Ender Dont Look - Tumblr Posts

@theaterrush ━ evren & icarus!

For a bright, blinding moment, there's a pang in Evren's chest that responded to the jab with a simple 'i hate you.' ━━━ like a cold fact of a dead thing already buried, like an answer they already knew but the impulse of their mind felt the need to reinstate: I hate you. The gravity wasn't in the weight, it was in the speed, the snap at which it came to them at. I hate you like a lightning strike. I hate you like a beartrap. I hate you like a blade through a collarbone. ━ a half temptation, but a faulty one. ( Xey had either took the knife from them already, or if they didn't, Evren wasn't interested in proving how predictable they were, the way mankind was unavoidably / the same way mankind is prideful enough to try to avoid it, and how that makes them predictable, too. )

Makes 'them' predictable too. ━ Like Evren wasn't part of mankind enough anymore to say 'us'. Maybe they were. Maybe it was just ill conceit. They weren't interested enough to bother figuring out which.

Evren makes a small, clicking sound with their tongue as they poke at their food they'd gotten as though thoughtful ━ it was just fast-food. they could barely order without being recognized & therefore questioned just a couple days after the 31st. They'd almost asked Icarus to order for them, but decided against it just as quickly.

In the same way they decided to risk it & order for themselves, Evren comes to the same conclusion: they don't hate Icarus, they just don't trust them. But xey weren't doing xemselves any favors, either.

" You can just say I'm a problem, you know, instead of dancing around the words like you did with killing God yourself. Makes it a lot easier on the both of us when you're blunt for a change. " Evren swings the retort back, voice casual & nonchalant for the sharpness ━ almost bitterness ━ in the words themselves, before taking a bite of their food.

They weren't entirely sure of what they expected in the first place when they asked Icarus the question, maybe it was an attempt to know xem better when xey were wholly unknowable up until this point, maybe it was a strange compulsion prompted by the guilt underneath & this was simply how they'd chosen to cope with what had happened and the strain of it all, maybe it was something else entirely. The question had been asked, and now, they were settled to reap its consequences.

━ I don't hate you, I just don't know you. ( in a way, they liked that. Liked them. How strange it was. )

"Plus," they add after finishing chewing, the meat cheap & rubbery " You told me I could use the knife against Them, you didn't say I couldn't use it on anyone else. " anyone deserving. they deserved it. they deserved it. their eye-socket still aches from a pain's origin that no longer exists. " I'd think that'd be a pretty big fine-print. What, not used to people not just doing what you tell them? "

DO U SEE WHAT UR MISSING OUT ON. DO U SEE

u guys should play/get into sacritice so i can ramble at u about evren and their feelings about themselves and those around them and their connections with other people and

Rasmodius had always been a particular man when it came to times & places. He was the kind of person that, even without his perchance to magic dictating an importance to the when as energies shifted throughout the day & as your surroundings governed a kind of inherent power to them, you could see being so specific about his scheduling. the kind of man with a watch always on his wrist, so devoted to whatever it was he'd chosen to occupy his time with. ━ he had only slightly more justification for being the way that he was, correct in how time matters greatly in what you could tap into; be it morning, noon or night; but still, his exhaustion at being interrupted at such an imperative time was no less... well. petty maybe wasn't quite the right word, but momentarily overblown might be.

as he rolls his shoulders with a sigh as though attempting to loosen or invoke the arcane magic back where it'd been, kneeling on the hardwood floor at a short-legged table that stretches long & wide in front of him as it is nearly covered in complexities in paints & tokens, one of his eyes flash with a symbol at the notion of continuing ━ a sundial, if noel recognized it, always so old fashioned ━ and he sighs again as if his suspicions were confirmed to him, & he begins to clean up.

"No, no. The time has passed. I must merely attempt again another morning, when it is right again." the exhaustion, maybe once annoyance, dies quickly in him at being interrupted now that it's too late, an endless understanding in him seeps in at how easy it is to be impatient, and ah, it wasn't all that imperative in the first place. ━ he knew better than to dash his pupils enthrallment, with how infrequently it came to be, he just wished at times he had better luck in the art of timing.

the wizard stands, and his outfit is not the one she would usually see. simpler, hat missing and pants dark and shirt plain & simple, of a prior era than the one they were in, as though the solace of comforting clothes or nightwear he'd oft not allow himself to be seen within, but Noel had been so unexpected & so early he'd been caught offguard. He moves about the tower, slotting things away where they belonged, almost unknowable to someone unaccustomed to his organization.

"What was it that drew you here, Carver?" he inquires, not looking but attention firmly upon her regardless. "You wanted to speak with me of some pressing matters, so please, speak."

@quillheel called : ❛ for future reference, never interrupt my rituals again. ❜ // from rasmodius! he is not above becoming Slighted at relatively small offenses he's a very tired man BKRH

A Bit Of Magic || Not Accepting !!

alright - maybe she'd been a little enthusiastic, entering the tower that morning. granted, it wasn't often that she seemed so lively at that time of day.

she had her reasons.

" sorry - i'll just...pick up where i left off. but-- when you're done, i need to...talk to you. about the community center. " she plucked up the dusty old tome that she'd been reading the day prior, sidling off to the corner table and out of his way, for the time being.

but oh, boy. did she ever have questions about those little creatures that she'd spotted in the abandoned building...

// remind me to write some metas abt Loki tomorrow but in the meantime, i rewatched Thor. the most meta-y bits from me liveblogging it

" Oh! It's hallows-evening already! How fun! I hope everyone has a pleasant time as the moon shines and the veil is thinnest~! and remember to be mindful of ice! and unwrapped candy! and bears! and- "

... ( You plot your methods of maximum candy obtainment in a competitive manner as Ralsei continues listing concerns. You do not know how he knows so much. Probably Susie's fault. )

" Huh. I've heard the veil is thin during this time... Maybe it'll make escape a little easier? Who knows. Maybe I'll find myself able to join the festivities, with or without Father's permission. "

" You could add cops to that list. Every fucking year, without stop on my tail... "

" What. "

if you were a deity, what would you be the god of? // weather & calamity

how he appears at first glance; ━ trickery & mischief. twisted and playful, you view humans as nothing more than mere toys or puppets. people provide you with offerings and keep their heads down so as to not upset you. you’re expressive and dramatic, though often lying and quite skilled at manipulation and illusion.

how he thinks he is in the nature of the hero; ━ nightmares & discord. your intensity is fearsome. when you feel hurt you don’t often seek out equal and fair revenge but rather drown them in hysteria and watch them burn. you’re temperamental and your emotions are on display for the world to see. you’re the last one any human would want to upset, because even though death would not directly befall them, doom and chaos would ensue, surrounding their life until their death.

what he truly is; ━ weather & calamity. tempestuous and fearsome, your moods are hard to read and you strike on a whim. not a soul can avoid you as disasters strike across the land. you have your own standards for what makes sense and what you value, and if anyone dares challenge you there will be nowhere for them to run.

tagged by ━ @balladetto thank you sm!!!!!!!!!!!! <3333

tagging ━ @wickedlittlepuppy : @lncanting / @manebloom / @tendercoded : @playedbetter (for harry!) : @theaterrush (for icarus!) : @12pirit : @rathalascendant / @shamisenson : @fantomevoleur : @vitrumbra (for either!) : @gloryseized (for akira!) : @deathwis (for dennis or maybe tyler on your other blog?) : @askganondorftobadragmire and YOU

check readmore for tags bc they're too gd long

Are they skeptical of supernatural phenomena or do they believe in them? (Kim)

HALLOWEEN QUESTIONS // always accepting!

Kim is definitely somebody who I think hasn’t really believed in the supernatural past age 13. 

In the past, when he was much younger, he believed in not the religious kind of supernatural, but the more human. He believed in ghosts. He believed in weird unexplained things that had no logical cause and never would, he believed that things and people lived in the Pale, he believed the pale itself was an almost living non-entity. He believed in the past coming back to play tricks on you or teach you lessons, never werewolves, never vampires, and only ever sometimes did he believe in Gods. 

Her Innocence like a dream on a broken tape reel that he slowly stopped replaying. Her Innocence like a dream on a broken reel that he knows many people can’t stop.

But after 13, after 14, he became an impossible sell. It was in large part because of the bullying he’d endured, and admitting you believed in ghosts was the same ammunition to them as saying you believed in Santa Claus when by that time you were old enough to know what kissing somebody when you were drunk was like and recognize the economic disarray you were all in. He never believed in the supernatural, but he believed in things that didn’t always make sense; because in a world where nonexistence bubbles at the edges of your reality, there’s bound to be things without answers, that didn't line up with how you thought reality worked. There’s bound to be questions left in dead air and never going back.

After the revolution, after so many wars, after so many captains lost in that great fog, how couldn’t there be some ghosts left in Revachol by sheer virtue of their magnitude?

He thinks, these days, that it was how he was coping with death as well as childhood ignorance. He’s still uncomfortable with the idea that when you die, you’re gone, and nothing remains but the body. He knows, in all likelihood of the world they're living in, it’s the truth, but he still tries to untangle the maybe-there maybe-not souls of his fallen brethren when it is they do fall, and fall often. Parts of him still with the fibers of a ghost’s coat under it’s nails, parts of him still believing in something a little more.

But he’s tried to stop entirely. Dedicates himself to the logical, and while never above his own curiosity and the potential of things, Kim is a skeptic. The world kicked the belief out of him, and the disillusionment has been setting in his entire life. He does not believe in ghosts anymore. He does not believe in Gods. He believes in himself, and he believes in the RCM, and he believes in what he can do here and now as he’s alive rather than a thousand years of looking back at what he couldn’t change, because a glance can trap him, just a glance.

Give him fact. Give him something to hold onto with both hands. Give him something, something that makes sense.  He does not believe in the fictions of humanity half out of their minds for the entire rest of time.

But with enough evidence, anything can change. With enough persistence, with enough dedication. When things stop being ghost stories, and start being metrics you can read.

Less supernatural than science, even when science seems supernatural.

☕ (My Harry & your Kim)

Send me “ ☕ “ for my muse to drink tea uniquely flavored after your muse, and I’ll tell you what my muse tastes! // accepting!

When the thermos is passed, Kim is dubiously hesitant to sip its contents. Glances spared into the dark metal container where a thousand tiny lights reflect back up at him off the angles of glitter that seem to consume the liquid, bouncing off the sharp lines of his glasses, highlighting the ridges of his face; cheekbone meeting upper-eye meeting the crease of his nose between. He questions, and the answer he receives is likely as inane but incredulously trustworthy ━ which is to say, only Kim would trust it ━ and he is prodded to drink. A sigh, a murmuring of If you're trying to poison me, at least have an alibi… before it's raised like a chalice to the lips and, tentatively, he drinks.

He swears the glitter clogs his through the moment he does, and he chokes. ( although, the choking may not all be from the glitter. ) Like congealed blood, glitter clinging, he can feel the pieces cut micro-ribbons of flesh down his esophagus as it slides down in a wet mass, leaving behind it a terrible feeling of glitter lining the space between his lungs down, down, down. The taste is indescribable ━ sharp and salty and sweet and bitter and tangy all at once, apricots and rotten fruit and alcohol, the taste of sweat and iron and cinnamon, unpleasantly cold at first which becomes kinder as it soothes the roughness of the throat's wounds before the heat hits the way habanero in coffee does. like dark chocolate, like stale cake frosting, like pleasantly unpleasant soreness, sweet-sour wine, cloying cheap children's medicine, nausea-inducing cigarette smoke.

Indescribable the way cubic measurements of atmosphere containing updraft are indescribable, not indescribable the way metrics too large and too small become nothing. indescribable like space, like music, like sea.

Like God, he thinks, like Innocence. he corrects; Like God. Like Pale. Innocence is a dead language they've been trying to read, and neither of them, neither of them, were born enough to be that again. But maybe they were, once. Like Pale. Like dreaming. Like oblivion. ( Apricots still linger in it like fruit floating on saltwater, fermenting on waves, cracked wide as geodes and spilling guts, spilling light. Beneath it is an oil spill 300 kilometers long from a model of motor carriage that has not been made since the day he was born, mingling, separate, beneath, above. Like tainting it, like swallowing it whole, like becoming more by virtue of what he gives, by no virtue at all. ) Like God, he thinks, like Innocence.

Kitsuragi's composure returns to him, and with the embarrassment of a freshman being handed a drink he couldn't handle, he screws the thermos shut again, and passes it back with the more guttural-than-usual sound of clearing his throat. He pulls off a glove and swipes the flesh of a hand over his mouth, bottom lip coated in the shine of something like lip-gloss beneath the chunky square glitter clinging to it. Stubbornly, pieces remain regardless of how hard he scrubs it away, caught in the cracks between lips, before he sighs, slips a glove back on, and resolves to chew on the skin for the rest of the day, if only to hide it, until he can attempt to better extract it somewhat mournfully with the bristles of a toothbrush. A small part of him asks him to let it stay, and the rest of him refuses. A moments consideration, but little else ━ at least for now, anyway, at least for now.

As the flavor lingers on his tongue like an unwelcome guest, progressively, it shifts. never does it lose the sharpened edges, the quality of chaos, the almost fermented kind of age & simultaneous unblended freshness to it, all mixed together and separate all at once, but over time it mellows, perhaps, or maybe Kim just gets used to it. the acidic highs mesh better with the taste of artificial fruit and the heat lends itself as he considers it to the taste of cheap coffee and dark chocolate. grape sugar with the salt and bitter not better but a different taste than they would be alone, iron manageable with the undertone of something other than the blood ━ maybe it becomes more palatable the longer its in his mouth, accustomed like an acquired taste king of all acquired tastes, or maybe it just burns itself out the longer it's left to mix with something other than itself. Saliva like a neutralizer to however many medications he can feel, chalky, on the underside of his tongue.

The heat subsides and the bitterness erodes, slowly and fast all at once, and a smoother kind of flavor emerges from beneath all of it. soft lime and distant haze of honey and a kind of watered down cocktail, no longer sharp with alcohol, but cold anyway. like something hidden, like something suffocated, like something that couldn't afford to come out unless it knew, really knew, it wasn't going to be rejected. the craze of the rest does not die, but the aftertaste offers a different kind of kindness, like hangover medication after a bad night. charcoal pill, cool water, dimmed lights. ( acts of love, acts of not wanting to see someone dear in pain, acts of staying with them; staying with them; regardless of how wretched they were the night before. people cant get that sad, she said to you once, or you thought she did, but people will love you enough to kneel at your bedside and hold your sweaty hand and close the blinds so the world can't see you for just a little while more. people will love you and be loved and try to save you, and maybe you cannot be saved, no one can, there is no messiah waiting at the foot of your bed to cure you, the world just doesn't work like that, and you can't keep waiting for it, but people will love you enough to wash the stains out from your favorite shirt so you can keep it a little longer.

people who bring cold cloths when you are sick and sweet coffee when you need something to keep you warm, people who can't save you but can in the same strokes; where it's not saving you, it's giving you the means to save yourself. people who work you through it as you lift the stones you're building castles out of, hoping, praying that you don't smash them down again. people who stand proud for you at the checkmarks in the road, and tell you that you're doing good, and wait for you when you can't keep running, or even when you turn back and decide it's easier to give up than to sink in deeper. people you've treated bad before, and cannot stay forever, and cannot save you, but they love you enough to stay a little longer. they love you enough to hold you when you need it, and hold you down when you need that too, and make the hard calls you'll hate them for. they love you hard enough that it turns into hate when it's fed the wrong things, giving dogs chocolate, but they love you, love you, love you. )

it soothes pain of his throat, and Kim does not concede to the fact he finds himself wanting another sip, another shot of chaos and that sweeter smoother aftertaste, knowing what he's putting in his body and deciding to come back anyway, wondering, but he admits; quietly to himself as he holds the pieces of glitter in his hands like the shed skin of a disco ball in his little bathroom in the Whirling that night; that maybe the pain is worth the reward. that maybe he's crazy, but maybe they both need a little sanity, a little less, a little something else.

( kneeling at your bedside when you are too afraid to sleep, he traces the scars nickering your hands, and cleans his glasses, and slowly; slowly; the apricots stop mattering. as you notice a little more how the oil spill gleams on the crest of waves, as the oil spill becomes something different. )

-100 HP. +660 HP.