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thepensword

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Everything posted by thepensword

  1. Here's your chance to become a non player character

    @Fullmetal Sorcereroh my god yes of course that's perfect
  2. giving myself up

    a reply because i am legitimately choked up right now: you have always sounded like you even when i did not know your voice. if you had asked me then what i thought you sounded like, i would have said i did not know, and that would be the truth. i didn't then, and i'm not sure i remember now, but the voice that is queenie is queenie's voice even when voiceless. i don't remember gasping. i'm sure that i did. not from shock but from excitement. my heart was pounding then, too. i am terrified of phone calls, especially with all of you who i have never met. but i do not remember gasping because queenie's voice is so present that even voiceless i know less what it sounds like and more what it feels like, because queenie is queenie who is kind and sarcastic and casually calls me "sweetie" or "babe". i used to be afraid to share my face, to share my name. trust is a gift that cannot be rescinded. but i gave you my trust and you gave me yours back with face and voice and name and that is precious, queenie, as you are precious, as the others precious, as this will always be precious to me. and even if i do not know you and perhaps never will, i feel that i do. none of you will know the red of my cheeks when it's hot out or my expression when concentrating, teeth biting lips or tongue sticking out. none of you will know the pictures on my bedroom walls and the silent sound of my laughter when i am laughing at my hardest. you will not know these things about me, and i will not know these things about you, but you know already the inner monologue that becomes text on the off-black discord wall and i know your monologues. i know your voices. i know you and i love you.
  3. giving myself up

    queenie oh my god this is so sweet i'm crying i love you so much
  4. the one who tamed the wolf

    There was a beast in the woods. Every night, its chilling cries soared above the trees to claw at the moon, and every night the townspeople shuddered with fear. “Stay inside,” said the mother to her child, or the young man to his lover. “Stay inside when the sun dips below the horizon. Stay inside and be wary of that which lies in the darkness.” The people heeded this, for the most part. But sometimes, sometimes, someone would grow careless, or reckless, or simply forget. ~~~ “I will slay the wolf,” said the young woodcutter to his master. “I have grown strong and my axe is sharp. I will release us from the clutches of fear.” And his master shook his head and begged him to stay, but his apprentice would not be swayed. He entered the woods as the sun dipped low, the world cast into shades of purple and gold, and that is the last he was ever seen. His mother wept at his loss and the townspeople held their children close. ~~~ “Do not go into the woods,” warned the baker of the young woman who planned to go searching for berries that day. “Stay in the meadows, and be home before dark.” “I know,” said the young woman, and did as she was bade, but as the day lengthened and her basket filled with the bright red of berries, she lost track of time and found herself alone at the edge of the wood as the sun began to set. The next morning, her lover found her basket lying solitary at the edge of the meadow, stained with a red that was not just berry juice. ~~~ “Do not go into the woods,” said the townspeople. “Beware the wolf.” ~~~ She came at the end of summer. She was old and wizened, her face lined like a canyon and her hair like woven silver, but she carried herself with a dignity that belied her wisdom and experience. The townspeople welcomed her honorably and offered her a place to spend the night, but she merely smiled at them and told them she had business to attend to. “Surely not at night,” said the townspeople, and when her smile did not falter, they hastened to warn her. Stay inside. Do not go into the forest. There’s a monster in that forest. “I have business to attend to,” repeated the woman, and she would not be stopped. The people watched her go with sadness, for they knew they would never see her again. But the woods did not ring with wolf-song that night, and the moon was pale instead of yellow. ~~~ “Come home,” whispered the woman, unafraid of the snarling beast that poised to strike before her. “It’s been too long already. Please, it’s time to go home.” The shadows lengthened and an owl called in the distance, and as the night filled with magic the beast faded away. The woman held out her hand and the fingers that met it were human. She looked into the deep eyes of man she had once called her son and smiled a small, sad smile. ~~~ When morning came, the townspeople opened their doors with heavy hearts, but the sight they were met with was a remarkable one. The woman was alive, untouched and smiling, and she was hand in hand with a tired man whose eyes were ringed with purple shadow. “What did you do?” asked the townspeople. “What about the wolf?” The woman bowed her head and squeezed her son’s hand tightly. “Oh,” she said. “You will no longer need to worry about the wolf.” And her words rang with truth, because the wolf’s cry was never heard again.
  5. the one who tamed the wolf

    @queenie_flower ok fine i'll accept that but you're on thin fucking ice (i'm kidding of course i love you queenie)
  6. the one who tamed the wolf

    @queenie_flower ok so first i'm not whether i should be offended or flattered but probably both and more importantly, second, since when do you have tumblr????
  7. Overheard Quotes

    "God I gotta do something about all these ones in my wallet" "Go to a strip club"
  8. Here's your chance to become a non player character

    Angler. Real-life Pinterest Shopkeep. Human. Ambiguous age. A very eclectic sort of person, Angler has been in the town for longer than most can remember. In fact, they have only been here for a little over 20 years, but they have become such a feature in the town that everyone's memory has grown selective and people are always doubtful when thinking of a time in which Angler was not a resident. Their shop is an interesting place full of anything and everything, but mostly they deal in ideas. Their shelves are lined with bottles and parchments and also some very nice bargain craft supplies, and they will welcome you in with a smile and a cup of tea. Be wary, however; do not wake their cat, for it is older even then they and are the cruelty and scorn to their hospitable welcomes.
  9. Here's your chance to become a non player character

    Brandy. 73. Human. Wizard. Once upon a time he was powerful. Now he runs a clothing shop. Well, "runs" is a loose term. Mostly he sleeps in his chair and trusts his well-cast spells to keep people from taking things without depositing the proper payment in the money jar. He wears nothing but his robes (which are nearly as old as he is and are beginning to show it) and various pairs of brightly colored socks. The socks are the pride of his collection and are horrendously overpriced, so no one ever buys them. This is a clever but transparent ploy to hoard them all for himself.
  10. Here's your chance to become a non player character

    Dragonfly. Tiefling. 25. Technically a bard but she's tone-deaf so she's not a very good bard. Currently works at a tavern as a waiter. Occasionally pulls out her lute, stands on a table, sings as loudly as she can, and then gets put on cleaning duty for the night and told in no uncertain terms not to do it again. Has been fired and re-hired like a bajillion times.
  11. continental drift

    there is an entire science to the tectonic plates. but we are not continents, so why are you so far away?
  12. there's something about brand new bright red converse that just instills confidence in a person

    1. queenie_flower

      queenie_flower

      Yes that’s my girl go take over the fucking world.

  13. Some Angsty Shit

    *hugs you*
  14. Week of 5/7: CICADA-scope

    the time for WHAT
  15. thoughts on a history

    when do prayers become bedtime stories, when do holidays become histories? when is candlelight a memory? why must star necklace become a weapon? why do i nail blue glass to wood frame, and do it because i feel i have something to prove? (why do open doors become silent thieves, why must i resent what i should welcome? when does adopted bird become unwelcome cuckoo, resting in my nest of sparrows?) that song is a call above— rather, it is a history. i open my arms and welcome you, but inside i ask myself cruel, unfair questions. there are my ancestors, heads bowed in forbidden temples. where are your ancestors? where is your history? i clutch my necklace and my histories and i cannot stop the beat of my heart that turns your words into lies. why must your presence turn me into the liar? (this is not a torah but a history book. this is not a religion but an identity. i am defensive of that which i should not be, there is bitterness in my welcomes.) i wish i could greet you warmly. (i am sorry that i cannot.)
  16. Overheard Quotes

    "don't CORRECT ME, CHICKEN"
  17. haha i won star wars day :P

     

    Screen Shot 2018-05-05 at 10.03.09 PM.png

  18. i. find a subject. perhaps life? (gold-red ichor in veins and laughter on rushing wind) or, perhaps, death; (bones in dirt, in earth fed to plant roots and worms, dark crypt-shadows, ashes on wind that is dry and tastes of smoke) or nature, emotion, love, pain— pick something. (find those worms in your bone-dirt and find the life and death tied together with handwoven red yarn, red like blood in veins and lips for kissing) ii. get out your paints. your alizarin red your yellow ochre your ultramarine blue iii. paint me a sunset (bird calls in the night, cricket song; paint me i love you's in the violet evening) paint me your pain, your love— paint me a sensation. iv. realize your subject changed. it's fine. (love turns to anger or vice versa; grief becomes tranquility with the cyclical patterns, the geometric consistencies.) perhaps this was intended. v. write on parchment with old black quill. scritch-scratch of metal end on paper, words forming in loops and lines— condense your canvas onto the end of a pencil and place your sunset in the alphabet. twenty-six letters to paint a universe. (twenty-six letters for the birth of a star, the spinning of a galaxy, the first cry of an infant as she opens eyes into a ever-moving world— twenty-six letters for eternity.) vi. name it. name it 'my heart is here' or 'the sun is bright' or 'the world is burning'. or, perhaps— do not name it at all. (names hold power, after all, and your poem already holds your heart; take care not to trade away your soul as well) leave the outside of the envelope blank. let it be a surprise. (here is a secret that is not a secret but a gift) vii. press your lips to the seal. this will mark it yours for eternity. even without your name, it will hold your essence— and your essence goes beyond your dna. (it is beyond your blood, your name—your essence, perhaps, is closest to your heart.) viii. nail it to a tree. tie it to the leg of a bird. trade it to the fairy queen for something precious. (leave it untitled for the latter. to fae, your words are weapons when named, and perhaps they are right: the pen, after all, is stronger than the sword.) 'this is my heart,' you will cry from the hilltops, or from the barstool, or from the lonely tree trunk. and though you may think you are alone— someone is listening. ix. 'i don't think it's very good,' you will say. 'perhaps i should not be a bard.' 'ah,' the old beggar will respond, for all old beggars carry wisdom immeasurable: 'but it is yours. of course it is good.' x. breathe out your essence from the tree stump, the hilltop, the corner of the inn— (the crackling fire, the people laughing, the mead sitting warm in your stomach.) bid the old beggar goodbye. (his songs will follow you on your journey, humming in the back of your thoughts.) your mark is made— immortality is at your fingertips.
  19. how to write a poem in ten easy steps

    i. find a subject. it can be life or death or nature, emotion, love, pain— pick something. ii. get out your paints. your alizarin red your yellow ochre your ultramarine blue iii. paint me a sunset. paint me your pain, your love— paint me a sensation. iv. realize your subject changed. it's fine. perhaps this was intended. v. write on parchment with old black quill. scritch-scratch of metal end of paper, words forming in loops and lines— condense your canvas onto the end of a pencil and place your sunset in the alphabet. twenty-six letters to paint a universe. vi. name it. name it 'my heart is here' or 'the sun is bright' or 'the world is burning'. or, perhaps— do not name it at all. leave the outside of the envelope blank. let it be a surprise. vii. press your lips to the seal. this will mark it yours for eternity. even without your name, it will hold your essence— and your essence goes beyond your dna. viii. nail it to a tree. tie it to the leg of a bird. make a deal with the fairy queen. 'this is my heart,' you will cry from the hilltops, or from the barstool, or from the lonely tree trunk. and though you may think you are alone— someone is listening. ix. 'i don't think it's very good,' you will say. 'perhaps i should not be a bard.' 'ah,' the old beggar will respond, for all old beggars carry wisdom immeasurable: 'but it is yours. of course it is good.' x. breathe out your essence from the tree stump, the hilltop, the corner of the inn— bid the old beggar goodbye. your mark is made— immortality is at your fingertips.
  20. oh lore?

    "Hm," said Mop, watching the demon struggle with the unwieldy size of their focus—a large staff that was, in Mop's opinion, entirely over-the-top. Well, they could probably manage it on their own if they were as powerful as they seemed to want Mop to think, so her help may not be entirely necessary or entirely wanted, but she figured a little bit of showing off never hurt anyone. Just a small display to show that there was some substance behind her....not-quite-threats. "You seem to be having some difficulties. Here, I'll fix it for you." Mop lifted her hand into the air and snapped delicately, and the staff shrunk down to the size of a pencil. "Travel size. Far more convenient. If I were you, I'd keep it that way, instead of trying to lug it around all over the place like some sort of ridiculously unwieldy backpack. It seems quite heavy, and entirely unsubtle." @queenie_flower @drowntown @conradbirdie
  21. butterfly identification

    how does one tell one butterfly from another? when they both reside inside your chest, who can know the color of their wings?
  22. butterfly identification

    @queenie_flower in a sense @drowntown die @Connor not exactly so basically the answer is jess is incapable of telling the difference between liking someone as a potential friend or as a potential romantic interest and it's frustrating
  23. thoughts on a cold

    there's a fog in my mind and bees in my throat there is a deafening silent pain to being sick and things to be done are sailboats caught on a tide i am reaching, grasping— wading through molasses my voice is locked inside my chest and my thoughts alongside it drop it to the bottom of the ocean may the mermaids guard it i'll see you when i relearn to swim
  24. butterfly identification

    @Apollo's LoverASLDJFHFGJSKHJFBSKJHBHB NO
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