs aware of as much. Harder to recollect right away when his first instinct is to hold on.
Lets himself stay in the white-wine daze, only awake, only a little sleep drunk, only a little drunk on her warmth. Sleep came in, snuffed out candles of thoughts, left a few burning. The rest are alight, and the state of the next dayâs bleeding into eyes squeezed shut.
Draws further in, draws her further in at her touch â doesnât matter how heavy the static of sleep is, heâs always recognized the way her fingers define morning-drenched features. Theyâve had their fill of nights, double-shots, could do with some vodka, absinthe, daylight. Fingers in her hair, he shifts to bury his face in her neck. Still muffled, barely a twinge in his lips.
Dim wonder if he had woken up a few times or something â thereâs still a trace of exhaustion to his thoughts. Wonders if he had woken her up.
Morning, its white wine â sharp, milk, honey, spilling over skin. Could almost the taste the way it might look. Warm, sticky, the way that light seems to stick some form of dread, some form of hope to your skin. And heâll guess that itâs fairly late.
âNope.â Hoarse, not much above a mumble. His arm dips a little further down â loose, not entirely a firm grip. She can get up if she wants. âBefore you ask -â Â ( a pause, a pause to yawn ) Â â - just a little longer.â
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René Groebli
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         i am, again, awakeâŠâŠ and iâm about to make it everyoneâs problem.
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