#you starve yourself in the hopes of coming closer to purity as the divine

[insomniac-arrest]

Good morning, ladies, how are we feeling about the ritualistic self-punishment in the name of obsessive individualist health rhetoric? I hope you eat something tasty today 💖

#health is like religion nowadays #you starve yourself in the hopes of coming closer to purity as the divine #and divinity as bodily purity #and the body as inherently corrupted #and yet and yet and yet

[infinites-chaser]

this life not yet saved | tears of themis | mo yi

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(not yet)

title from the poem by geffrey davis

spoilers for mo yi's medieval suspense date!

warnings for uh. blood. non-linear, fragmented narratives. quotes from tenet (2020). u know the vibes.

it's like this: you see her,

the cards fall,

face up, they’re vatican lily white, all hearts, all stark blood-red,

you ask her about time, about knowing the ending before the story’s begun. if it changes anything. if it changes her.

and you think, you have spoken these words before. in a dream. in a past long gone. in a not-so-distant future.

you still don’t know her answer. you dream many things, only, not this.

because you do not want her to be everything you've ever dreamed of— 

(what's the use of a dream if it ends. if at the end, you'll always have to wake up.)

—you need her to be more.

(she is.)

she speaks. she speaks, and the world shifts around her.

the only constant in the world is change, she says. I believe we shape our own fates.

and what does it mean for your one tenet to be something uncertain, to be uncertainty itself, to have faith in the ever-changing?

all of the world’s absolutes and it’s easy to forget: it means being alive.

it means being fated to an ending, fighting it still. it means being human.

it means this: you fall.

the cards fall first, but you fall deeper.

(you always have. you always will.)

this is goodbye, she says. and though her cheeks are tearstained, she's calm in front of you.

you reach for her hand, hold it close.

no happy endings? you ask, smile rueful. she shakes her head, draws back, eyes gentle, words firm.

no happy lies.

but, first. the middle:

you steal her lips by candlelight, steal more.

come the edge of dawn, she steals a kiss in return, chaste, on the cheek. steals a lily from the vase by your bed, steals out of the room back to hers, and when she leaves, she takes your heart with her.

it beats faster these days. at the thought of her, you can't keep still.

stolen time, you think, but her head's pillowed gentle on your chest, her breaths coming and going in time with yours, she murmurs low and sweet, nudges closer, and you think no more.

what do you think is the most sensitive part of the body, she asks, her fingers stroking slow contemplative circles up and around your back,

the fingers? she asks, and hers skim along the base of your spine, you inhale sharp,

the neck? you counter, and trace your hand up to steal between her shoulder blades, tease gentle up the back of her neck to the edge of her hair, cradle close her head, coax it up towards yours,

the lips, she whispers, and let yours meet hers.

later, she says:

we're both wrong.

hm?

the most sensitive part, she says, her eyes on yours warm and endless, you could drown in their depths,

it's always been the heart.

and you do not like to admit it, you hardly admit it to yourself, but the heart of you has gone sharp with hunger, this empty that'll never be filled, not with all the knowledge of humans and the earth, not with anything of this earth, human or otherwise, you have had enough of ration and reason and logic, the thing you are starving for demands more, more than any set of rules, anything straightforward, anything solvable, you want your world to be shaken, you want logic to be wrong, gravity defied,

and so you live your life wanting,

wanting and wanting and wanting,

and you think you will die from it— wanting that something, that someone who will be enough to match you, who will be more,

you want more. you want to be more. 

you’re not sure which is which anymore.

late nights you spend studying, she reads anatomy over your shoulder, learns it with you.

you speak to her, bright-eyed, about medicine. about the power of understanding the workings of humans, what it could do for humanity, what it could do for the world.

you speak to her, and she listens. offers suggestions. thoughts. offers ideas. together, you stitch together a vision of hope. of futures to come.

you stitch your patients, she says, you and your science, stitch the world back together,

then she reaches, teasing, around your neck, tugs your scarf free before you can move.

I'll stitch this for you. stitch something true.

what's this, you ask, one night before the middle's over, peering low over her shoulder. she frowns and swats at you with her embroidery.

I told you, it's for you, she says, if you don't ruin my concentration first!

for me?

for remembrance.

but this is just our beginning, you say with a chuckle.

she smiles then, soft, somehow sad.

she leaves it atop your pillow at morning's first light: your scarf stitched carefully, covered in lilies, vatican white.

white lilies? you remember asking, once and long ago. 

they're my favorite, she'd replied.

they're for the vatican, you think. faith. purity. death.

and she's going to die tonight. one death if she's lucky. two if the duke's idea of magic works.

she's going to die. you'll stop burning. you'll never feel alive like this again.

you wear her scarf to save her. the old duke topples. you poison him. but she's crumpled on the floor, there's bruises on her wrists and her face is a pale, bloodless white, the hair of her elegant updo twisting ragged tangled—

you see red.

you stab him once, stab him again for good measure. imagine blood spreading across his waistcoat, vatican lily white turned deep and crimson,

and you'd like to think it feels like freedom, to watch his breathing slow, but she's limp in your arms, skirts dragging across the black magic sigils written hasty on the floor, and you know: this is your fate, you've been destined to this since the start, doomed to this,

doomed by her,

if that were the ending, you say, would you refuse? would you give up on the truth and embrace darkness together?

she tells you no.

and when she wakes, you already know the choice she'll make. she won't choose you.

(it's why you chose her. it's why you always will.) 

so you hold her close,

stay by her side, her hand in yours, her heart, her ideals, her justice shining bright—

'til the day she lets go.

you're at a banquet with the old duke and he's told you, boyish eager, that he's found her: the girl with the face of his lost love.

you're at a banquet, you watch as he approaches her, from afar, 

and you do not like to think you have anything in common with your foster father, but you watch and you think you understand. out of everyone at the gathering, she alone shines bright.

you want to retreat further, to observe. hypotheses tested. conclusions formed. but the old duke's beckoning you over, her eyes, sharp and curious, are too, and you follow.

my son, the old duke says, but you don't hear the rest.

it's like this: your existence in that moment is only for her,

and she smiles, laughs, glances up to meet your gaze with hers, sharp and joyful bright— and it takes you by surprise, like nothing else, like she's something unexplainable, something alchemists could spend their lives chasing after, that the vatican could worship, devote a lonely life to, something close to divinity, this feeling that makes your heartbeat near painful, makes your breathing burning, as if your veins had turned liquid gold in her light— 

and you think you will die from it— it makes you weak, it makes you that maybe there is someone who is enough, who you do not deserve but be could enough for,

(someone, 

and it's her.)

but what scares you, thrills you, intrigues you most

is that it feels familiar, somehow, the way it burns

as if all along your heart had known it was meant to burn,

meant for her,

(it was.)

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Lady Viscount, you say, head bowed low before her, her fingers fluttering just the slightest under the brush of your lips, 

Duke, she replies, breathless, though she doesn't draw back.

may I interest you in a game, you ask. her head tilts.

what kind?

a game of stories, you say. of fate and future.

it's simple, you say. it's a leap of faith.

you fall first. I fall deeper.

she laughs.

if you win, she says, I'll owe you a dance.

and her hand's still in yours, it makes you weak, it makes you reckless, but you hold your tongue and only smile in return.

if you win, you think, my fate is yours.

neither of you let go.

#val writes #tears of themis #tears of themis mo yi #tears of themis vyn #noT me asking for prompts then writing nOne of them and coming up with this instead ahdjsjsjs #just have. many. medieval suspense feelings mixing w tenet feelings;;; where else am i supposed to put my narrative tragedy brainrot down #anyway. i blame this entirely on christopher nolan if u do not understand pls take it up w him bc i barely understood tenet either

[morgansfunpage]

The Gift – How To Slay A Dragon

Hello my invisible other…I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for the last four weeks…gasping to take a breather…taking time out to absorb the present memories recently brought to life…the fragments of love floating around my heart are remnants of what was…what is…and indeed what could be…The Gift – How To Slay A Dragon

if only, becomes a cry in the dark at present due to the absence of mutual trust and the lack of depth where internal feelings are concerned…my heart no longer slices like a carving knife at the scar tissue of old wounds…instead I kiss each sealed entry point…like a wise man once bitten no longer shy…fools fall in love

the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift

the need to piece together the love lost…the love found…and the love suppressed in the here and now has become vital to keep my heart on the knifes edge…choosing to walk the straight and narrow with one aim in sight…keeping balanced every step of the way…retracing the footsteps of the dragon…

knowing too well how one slip up could lead to the down fall of ones own soul…life can take its toll…weighing the heart down until it snaps under the peer pressure of opportunity knocks

whether it be to fulfill your own fantasy or another heart’s desire…by following the temptation of a silver tongue…the heart will eventually sever all ties with reality…a superficial puppet carrying the chains of hell fire…

the devil has a warped ideal of love…shaping and carving human hearts to follow in their ancestors blind beliefs of what love truly means…indeed my invisible other the puppeteer would be dead right…

love in the pure sense would remain lost among the debris of fractured and shattered souls…with the hope of future hearts becoming accustom to down trodden broken dreams…

the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift

keeping traditions alive throughout the centuries…Ignorance and want hidden under the cloak of power and glory…orphaned off to the highest bidder for a life time of grooming

without trust…self respect…honor and a genuine care towards one another’s well being…human beings in a world of plenty become spiritually starved by greed and love for this material world…a selfish existence in the end

absorbing the pain of others is a crucial remedy…medicine for any soul wanting to alleviate heart ache…whether it be someone else’s or your own…

unburdening the load at the same time uplifting each other’s spirits…a brighter future to work towards lifting the veil of darkness once and for all…

pain is a healing process for all concerned…a two way lesson to be learnt…a plan of action that tries to avoid A&E…the home of broken bones and other mortal ailments…superficial scars heal right before your very eyes leaving behind a visual sign of love gone wrong…displaying ones heart on a sleeve of skin for all to see…in my eyes my dear…foolhardy

emotional scars remain blind until you open both eyes…the question is my dear…where do broken hearts go to find their way home…for your heart to feel like home sweet home you need to be able to live with yourself in the real world

the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift

Before I delve into my heart’s desire I feel the need to look beyond the world we think we see…the world that seems nothing more than a daily routine…eat…sleep…work…shit…

birth and death a reality much more than a cycle of every human beings life…the idea of a purpose or the reality of ones existence is believed to be a mystery best kept unheard of…

millions upon millions of souls unaware of their true identity desperately seeking a meaning to life…the overwhelming need to fill a void is ever present…Love becomes the devils misdirection…a trap so cleverly disguised love becomes the souls demise

A heart born in today’s day and age will look towards a science lab for answers related to love…an emotion that needs tender loving care to grow and eventually bloom…the cold harsh reality of a mortuary slab deals with the death of a mortal vessel…

can a postmortem uncover how much love or indeed pain the heart concealed throughout its lifetime…a clogged artery or a heart attack speaks volumes about lifestyle…

the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift

good and bad choices where food and drink is concerned…DNA flaws along with inherited diseases can all be a cause of death…there are a million ways to die a mortal death my dear…but only one way to die spiritually…

you see my invisible other the heart that beats in your chest is so much more than an organ of flesh..every heart born into this world has a spiritual mission…to find its way home…placed deep within the heart is a guidance…it has nothing to do with a star or three wise men my imaginary friend

a knowledge of good and evil…right from wrong…every heart is born with an innocence that sheds light on a purer love beyond this world…a direct link to the The Divine…an undertaking of one’s soul becomes the hearts ultimate goal…

the soul has a life of its own…a spiritual being that contains a light like that of an angel…and a darkness like that of a demon…a mirror image that is split down the middle…an equal balance of good and evil…

the heart is attached to the light even though the dark half is closer to home…the heart that remains in a state of purity acts like a mirror reflecting the light to illuminate the dark side of the mind…

the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift

if the conscience becomes clouded with doubts and the love of this world…the hearts vision becomes difficult to see…blocking out the light leading to eternal darkness…deaf…dumb and blind…sealing the heart resulting in a spiritual death…

life goes on for the mortal shell now living dead under the devils command…having distinguished the light of one’s Creator…the devil now has the right to coincide taking order over the empty vessel…

the purpose of the lifeless soul becomes focused on the pleasures of this world…disregarding the hereafter as a homeless abode…looked upon as a fantasy world…

The question you should be asking yourself my dear…how did the Shaytan manage to fool the hearts of mankind…

The reality is my invisible other it didn’t happen over night…generations upon generations before our arrival on planet earth had succumbed to the illusion of this world…falling victim to the innovation of lies

a new born child’s chances of remaining pure at heart will depend upon the infants guardians…if the parents are far removed from the straight path they will raise their offspring the traditional way…the same way their own parents raised them…

the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift

if the heart of the child grows attached to a love other than its true intent…the misdirected love or false belief will become the hearts down fall if followed blindly into adulthood…when puberty arrives the gift of free will is granted to every soul…if the heart fails to recognize its duty…choosing to remain young and forever foolish

the devil no longer hidden in the wings…whispers into the heart of men and women a like…offering the soul a joyride…the soul who seeks a life on easy street…strives for a comfortably numb existence without heartache or misery…

will live their lives without knowing the devil personally…conform…turn a blind eye and follow the majority of modernized conditioned humans…this world will become no more than a dream of a dreamer…the existence of angels and demons will become a myth like the soul of men…erasing The Creator of the heavens and earth from the hearts internal memory

any selfish act of transgression involving the seven deadly demons will kill the heart from the inside out…there’s not a saint nor priest dead or alive who can bring the dead back to life

Subconsciously emotional ties and the attachments of love are bonded to the heart from a tender age…ribbons of silk entwined with barbed wire becomes entangled by the heart’s desire…love at first sight is an unconditional free for all…

the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift

no matter what hurt comes by way of misunderstood love…love conquers the hearts worst fears…eliminating hate as a crime against one’s own self…an immature heart holds onto love like the elixir of life…

the ego on the other hand grips the injustice overlooked by the heart who loves regardless of feelings being hurt…placing a wedge of resentment between the hearts judgment of what’s right and whose wrong…

the benefit of the doubt plays havoc with a shadow of doubt…a conflict of wills twists the idea of love flipping it on its head…love from an egos perspective has a lot to be desired…

when nobodies home the devil comes a knocking…offering the deceitful ego an invitation to gorge on its own flesh…a suggestion to turn every fantasy into a reality…making what if..

a perversion or a blessing in disguise depending upon the souls good or evil intention…if the ego steps aside allowing the dark half to reside…the heart is overthrown…a complete black out…lust turns love into a dirty word…the soul becoming a shadow of its former self…hidden behind eyes wearing a fake smile…

Past time love Part One…I was lost inside the devils playground for the time being…born into slavery and raised to love the devil without question…a production set a flame…directed and co-hosted by the devil himself…all actors and actresses are subconsciously center stage…unaware of the role they played…

hidden behind the scenes waiting for the final curtain to fall…my own example of the game of love is a free gift from one soul to another…a rebellious soul where the devil is concerned…unable to break my spirit…

the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift

the devil paid close attention to my inhibitions…every ounce of love my heart kept alive was used against my soul killing it softly…holding my heart hostage against my egos better judgment…

a pain free experience passed on to you my invisible other…how to slay a dragon…stop chasing the dream and start moon walking…become the hunter…heading in one direction…all the way home

the mistaken identity of the devils footsteps will start to look a lot like your own…only one set of foot prints are visible…chose your direction wisely and your shadow will be left without choice…keeping the future in mind

broadcasting straight from a soul once shackled and chained to this thing called love…a heart bypass knocked me for six…the devil offered my soul an unholy matrimony…a declaration of undying love

my past experience of Love had never gone beyond the bond of blood ties….cutting so deep it nearly severed an artery…at the time I didn’t feel the knife go in…Every twist of fate tore through layer upon layer of mind numbing pain…the thought of loving a stranger was a joke that tickled my ego

I was immune to my own heart ache until I brought it upon myself…I would have to say accidentally on purpose my dear…the stranger I was waiting for was no ordinary demon…he was a dream come true…A stoker…

the kiss of death would hunt down my soul many a night…including every christmas eve…unable to breathe I would wake up inside my dreams…opening my eyes in the dead of night…what did I see…the gift of life in the present…putting to bed the nightmare of death laying in my wake

I had one advantage over my suitor…I caught sight of the dark prince first…a year or two before he actually became acquainted with my mortal shell…my first name happened to be a permanent fixture under his skin…

why indeed my invisible other…the story goes…He loved the name Natasha so much so…he christened his wishful thinking in ink…a future reference…a title aimed towards the fruit of his loins…playing god with his own fate so to speak…

the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift…the gift

it was just a matter of time before our destinies entwined…on the stroke of midnight 31-10-89…Ah-satan came a knocking on my door…my heart red raw and tenderized in the name of love…huffed and puffed under baited breath…

my soul on the other hand stood in the shadows…a gesture that welcomed my dark half to step inside…closing the door behind my adversary to keep the light of the moon from exposing my true Identity…true colours were hidden on both sides…making this game of checkmate a dead end insight…to becontinued