↪ 【 journal/random writings 】

[✦ nemuri]

to do list once again bc i cant keep my stuff together



- finish 1 sig comm
- sleep
- geeft art ! ! ! sobs
- hw / chores / yknow . the Not Fun Things



- draw shinobu
- draw muichiro
- draw sabito bc someone wants me to suffer
- draw vermi bc it's been months n u made a promise
- work on goretober LMAO IM RLLY BEHIND whts even the point now lmao
- character design comp jan 16 (?)
- art comp dec 26
- yell & sleep





Code: Select all

- favourited !
- new watcher ! your art is so pretty ahh
- new journal here ! [ various raffles ! ! ]
- tagging phantom-cic , Ririarin , @whatasinnamonroll , SkySans , bakukke (if ur interested kjflsklsjgkljh)

[✦ nemuri]

i have zero impulse control

- “have you heard ever heard of the person who resides in big lake at the middle of the forest? they’re as kind as ever, but they seem different at the same time . .”
- used to live in beautiful, fresh water - now copes by absorbing the pollutants and resentful energies of the forest around them
- has normal version and “corrupted” version
- normal version is upset and wants to fix things, corruption version doesn’t notice anything different and is becoming more and more aggressive and lashing out due to the pollution & negative energy
- story begins with how it was polluted - at first, everything was fine, and normal version begins to notice some changes
- 5k words and 3 art
- corrupted version becomes very unstable, and for good reason
- “im dying, don’t you see?! this isn’t just about you anymore!”
- “everyone knows that when blood mixes with water, it leaves a trail of its presence, a lazy stream of crimson coursing through the rivulets. however, with the inky blackness of oil at its wake, all of the blood is obscured. all that remains is the faint, metallic smell that refuses to disperse, along with the stench of oil. it’s the perfect place for someone to die.”
- eventually becomes monster ? ? ? hmmmm
- cannot change forms at will; very sporadic, normal happy and everything is normal, intense hatred/anger/whatever results in corrupted taking over and having delusions
- cyrene makes an appearance ! “i can save you, but at a price.”
- “what is it?! i’ll do anything to leave, anything to live, anything to return to my normal self!”
- “come with me, and assist me in achieving greater heights in the world. become my soldier. sacrifice yourself to me.”
- for the first time in ever, normal form doesn’t think carefully and hastily accepts. cyrene helps out, but at the cost that they completely submit themself to cyrene
- they lose consciousness, and normal form is mostly chained away from the world, while corrupted form takes over body and follow cyrene
- oversized puppy lol
- don’t rlly care abt revenge but wouldn’t mind taking off the perpetrator’s head if they had the opportunity


- normal vers chained away
- sitting on a rock in the middle of the lake; area has been dirtied, middle of transforming into corrupted version?
- normal&corrupted "souls" interacting in their mind



https://www.1001fonts.com/shark-in-the-water-font.html shark in the water
https://www.1001fonts.com/harvest-barn-demo-font.html harvest barn
https://www.1001fonts.com/goldoni-font.html goldoni

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Deepwater_Horizon_Oil_Spill_-_Gulf_of_Mexico.jpg
https://pixabay.com/photos/texture-oil-water-blue-colorful-1686867/
https://www.flickr.com/photos/karen_roe/37413524621
https://www.flickr.com/photos/19779889@N00/6359149403
https://openphoto.net/gallery/image/view/22417
https://www.flickr.com/photos/19779889@N00/352932262
USED https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Diffraction_by_oil_on_water.jpeg

[✦ nemuri]

我恨死你们
可是为什么
你们不走啊？
不要你们管。
不要你们的心。
如果你这样的话，
那我就没有办法了。
只能可以让你们恨回我
只好给你们一把刀，叫你们

来杀我吧。

用自己的手，自己的菜刀
把我的命给打碎。

只要你们做这件事。





（想哭可是没有眼泪了）
（别给我撒谎 - 你们觉得这是爱吗？）

[✦ nemuri]

as the dying sunset rays melted into the everlasting inkiness of night, you could only close your eyes and feel the cool evening breeze wash over you once again. this sort of feeling was bittersweet for you - every day, you've witnessed the death and rebirth of your own mortal body.

there are six words that you have ingrained into your body.

"the sun sets, even in paradise."

your voice, hushed, echoed into emptiness as thin tendrils of your breath rose up and curled around your face like smoke.

this much was normal for you. if you didn't eagerly look forward to this singular moment in all the tens of hundreds of thousands of millions of days you've breathed the familiar air of life, then what would you even live for?




life. at such a thought, you sighed mournfully and opened your eyes to welcome the stars of the black, glittering and shining away without a single care in the world. in truth, you've long since bored yourself of the same, every day repetitiveness that you surrounded yourself with.

many things remained the same.

(too much so.)

your youthful features, doomed to never age a day older; all of the memories made from your past, present and future; your desperate, needy craving for something of substance, something for you to hold tightly onto and sink your dirty, dirty nails into - all of these things made up who you are, and although you had entertained the idea at first, thinking it to be oh so novel, you were sick of it now.

time no longer passed in a linear fashion for you. with each death, each rebirth, you'd breathe life into a version of you that would've never existed otherwise without this curse of yours. the faces changed with time - they'd grow old, replaced by younger yet different versions of them, until you've had enough and forcefully move yourself to a different location.

you've never forgotten anything important, though.




you stretched out the word "important", taking care in every syllable pronounced as though the word was a delicate painting. in retrospect, it couldn't have been farther from the truth.

important? what was important to you? it couldn't be your name, could it? you've lost it to the sands of time, and you have no real name to your person. a hundred years ago, you went by corbin - a thousand years into the future, you'd go by dante - at present, you're just zero. no, you valued the flow of life running through the veins in your body far more, even if you were in limbo, alive yet dead, moving to the future yet taking steps back into the past.

everything confused you, and when you tried to share this little secret of yours to other people, they too have been unable to comprehend the workings of your existence.

thus, you didn't share anymore, and instead held this pathetic secret close to you as though it was actually worth something.

( 496 )

[✦ nemuri]

you stood amongst the stalks of wheat, feeling the last of the sun's rays as it gave way the bleakness of night. the light was as vibrant and yellow as the wheat, you realized belatedly, watching with a heavy heart as the last of the rays were drowned out by the darkness. in time, a moon and millions of stars will shine, almost as though the sun had never even existed.

however, you understood that even if it seemed like the sun died everyday, it would always return with the rising dawn.

in some ways, it reminded you of your own situation - dying yet undying, longing to let go but holding on far too lightly to actually let go.

whenever you "died", it was never truly "dying"; you'd just stop existing for a moment. you'd always come back, although not necessarily always back to the time you left. time was no longer linear - it usually fell down the hourglass, but sometimes, it'd reverse. through the complexities of the "life" you've long since stopped understanding, you remembered your "lives".

the faces around you always changed, and every single day, you had to live. you've been doing it for hundreds of thousands of millions of years already. the cycle was tiring, sickening almost, but the rush of life you felt every day was what kept you going. it fueled the fire in the veins of your body, made you breathless. it allowed you remember, if only for a mere moment, of how much you loved living.

it was a craving, an addiction, and as day gave way to night, the only thing you could do is beg (plead, implore, prostrate yourself) to the gods who made you this way.

wasn't that a fitting "gift"?

because you loved life so much, you were destined to live until the end of time, until the trickles of sand finally stopped moving in your hourglass. you loved and hated this arrangement - you were sure that you'd enjoy life more if you never retained the memories of old. you remember so much (too much), from faces of old friends to shared conversations to sweet, small moments between you and loved ones.

it drove you mad, and ultimately, it shaped who you were today. you were afraid of commitment (how do you cope with loss when you've lost so much already?), yet you still stuck close to life, desperately searching for a meaning in something that never, ever lasted.

(but only for you, it did, and oh how you hated the world for everything it stood for — !)

today, you were zero. yesterday, you were corbin (or maybe it was elias). tomorrow, you will be dante (or perhaps you'll choose xavier instead). regardless of the choices you made in life, you couldn't die, and ironically enough, that would be the secret you'd take to the grave. if you didn't keep this to yourself, then who could you possibly tell? everyone else in the world was painfully mortal, and nothing would matter once you "died", assuming that they'd believe you at all. besides, if they did believe you, who's to say that they wouldn't just take advantage of you and become the chains to shackle your feet to the ground?

that thought filled your mouth with a bitter feeling. it refused to go away, no matter how hard you willed it to. your vision swam, and as you brought your hands to your face, you felt like crying.

nothing made sense, but it was all okay in the end. you closed your eyes as the wheat swayed around you, singing praises of life, of fertility, of meaning, of resurrection. the day would restart, and you'd indulge on the drug you called "life" again. it would be a beautiful high, and you'd delude yourself into thinking that you were fine once more.

sighing, you raised the knife to your chest.

you plunged it in, and you died.

(except you didn't — you never did, after all.)

("but what if this was all a hallucination?" your bitter heart sang, and when you opened your eyes a moment later, you were greeted with the morning, with life.)

("what if you sought death instead of life?")

( 700 )

[✦ nemuri]

with every soft exhale, they sit back and think, surrounded by the molten gold of the sun.

how many times have they done so, in a mere attempt to escape those who wish to know them more? they resist and flee because they are afraid, and when the night is nigh, they are alone again.

images of faces flash by their visage: friends, lovers, enemies, acquaintances. they remember each and every face, and although they long to see them all again, they do not desire it from the bottom of their heart because they are afraid.

afraid of what?

afraid of attachment, afraid of commitment, afraid of loss... the list goes on and on, and their head swam every time they tried to think.

after all, what's the use of being attached when they're going to leave in the end? what's the point of commitment when they're just going to die, each and every day, until the end of time? even if they were brought back to life every time they died, they still retained their memories, and there was no way for them to begin explaining their plight to others. in a world where people fear death and those who defy death, how do they begin to explain their existence? in truth, they were just as lost as anyone else would be.

this secret is theirs to keep, and they fall back onto the stalks of wheat, feeling the last warmth of day as the darkness begins to overshadow everything.

they loved life; it was just a shame that it never truly lasted for them.

life, death, the cycle keeps running. resurrection after resurrection, they've now become numb to what the world has to offer for them.

what they wouldn't give to re-experience that thrilling, breathtaking high of living.

( 300 )

[✦ nemuri]

"it's about time that i should rlly come to terms with how much i actually hate myself," she said
"will i have the willpower to drive everyone off if it really comes to that? they say that it's a permanent solution to something temporary, but just as the bad is temporary, so is the good, right? then, what's even the point?"

to live is to struggle, to push on, to persevere, but what if she doesn't want that anymore?

[✦ nemuri]

“... tien? tien, are you listening?”

slap.

the sudden action had sent the man sprawling out towards the ground, yelping out in surprise and wincing at the ache that followed his tumble. the noblewoman - aethelind, the doctor reminded himself - only blushed prettily in embarrassment and clapped her hands on her cheeks.

“oh no, i’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, rushing to drop to the ground as well to offer sebastien a hand. he gave her a smile that was one-fourth helpless three-fourths wry and got to his feet without her help, instead deigning to pull the woman up as well. “are you okay? i noticed that you weren’t quite paying attention to our conversation, and i just wanted to get your attention! i must’ve used too much force again, as usual...”

“it’s quite alright,” he responded professionally, biting back a wince as his cheek throbbed. he never would’ve pegged aethelind (of all women, too!) to have such a strong slap, but here he was, trying to keep himself from letting out a few tears. “in fact, it’s my bad for not paying attention to begin with. is there anything else you’d like to discuss, then?”

the noblewoman shook her head, and sebastien got to his feet, sighing slightly as he reached for his briefcase. “in that case, i think i’ll be taking my leave now. i believe i’ve overstayed my welcome. please do call again if the symptoms persist and worsen.”

“of course.”

their exchange ended at that, and the woman remained in bed in favour of recuperating a little more from her illness. a maid sent sebastien to the door, all the while rambling about how she so desired to see her mistress lively and active again.

aethelind might’ve not been bedbound if she had never called sebastien to begin with, but that was something that no one else needed to know. medicine and food had many properties, and while some can nourish the body and enhance health, there are those that decay the body instead.

it won’t be long before cyrene releases the first sin she contracted, anyways, and what better target was there to practice on than the last surviving member of the renwick family? aethelind, for all the good and kindness in her heart, was an eyesore to cyrene. sebastien acted on orders only, and although he lamented the loss of such a beautiful girl, his hands were tied.

in that moment, his phone rang. the corners of sebastien’s lips curled up helplessly again as he picked up, already knowing who the caller was without even sparing a glance at the id. “cyrene?”

there was a crackling noise, and the voice he both loved and hated echoed in his ears. “come back to headquarters at once. your presence is required.”

short, curt, and to the point as always. she hung up without even waiting for sebastien’s response, and instead of throwing a fit like he might’ve done some years ago, he merely shrugged. as always, orders were orders, and cyrene controlled him. it wasn’t necessary for sebastien to think on his own. all he had to do was put his brilliant (but flawed, imperfect, inhumane) brain to work.

“how dry!” he murmured to himself, picking up his pace a little as he made a beeline to the inconspicuous, black car that was parked on the sides of the nearby street. a window was rolled down, revealing the visage of a bored, young man. “excuse me! are you my chauffeur for today?”

“i wouldn't know. lady alice only told me to take you wherever you needed to be,” the man answered honestly, and sebastien stiffened. his heart started to race, and he could only stare at the man in the car, eyes blown wide in thinly-veiled surprise.

“subject xxviii?” the doctor hissed, and the other man's eyes grew dark.

“don't you dare call me that.”

sebastien barked out a laugh once, twice, thrice, until he was losing it in his mind. “i'll call you whatever i want, subject xxviii. so, you've forced your way out of the institution only to find yourself back in alice's dirty hands, huh? i can't imagine just how much fun you're having right now.”

slap.

the second slap sebastien received in the span of less than half an hour almost all but sent him reeling, but the grim satisfaction of seeing the ever-so-composed mugen lose his temper was so satisfyingly worth it. the shorter man had clambered out of the car just to slap him, and the attention was thrilling. “am i wrong, though, subject xxviii? oh, sorry, i forgot you hate that title so much. i'll call you mugen instead, just like how subject lvii used to refer to you as.”

“don't you dare mention his name!” mugen yelled out, and although he tried to lash out again, sebastien dodged with little effort. besides, he knew that mugen couldn't hurt him. even during their days as human experiments, the other man had always been a step weaker, and especially now that he was contracted to alice, he had even less right to act on his own.

sebastien honestly couldn't tell what alice was up to, but he couldn't say that he hated the arrangements. any day was a good day if he got to antagonize mugen just a little more.

in fact, he'd love to sit around more and catch up more with mugen, but duty calls. cyrene can't be left waiting, and sebastien knew only too well of the fates that dared to leave her hanging.

“whatever you say, mugen!” sebastien responded in a sing-songy voice, before letting himself into the car. mugen wore a disgruntled expression as he took his place in the car as well. “let's go, then! we can't keep the queen waiting, can we?”

“we technically can, but i'm not in the mood to deal with both alice and cyrene today.”

“such a spoilsport! oh well, all you need to do is to get this doctor where he needs to be.”

( 1006 / 1000 words )

[✦ nemuri]

3 + 1 memories 4 seasons vers
spring: new beginnings, new friendships, fascination with the world
summer: warming hearts, maturation, contentedness with life
autumn: death, coldness, longingness, desire to change/move away
+ winter: remembrance, visits to grave, "in the next life, let's be [ redacted ] again..."

++ the truth about grief, fortesa latifi
all my grief says the same thing -
this isn't how it's supposed to be.
this isn't how it's supposed to be.
and the world laughs,
holds my hope by the throat,
says:
but this is how it is.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g1hEszuZ4lo
https://www.pexels.com/photo/nature-photography-of-river-near-trees-1559117/
https://pixabay.com/photos/nature-tree-dawn-landscape-3125912/
https://pixabay.com/photos/fall-autumn-red-season-woods-1072821/

[✦ nemuri]

there lived a doctor heralded as godly, divine. they had hands that could heal just about anything under the sun, and among the common people, they were known as the hands of miracle. they traveled 'round the world, spreading good health to whomever their hands touched.

legend said that the doctor enjoyed sightseeing and thus traveled often. others said that the doctor just has a kind heart and wanted to make the world a better place.

however, the divine doctor's motives were simple. they just wanted a challenge, a disease so difficult to cure that they would be stumped at first. that, they believed, was the finest opportunity for learning, and they knew that once they found that incurable disease, they'd work day in and day out until they could eradicate that disease.

to their very excitement, they soon came across a young florist with hair as smooth as spun silk and eyes as sorrowful as pools of moonlit lakes. she carried herself with a gentle strength, but the doctor knew better. eyes were the gateway to one's heart, and harnessing this information, the doctor dove deep into the woman.

the florist was lovesick, and gravely so.

the divine doctor offered his services to the woman. "if you'd allow me your time, i can find a cure to your illness. a beautiful, blooming flower of love has taken root deep inside of you, has it not? i'm sure you know that you'll die otherwise."

the florist nodded. she had seen countless doctors, but none of them offered her any hope or solace. when the hands of miracle appeared before her, she almost couldn't believe her eyes. to her, the doctor seemed almost like an angel. as such, she agreed to allow the doctor to help her.

with her permission, the divine doctor quickly immersed themselves into deep research of both patient and sickness. the florist carried a chronic cough, ones that sometimes brought up bloodied but dainty forget-me-nots. from the information they learned from scouring textbooks, they discovered that the surgery for removing the blooming flowers have been attempted, but none of the the patients survived.

they brought it up to the florist. "do you want to attempt this surgery? if it offers you any comfort, i've never failed a surgery."

she refused. "i'd rather not. removing the flowers will remove my feelings, right? if that's the case, i'd rather die while loving."

the florist gave the doctor an answer they weren't expecting. stumped, they asked her what they could do.

the florist pondered. "i'm not sure. do you want to hang out for a little bit, though? i'm very grateful that the hands of miracle is even taking time to look after someone like me. it's my treat."

with no other plans in mind, the divine doctor could only accept and spend the day with the florist. they feared that her condition would worsen, but to their surprise, the woman seemed healthier and more radiant than ever. they asked her about her love, and with a sheepish smile, she said, "it's just sentimental memories. i'm sure that if i can move on, this disease will pass on its own."

the doctor wasn't so easily convinced. "but if it doesn't?"

she laughed in turn. "then you'll be here for me, won't you?"

the doctor laughed in agreement. after the day ended, they retreated back to their mountain of books, thinking. they had to come up with more ideas. they continued to think day after day, with the florist disagreeing sadly each time, saying that she'd lose too much.

finally, the doctor made her a proposal. "if i gave you half my heart, would you let me have half of yours to kill that flower?"

the florist smiled pensively. "is this a confession?"

the divine doctor paused and thought for a long time, before smiling back at her. "perhaps, yes."

"... then in that case, i'd love to have your help."

with her permission, the doctor immediately set to work. with their nimble hands, they quickly removed the flower from the florist's body and swapped half their heart for half of theirs.