tristayranambrosio

[tristayranambrosio]

Vanity/Feelings Day 6 - February 23 DWC

(So! Little break from the back-ground story because I just have a better story for these words that is more current for Trist. Little Bard is ADJUSTING and depending on her husband alot more until she can build back her confidence. @daily-writing-challenge  )

The woman in the mirror stares back at me with my eyes and yet she’s a stranger… I hate the feeling it gives me, the face is mine only it isn’t… ”You’re so beautiful like this baby” She grimaces, repulsed and I revisit that same small shameful place where -he- only looked at me like this… when I wasn’t in the body that felt like mine. I feel like some unwanted reminder, the thing that holds me back from actually being perfect… The woman looking at me is after all engineered, made to be a version of me that’s better… So I’m a better toy. Then I hear my Husband stir beside me and he touches my back, eyes still closed. He tugs at the robe I insist on wearing to bed when normally I’d lay bare beside his own magnificent form. My Mate is no stranger to Vanity, if anything his is what makes me crave my own from wherever it seems to be hiding. I want to fit beside him… to match him the way I never feel I do. Groggily not even awake he moans, “Come back to bed…” I want to listen, but my vanity (or self loathing) dictates I stare at the woman in the mirror for a few moments more, risk making him more insistent, or worse waking entirely… but I have to remind myself… The Mate in my bed doesn’t see this as better… he just sees me… Being This woman means I can give him what I desperately have wanted to give him for years. I begrudgingly try to sort the conflicting feelings in me that this body gives me that ability but makes me feel… even less desirable than my given one… and I realize again how I’d been hiding behind Leo for weeks now, as if that could somehow make people not see me. In my defense it seemed to work better than it should. So why do I want to be wanted? Looked at… desired? Am I truly so self interested? Narcissistic… that I crave the validation that comes when I see someone looking me up and down and imagining all the ways I’d look with them… And I’m ashamed of myself for missing it… “Sunlight…” He groans and tugs more insistently, “Please… I need you back.” And like that it all melts away… He needs me and nothing else matters. It's the same groan that has dragged me back into his arms for years, and it always will. It makes me swell with this sense of belonging. When I climb back into the sheets, I feel beautiful, wanted… even when it's just to sleep a few more moments. He makes me feel at home in my body whatever it looks like from day to day. He is my everything… the font of my confidence and the reminder that I am not more or less, I’m just his. That simple truth is enough to make what was uncertain fall away, there’s simply not enough room when his plea for me rings within my mind, heart, soul. I only have the space for him.

#roleplay #moon guard #bard #world of warcraft #wow oc #warcraft rp #short story #trist'ayran

[tristayranambrosio]

Notorious/Altruistic Day 5 - February 22 DWC

(Keeping it going as I desperately try to keep up with @daily writing challenge seems I'm gonna be a day behind though) “You’re scowling again.” Nestor sings at me playfully. I growl at the middle aged Elf dressed in the finery of a noble with an affinity for hues bright enough to make one’s eyes hurt. He was a riot of violet and sunset with waist long hair that was cuffed and beaded in artful chaos with a whole ear cuff and what he thought was a -scandalous- eyebrow hoop that he had clearly gotten when rebelling against his ‘upper city’ parents in his long ago youth. The Director of the Crimson Curtain Nestor, having forsaken a surname but kept the fortune to ‘slum’ with the true life blood of the city. He was graying at the temples and I think after too many years being someone he wasn’t Nestor the Notorious Cabaret Lord of The Crimson was now unabashedly who he was. I almost hate him for that freedom, the way he could be himself without a care for what the world saw, love as he loved… His Partner the Tauren Florist cast the Aging elf a warning glance for tripping my fuse while I was behind the bar given my tendency to break bottles when I gripped them too hard. I had taken a part time gig that I didn’t need to stop my clan from asking inconvenient questions, they wouldn’t accept that I just wanted to play in our band, that I felt at home somewhere at last… With Estibahn the cockiest Goblin bastard bassist… And my beautiful Rose.  I grunt and turn my back because I am scowling… because my Rose… who I remind myself is -not- mine is crooning a love song to one of the women in the crowd. Nestor turns to what I’m -decidedly- not looking at as I wipe down the bar, “Our little star, It’s beautiful don’t you think Jezz? How the boy is so altruistic with his romance… his affections. That he still makes them all feel so desired, wanted but never crosses lines. Its a delicate little dance.” “Isn’t that his -job-” I toss over my shoulder and I hate myself for it, my jealous stupid self pretending that I’m not wishing I was that bitch in the audience, with his hand cupping my chin singing into my lips while dressed in glittering costumes and jewels of teal, contrasting his perfect form against the overwhelming hues of sunset. “Oh come on now Jezzy!” Nestor swats my arm and I whirl to look at where this elf had the nerve to -touch- me like it’s some sour fruit stuck to me even long after the playful swat had gone, “He’s not employed as a Gigolo though gods above I’m certain we’d make a fortune if he was. No this is charity. And it almost brings a tear to the eye.” “Charity?” I scoff gripping tight to my bitterness as my turn forced me to see Trist lean to slip from the stage to straddle that woman’s chair with her in it, still singing like a siren as she gazes up at him with naked desire. Ancestors help me… He’s so different when they look at him like that… unashamed of their appreciation. I make myself finish hating myself… hating that I lash out and say the words I want to turn inward about the person who makes me feel alive, “You mean telling them pretty lies, being some fantasy for tips… its all a smoke show like everything here.”

Then Nestor’s words turned dark, hard, and cold, “But if you hurt him, Jezza. If you break my boy, You will always regret it. So stop -growling- and tell him how you feel before you let him slip away. Especially with Archstone -skulking- around again.” The horror in my face and form has me locked in place, did this- did he know what that would mean!? He knows?! How!? Nestor hopped off his stool and reopened his fan with a thwap and purred to his mate, “Now lets go get a closer look, shall me my beautiful bull?” I watch them in abject awe and Palehoof dips an understanding nod my way, hand always lightly brushing Nestor’s lower back with the gentlest hands I’d ever seen. I’m too stunned to rage… how did they know?! I- Have fallen in way too deep.

#roleplay #moon guard #world of warcraft #wow oc #bard #warcraft rp #short story #trist'ayran #daily writing challenge #@daily writing challenge

[tristayranambrosio]

Vengeance/Satisfaction Day 4 - February 21 DWC

(Content Warning!!!: This particular story has very sensitive content and I urge any readers to understand the severity of that. The story contains Drug Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Prostitution and addiction, Power imbalance, Closeted Queer Identity and related pressures of society, and just all around awful. This is from Trist’s perspective as we’re flipping from him to Jezza for these writing challenges but you all NEED to know what you’re getting into Jericho is a -villain- he is supposed to be horrible, please feel free to hate him I know I do.) @daily-writing-challenge )

Jericho Archstone was a known peddler of vice in Silvermoon since far before I was born. His empire had been built on the backs of addicts, and what was worse he knew full well the horrors of what he did to those who were desperate. When they could no longer pay, he came up with increasingly creative ways to exploit his clientele, my mother was among them. He filled her veins with poison with the constant reminder that she had the choice… but she’d always make the one that got her more of the very substance that destroyed her. But my mother is dead now… I’m all that’s left, And after the thousandth time I destroyed his supply of illicit substances with their hateful effects that he expected me to use or sell, he had to resort to another way to gouge her debts from my flesh. By putting it on the market to anyone with as twisted an appetite as his. I tried to run… but unlike the guards of this wretched city his drug addled goons had more motivation than gold or the satisfaction of roughing up a bard that was better at seducing their lovers than they’d ever be… if these jerks caught me they’d get their fixes free of charge. It wasn’t as if I never tried to escape him… eventually I accepted I would simply pay my mother’s debts and give in to the monster’s satisfaction.

“Who’s the Brute then.” Jericho sneered at me fiddling with his rings counting them like he always did, “You holding out on me? I haven’t seen a cut from his visits.” “He’s not paying.” I say flatly, I’m bored, tired, long past thoughts of Vengeance for what he did to my mother, and so disassociated I don’t even register it’s for me I should be vengeful. “You’re giving it away for -free- now?!” He booms furious. “You don’t -own- me anymore Jericho. You had your money a year ago. Leave me alone.” I say and never before had I let my voice sound so dead. “That’s fucking bull shit, slut. You still sell yourself, and I want the cut I deserve for -raising- you. Out of the goodness of my HEART!” I want to scream, roar… but I don’t, I simply reply the way I’ve trained myself to, the way I learned to meet even monsters with. A soft pity in my tone, “You need to have a heart first… all that’s left in you is a cruel organ that only draws satisfaction from your golden idol and your ring of loyal addicted followers.”

“You know every once and a while I think you might be my hellspawn and then you spout some shit like that. What’s he PAYING to leave those bruises on you? It’ll spook other buyers.” He scoffs at me, giving my whole body a disgusted once over, unimpressed as always despite the small fortune he got off selling me to lonely people who just needed to hear they were wanted. That was part of why I didn’t hate what I had been for him… the junkies couldn’t afford me, so I was often thrown to people who thought the only way they could have someone like me would be to pay. A fantasy that could convince them I loved them at least as long as the gold made it into Jericho’s pockets. So many of them were just lonely, some of them I helped assure, gave them the confidence to pursue those they longed for or just… forgive themselves for the mistakes they made in their lives. Convincing them they were better than paying for me generally pissed Jericho off but the gold he made shut that up. “I told you. He’s not paying.” I remind him. Bored. “You’re fucking a Orc-Chiefling brute that would be disowned for consorting with a whore like you? If he was paying he might actually retain some dignity in their eyes, but no you’re just giving it away when you should be threatening to expose his deviance, Is that the plan? Get him in good then get the hush money out of him when he’s good and hooked? Maybe you are Daddy’s little leech, the fruit of my very loins.” He smiles at me with all teeth as he stalks after me, long strides keeping pace as I try to just get back to the Curtain. The reminder of what he took from my Mother for years and the implication that he might be my sire sticks like tar in my insides and I want to be sick.

“There’s no -plan- Jericho. I’m not exposing anyone. Leave. Me. Alone.” “No just fuckin him and risking his discovery. You know -I- don’t give a rats ass but I know that clan of uptight jackasses. They won’t like that their Chief’s son is dallying with a washed up elf Whore, no matter how pretty.” “It's none of your business or concern.” I make to storm off but he grabs my arm and sinks his nails into my skin painfully, and for a moment I’m the scared boy I was when he came for me the first time, when he demanded the gold I’d made playing and singing and took everything but Hypernia and my Rose… I feel small and afraid and know this man was the one that had killed my mother slowly while I had to watch her wither away into madness... How do you fight something so huge, that sees us like chattel that bleed gold into his coffers. “That’s where you’re wrong, little boy.” He hisses into my ear, “You -are- my business.” I find my voice but it trembles out of me, “Not. A-anymore. I paid you all my mother owed. I worked for it, you got everything, l-let me-” “No. Give me what you have. I want you to PROVE all you’ve got in your purse is the chicken scraps that your beloved DIRECTOR gives you.” He sneers at the Cabaret again… my sanctuary, my safe haven from him… and I realize he’s sizing up a target. He’d tried to buy the place but Nestor wouldn’t sell nor would he allow Jericho’s goons to peddle for him on the premises. It was by no means a dry or sober place, but Nestor didn’t want anything to do with the Archstone empire… The only reason they were in jeopardy was because of me then too, because Nestor took me in when he caught me sleeping under his tables. I tremble at the thought of those inside coming to harm because of my refusal to comply and I shove my coin purse into his chest then wrench free, “Take it. Leave me alone!” I take off but I don’t run… if I show anyone it puts them at risk… Jericho doesn’t need the meager wage in my purse… its not about that. Its about reminding me that the world doesn’t like people like me, people who refuse to lose their faith in others because of monsters like him. I will never give him the satisfaction of breaking me.   

#roleplay #moon guard #world of warcraft #wow oc #warcraft rp #short story #trist'ayran #bard #dark themes #tw abuse #daily writing challenge #@daily-writing-challenge

[tristayranambrosio]

Bargain/Myth Day 3 - February 20 DWC

(More Jezza! Slight CW: Sex industry/prostitution) Trist’Ayran is something they only tell of in myth… like when he came into the world it was off the pages of some old music sheet, and some being of pure, beautiful song was made into a mortal. Each freckle on his skin is another constellation I memorize when he breathes heavily, and purples where I had kissed his shoulders, neck, everything… My tusks also leave angry red marks in their wake… and yet for some reason, this being does not resent me for the damage I inflict with a sort of intensity that my heart feels… sings with, when he speaks my name. I’m in too deep… He peers over his shoulder at my shuddering form, and I’m spent past my last breath but I still react to that knowing gaze. “Why… is my war-wolf spooning with me?” I growl annoyed and make to pull away, I’m in too deep, I’m in too deep I’m- Trist touches my cheek and he twists his lithe perfectly soft form to regard me with an expression that takes my breath away. I am paralyzed and contemplating if it is some incubus that has ensnared me and feeds upon my pleasure the heights that only he’s seemed able to reach in me. Had I known… Had I known this creature would see me… “Sorry-” He apologizes and withdraws his had, with it the spell that had halted me, “If you need to go I understand.” He turns away and makes to extract himself from my arms, but something was different about it, that pause… what had it meant!? Why did he apologize, I hate it, his apology for looking at me like that… was he going to ask me to stay? He never did that. “Wait.” I say before I think. Trist is half way into his undershirt, its been mended half a dozen times, and I wonder idly looking at him… really looking at him. He’s… smiling but its not in his eyes, like a snarl or warrior’s glare, that hides the truth in all but your eyes. He’s tired… so tired, and I consider that he had endured that bastard Jerico before he’d arrived to the cabaret. What is that twisted bargain he made with the slimy flesh peddler? Had Jerico hurt my Rose? The bard paused, “Hmm? What is it Jezza? Can I do something more?” There it is, this is about me again… and I open and close my mouth before I finally brokenly say defensively, “I don’t cuddle, you know I don’t like… men-” There’s something like disappointment that he hides in those beautiful eyes and it makes me finish my thought, “But-umm… I want to see you again.” There’s something like hope now and a tenderness that squeezes a fist around my heart I -feel- my Rose bloom just a little after the world seemed intent to make him wither in the face of reality… and rather than balk at my boldness, my confession that wasn’t a confession… He’s gentle when he leans in to kiss not my lips, chest, or more intimate places, and instead presses it to my brow, Gloriously half clothed and haloed in the curtains and lanterns of the Cabaret, his sanctuary, his temple… “I’m always here for you, Jezza, whenever you need me.” He says it like he’s said it a thousand times to a thousand others… and something about that hurts… He thinks I’m like the ones that pay… “I-...” What can I even say? I might as well be like them… who is this Mythical being I’ve touched… what has he gone through? Endured? I want to know now… need to know now… so I ask the stupidest thing because I just can’t handle the thought of being just another one of the people who have never wondered who’s the man behind the mask, “Why do you always smell like roses?” He blinks at me, clearly having not expected it. “Someone gave me one when I was little… they’re… they’re important. Even if I’m so much more a weed, like a dandelion or something… someone thought I deserved a rose.” “... You do.” I say flatly, awkwardly, feeling exposed and not because I have remained undressed. He chuckled softly, shaking his head, “You misunderstand, Roses and Dandelions aren’t so different. They’re both resilient and defiant… strong in the face of all climates… environments, and they remain… even after the rain and the frost… still beautiful.”

“You deserve both.” I say more comfortable. Trist softened, “So do you Jezza. I know you like Pale’s arrangements.” “No I don’t.” I lie. He rolls his eyes and he chuckled, “I’ll see you tomorrow okay?” “...Okay.” I want to say so much more. I want to tell him I love roses… I love dandelions… I love… this… whatever it is and it takes everything in me not to break and bring him to my room and keep him there with me all night. Instead I just watch him leave limping a little, but I know he’ll recover by morning… and this stupid part of me is smug that for a few more hours he’ll feel bruises from our tussle and struggle… but I beat that part of myself down. My Rose… my rose that isn’t mine… or anyone’s No more than a Myth can belong to anyone.

@daily-writing-challenge 

#roleplay #moon guard #world of warcraft #wow oc #bard #warcraft rp #short story #trist'ayran #daily writing challenge #@daily-writing-challenge

[tristayranambrosio]

One Jump Ahead

DWC- Day 5- Notorious/Altruistic

Snatch.

With deft movements, apples vanished from one spot, a loaf of bread from another. The necklace of a noble disappeared, as did someone else's entire bag.

What's that commotion? Whoops, was that your sandwich? Not anymore.

Silvermoon City was gripped by a plague of thievery, perpetrated by a mysterious figure no one could apprehend. This elusive presence came and went swiftly, leaving market vendors in uproar.

Leo huddled in his humble abode, surveying his day's haul, mostly food for sustenance. Any material possessions would be sold off come morning to the fence.

Posters plastered the city walls, branding the culprit as "The Void".

"The Void? Hm, not bad. But could be better," Leo mused, emerging from his hideout to examine the poster. "No picture. How do they expect anyone to catch this person?" He flagged down passersby, pointing to the poster. "Seen this?" he asked.

The couple nodded. "Hope they catch whoever it is. A menace. A leech," they remarked, eyeing Leo's disheveled appearance with disdain.

"Indeed. But how will they catch them without a picture?" Leo queried genuinely.

"They'll set traps, obviously. What else?" the couple retorted.

"Traps? Like what?" Leo inquired.

"Bait them with what they steal most," they explained, rolling their eyes and moving on, advising Leo to take a bath.

Insults were nothing new to Leo- whether about his smell or looks, he had heard it all. He pondered the idea of traps as he returned to his makeshift shelter for the night. "Traps, huh? Good to know," he muttered before retiring.

@daily-writing-challenge

[tristayranambrosio]

Showtime

DWC- Day 4- Vengeance/Satisfaction

You have practiced for weeks. You got this.

Throughout the evening, an inner monologue had persisted as the show unfolded—a grand display of talent that many eagerly awaited each year, and now Leo was about to participate. Confidence had filled him until this very moment. But why? He knew all the steps, the lyrics to the songs, the flair and tricks to enhance the performances. Yet, he found himself paralyzed at the mere thought of stepping onto the stage.

One stellar performance followed another, each act leaving the audience in complete awe. Every performer seemed to outdo the last, raising the bar higher and higher. How could the act Leo was a part of possibly surpass any of these outstanding displays?

The day had been fraught with tension due to personal matters, heightening the difficulty of the evening for Leo. Swallowing thickly, he endeavored to push aside the weight of it all and concentrate on the present moment���the performance.

Indeed, it was challenging when the issues loomed large, particularly with his bandmates. Tension simmered between Trist and Leo, stemming from Leo's single-minded focus on perfecting the performance, inadvertently neglecting their relationship in the process. Additionally, Faolan seemed perturbed by Leo's recent involvement with a new lover, further complicating matters within the group dynamic.

And to add to the complexity, Leo's new lover was among the audience members, adding another layer of emotional tension to the already fraught situation.

As if caught in a whirlwind of chaos, everything felt like it was spiraling out of control. However, in a sudden and unexpected turn of events, everything snapped back into place the moment the announcement was made.

"Please welcome Night Blooming Vulpine!"

There it was. The moment had arrived. Leo exchanged glances and nods with the band, a silent coordination between them. He told himself he was ready—or at least, that's what he wanted to believe. As the music started, signaling it was time to get into place, Leo braced himself for what was to come.

Shadows.

A multitude of eyes watched intently. Lovers, friends, best friends—all of them focused on Leo and the band. The weight of their expectations bore down on him, intensifying the pressure of the moment.

Don't mess up, don't mess up.

Leo moved with the music, seamlessly singing his parts and interacting with the others on stage as if all tension had vanished. Yet, beneath the surface, they were all merely playing their roles, putting on a performance that masked the underlying complexities of their relationships.

Art by nastovski on YCH.Commishes

One song done. Two songs done. Three songs. Four. And then the finale.

After taking a bow and basking in the roaring cheers from the crowd, Leo's smile widened, grateful that they had thoroughly enjoyed everything the band had to offer. Backstage, he shared in the jubilation with both Trist and Fao, reveling in their collective victory. Adrenaline surged through their veins, electrifying them with the thrill of the moment.

Despite the challenges and complexities they faced, they had this moment, and it was undeniably beautiful.

@daily-writing-challenge

[tristayranambrosio]

"Suppress/Pastel" Day 2 - February 19 DWC

(So unexpectedly everyone enjoyed the little peek into the cast around Trist's past, specifically Jezza inspired by one of my old DND partners and his interactions with my table-top bard. So maybe this DWC is just going to be more of their super dysfunctional relationship full of angst and unrequited feelings. Its tragic but beautiful and I hope it remains entertaining!)

I watch my tall brute suppress a smile as his thick weapon callused fingers brush the delicate pastel petals of Palehoof’s latest bouquets that decorate the Cabaret. The moment he notices I’m watching he stiffens and hunches, cutting a glare at me for admiring his secret self… I don’t know why he bothers, I’ve felt first hand who he really is, and no one here after closing would care if he was honest with himself. About me… Sometimes I allow that to itch at me, but then again… that’s not what I am. I promised that I would never let myself feel any sort of entitlement to their secrets, my many Sweethearts and patrons, that’s now what I set out to do… and I had fleetingly considered dropping the topic all together with Jezza given he was after all in the band now, but every time I pulled away, he’d seize me by the arm and pin me in some hidden corner and ravish me with the sort of Reckless abandon that he so vehemently flights to suppress. There’s so much passion in his brutalized soul, and I catch glimpses, fragments of the person he is… He loves the softer touches that answer his brutal ones, the gentle caresses that I follow his violence with. Sometimes I think he hates me, and this is all some outlet to soothe some hurt my people did to his, but then he’ll allow just enough of himself through that I see the admiration, the envy that I am unabashedly myself where he cannot be or thinks he cannot be…

Regardless, his glare never dissuades or intimidates me, if anything it emboldens me because being a ragdoll he can throw against a wall one moment then kiss hard enough to split my lip the next has a certain appeal and catharsis, for both of us… I realize that he’s still glaring and answer it with a smirk so wide it makes his face darken with what to everyone else would seem like outrage… I see it for what it is; He’s flustered, imagining the soft petals in his fingers were my lips given they match my pink… So I part them and wet my lips meaningfully and I pop one of my hips resting a fist against it. His dark magnificent skin flushed red tusks and teeth clenched in a snarl, and wide chest rumbling a growl at me, His jet black locks are still tussled from when I pulled them from their braids giving him this wild rugged handsome flair to his fury, He looks unhinged to the untrained eye… And yet I know he’s barely able to suppress the urge to touch me, and rip me out of my clothes. I belong to no one and everyone and yet I admit, my Drummer doesn’t let me think about belonging to anyone ever… all while never saying anything but holding me so tightly against him that he may as well be the stocks himself, like that could make me his… But that’s not what I am… Instead he lifts me by both arms. Restraint a forgotten courtesy that I’ve lost the ‘privilege’ to… and I live for it. He pulls me behind the Crimson curtains that our venue takes its name from and he palms my jaw as he has his fill of me and me of him… He’ll quit tomorrow, declaring that I’d conned him, tricked him into bed again… He’ll break new drumsticks, put fists through a snare, and before I even manage to fix them he’ll be back… awkwardly offering me a rose wordlessly and sitting to help me mend the damage he’d done on his way out, because that way he doesn't have to leave.

@daily-writing-challenge

#roleplay #moon guard #world of warcraft #wow oc #short story #trist'ayran #bard #warcraft rp #daily writing challenge

[tristayranambrosio]

Full Circle

DWC- Day 2- Suppress/Pastel

Another day dawned upon Stormwind, and Leo found himself navigating its streets with caution. The past few months had seen him keeping a low profile, laying low and hidden from the limelight, all thanks to a daring heist he had orchestrated against a renowned tavern within the city walls. Now, tentatively stepping onto the cobblestone pathways, he couldn't help but notice the lackluster ambiance that surrounded him, despite the city's usual bustle.

As he wandered through the maze of canals and districts, his journey led him to Lion's Rest, where a familiar figure caught his eye amidst the crowd—a certain ginger-haired dame.

GiGi Fiske.

GiGi had always been more than just a friend to Leo; she was his confidant, the one person with whom he shared his deepest secrets—something he couldn't bring himself to do with anyone else, not even his former partner in crime. Approaching her, Leo was serenaded by the gentle strains of a lute, played skillfully by a magenta-haired elf standing nearby—a sight and sound he had sorely missed.

After exchanging greetings with GiGi, Leo's attention was drawn back to the bard, whom she introduced as Trist'Ayran Ambrosio-Autumnrayne—a name that sparked recognition within him.

Trist'Ayran Ambrosio-Autumnrayne was his name.

Gif by Kotlass on YCH.Commishes

There was an undeniable allure to the lute player, a stark contrast to Leo's own demeanor. Clad in vibrant teal hues, the elf's attire screamed of brightness, his hair a striking color that caught Leo's eye. Despite the exuberance in his appearance, a somberness hung in the air as the lute's melancholic melody filled the space. Leo stood at a distance, observing the bard with keen interest. He noted the fluid movements, the subtle flicks of wrists and ankles that set the bells adorning Trist into motion, adding depth to the sorrowful tunes. Everything about the bard seemed to radiate sadness to those who paid attention.

Yet, as people passed by, smiles adorned their faces, greetings and compliments showered upon Trist for his masterful performance. It was indeed a captivating display, but they failed to grasp the pain concealed behind his façade.

Approaching the bard, Leo engaged him in conversation, each word tinged with a sense of desolation. The adeptness with which Trist crafted a façade of beauty to mask his inner torment intrigued Leo deeply. He felt compelled to delve further into the enigma that was the bard.

No, he NEEDED to unravel the mysteries veiled beneath Trist's cheerful exterior.

@daily-writing-challenge

[tristayranambrosio]

Stalking Prey

DWC- Day 1- Flirt

Leo had ascended far in his career as an escort, mastering the art of discerning people's desires and effortlessly weaving himself into their lives. Serving as the coveted trophy on the arm of nobility had not only earned him a reputation but also a substantial fortune, ensuring his comfort and style. Now, he reveled in his sense of power, feeling capable of manipulating anyone to fulfill his whims.

His latest target was a formidable businesswoman, the mistress of an extensive trading empire. Enthralled by her strength, cunning, and beauty, Leo saw her as the ultimate challenge. Standing nearly as tall as him, with a gaze that could intimidate the most confident man, she presented the perfect opportunity to test his skills.

One day, he made his move in the bustling market, shadowing her as she discreetly made mundane purchases. Leo observed her every move, analyzing her demeanor and mannerisms to devise his approach. Her effortless grace and poise were qualities he had spent years honing, yet she seemed to possess them effortlessly.

As he prepared to approach her, she preempted him with a cutting remark, piercing him with her steely gaze. Leo, dressed as a nobleman but far from it, sensed her judgment, perhaps aware of his profession and the façade of charm he maintained. "Done stalking me? Finally found the courage to speak to me?"

With a respectful bow, Leo offered a fabricated apology, "I apologize for having such an uncouth way of coming to you but I had to ensure you were the owner of this piece of jewelry that I suspected fell from you." He then presented a stunning ruby necklace he had skillfully liberated from her possession. It was a gorgeous marquise shaped ruby necklace in silver, feathers appearing to spring from the gem itself. Her finger had a ring that matched it's likeliness. Her surprise momentarily softened her icy demeanor as she accepted the necklace, her mind racing to comprehend how it had been returned to her.

Lifting it slowly from his palm she muttered, "Thank.. you." Her eyes remained on him in thought. Leo tilted his head, "Is something wrong?" She observed the necklace. It was very much real and it was hers. "How- when..." Leo smoothly deflected her inquiries with a fabricated tale of happenstance, masking his true actions behind a veneer of chivalry. He smiled at her, "Sometimes their latches can come loose. That goes for -any- piece of jewelry. Fortunately I was nearby to see when it fell from your neck."

A lie. He had stolen it straight off her neck masterfully without her noticing the weight of it lifted from her body.

The businesswoman, grateful yet suspicious asked, "How do I repay a kindness such as this? This is a custom set that no other owns. You could have very well made your way home with it."

"And what sort of gentleman would I be had I done so?" Leo smiled softly.

"Oh so you are a gentleman now?" That judgmental glare returned with a perk of her brow.

"Suppose it is a matter of perspective. But I like to think I am. But never mind paying me back. It was nothing but a simple gesture of kindness I suppose." Dismissing any notion of repayment, Leo maintained his façade of gallantry, deflecting her skepticism with a charming smile. As he gracefully took his leave, a sly smirk danced upon his lips, knowing he had successfully intrigued her.

In a twist of fate, the businesswoman, intrigued by Leo's charisma, extended an unexpected invitation, unwittingly falling into his carefully laid trap.

The woman asked, "Are you free for lunch?"

@daily-writing-challenge

[tristayranambrosio]

"Flirt/Casualty" Day 1 - February 18 DWC

(This short story is told from the perspective of a former band Mate and how Trist and He met. You know before Trist was all Star-Void-Elfy. Enjoy <3: Note that its a little steamy and about a very tormented Orc who struggled very much with being himself until my Bard stumbled into his life) I nurse the sour ale in my tankard, I despise the flavor and would much prefer the tang of citrus and sweet mixed with some honey wine that I see the softer fellows in this den can be seen enjoying. Not me… no I have to sit and watch as the Crimson Curtain comes to life at the arrival of its star lutist. He is like a feast for my starving eyes, and I imagine if it was his lips I drank from… even this piss-water would taste like bliss. Instead I see him lean over a table and flirt with one of the affluent patrons and my tankard groans in protest under my white knuckled grip. Luckily for me an Orc bitterly suffering through the sorry excuse for a drink and scowling at this brazen display of flamboyant softness isn’t out of place here. In truth I crave the comfort of its magnificent colors, and the beautiful staff… I want to drink their sweet scents, roses and citrus… to bathe in them to bask in the relief it’d be just to live in their embroidered silks, rather than the oppressive Leather plates and spikes the Chief insists I have to wear to attract the attention of some she-orc to bear my sons. I snarl into my tankard and take a long furious gulp and attempt to swallow it with the revolting thought of using some poor female like that… knowing my mind would wander back to the laughing eyes of the Rose scented lead that has started in flirting with a fellow across the bar from me… Seeing how the soft beauty of an elf lightly squeezing the other Mercenary's arm and admiring the build sends my blood on fire and I briefly contemplate making the bastard another casualty of my fuming jealousy… No one else should be allowed to touch my Rose… none of them are good enough… fel neither am I… And yet… I flash back to the bright curtains while he grips them as tightly as I do my tankard. I imagine him screaming my name under my palm as I make him stifle it lest his boss hear what I’m taking from him… I imagine how it’d feel to pull his hair until he was panting and spent just so I could kiss his shoulder and tell him everything. That I’d never wanted someone as badly as I did him… I’d had my share of elven males, loved their tender perfect bodies for the pleasures they were to touch, this one though, he haunted me ever since I heard him sing… play… on Nestor’s old wine stained stage. He laughs again at something the jackass across from me says and I’m out of my Stool and about to storm over and yank my Rose away from this-this-... I halt when the Bard meets my eyes, struck with an overwhelming sense of terror, rage, and desire, with no idea which of those is reflected in my eyes. He’s unafraid, meeting me stare for stare, only in his Light Pink eyes I see… amusement, he’s not intimidated by the growl that I didn’t even realize was escaping me. “Easy, big guy, if you’re looking for a fight I’ll oblige, but Nestor told me you wanted to meet.” He extended a hand smiling… at -me- and I feel my face twist with glee and fury with a focus, that Bastard Busybody Ring-master I will kill him, “I’m Trist’Ayran Ambrosio, a pleasure-”

The way his tongue rolls over the last word has my body at attention and my nostrils flare… my anger at the meddling Cabaret Director temporarily dispelled as I’m being offered a hand I’d imagined on every part of me and I am once again glad that armor and leather doesn’t have much give as a rule and my state isn’t betrayed to be what it was, fixated entirely on this little Rose’s hands… eyes… lips… I grunt and force down my thoughts of how I’d like to hear him speak around parts of me I’ve only ever shared with soft sweet males like him… He waits patiently, his hand held out to what he must see as a brute of few words and even fewer kind ones. I make a show of crossing my arms and sneering at the Cabaret and despite loving every inch of it growl, “Did the Fop? Figures he’d send the Tavern Flirt at me. I’m -not- interested.” My body revolts and rails against my statement, the lie it was… I wasn’t just interested, I was obsessed… I had been for weeks… months… Trist withdrew his hand smoothly as if I’d not just looked at him with the well practiced disdain I leveled all openly true people with, and he smiled, “No one’s twisting your arm, big guy, not that I could… but you play?” I huff and keep my mask on firmly, indifference, disinterest, annoyance… even when within I yearn BURN to feel him -in- my arms… “Drums.”

Trist beams… and my heart slams so hard within my ribs I swear I feel it trying to burst from me into this Bard’s hands, like it was trying to escape, fly to him from the moment I heard his voice, then saw his face… Rose Quartz eyes and the most magnificent Autumn Maple hair that framed his perfect features in waves and curls that smelled like the Roses that haunted my senses ever since. “Well I’d love to see what you’ve got for me, Big Guy, but it’d be nice if you could give me a name… Otherwise you’re just gonna be some generic ‘big guy’ and if you’re joining up… well I’d like to be able to introduce you as you…” Oh what I could show him… what I had for him was a lust so intense it was making my blood power anything but my mind, and again I delayed my reply assailed with the image of showing just what I had for him… and hearing him say my name, “Jezza” My voice is a growl that I hope is intimidating and not giving away where my thoughts had gone… I needed to get a hold of myself… have this damned bard, and then put him from my mind forever. It wasn’t healthy, and if I can’t repress this need… this weakness for him and what he awoke in me, I was never going to be able to face my Tribe. It was not as if I could sire on him… but, Ancestors help me, my body certainly seemed to wanna give that a go with the urge building in me by the moment, not to mention the restless nights that showed my supposed lack of interest or virility with proposed brides was simply a product of them not being this soft bard… Get it over with, get him out of your head… this is not normal. “Jezza.” My breath stopped. My heart seized… say it again… I willed him. “Jezza…” He tasted my name testing the sound on that damnable tongue, “Handsome name for a Handsome Brute.”

He was- “Are you MOCKING me runt?” I nearly roar. “Nah. Just flirting. Lets see what you got.” With that he sauntered up… and tucked a pair of Drumsticks under my belt… and I could swear he did it to glance under the hem of my leathers… but I was too distracted by the proximity… how he somehow smelled even better than I imagined, and how my eyes nearly rolled back in their skull knowing just how close he was to me. It was over too soon. He pulled away and swatted my hip, “You coming?” The bard brandished his lute as he sauntered to the stage tilting his head to the Drum set in the back, but I was almost rooted to the floor. Staring at this brazen… cocky… magnificent -thing- that I was going to -make- mine. I rumble and to myself, “Not yet… but you’ll see to that soon.” I stormed up to the stage all bravado and seething outrage… but I play… and Oh… I bask in the first time my Rose really sees me and feels me in the beat. The novelty will get stale… and my Life will start and I’ll leave all this behind. Maybe after a few more songs. 

@daily-writing-challenge

#moon guard #roleplay #world of warcraft #wow oc #bard #warcraft rp #short story #trist'ayran #daily writing challenge

[tristayranambrosio]

Here we go again!

DAILY WRITING CHALLENGE 2024 IS BACK!

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO USE THE ACTUAL WORD FOR THIS CHALLENGE, YOU MAY SIMPLY BASE YOUR STORY AROUND ONE OF THESE IDEAS!

Choose one or both words/IDEAS and write a story, drabble, poem, or anything else once a day, every day, for a week!

Tag @daily-writing-challenge so we can reblog your stories.

Write the number day/challenge somewhere on your story.

LIST CONTENT WARNINGS VISIBLY ABOVE STORY! (Use a ‘read more’ line if content gets too graphic.)

Tags that will be used: #februarydwc2024,  #februarydayX2024 (X=whatever number day you’re writing for), #yourtumblrurl

There will be no optional challenges for the weekly DWC’s, but please feel free to make up some of your own challenges!

The next writing challenge will be in MAY 2024 and last one week!

CLICK HERE FOR OTHER IMPORTANT INFORMATION!

Good luck and more importantly, HAVE FUN! Encourage your fellow writers and show them some love and support with likes/reblogs/comments!

We look forward to reading some amazing writing!

((Written word list below the cut))

Day 1 - February 18 Casualty, Flirt

Day 2 - February 19 Suppress, Pastel Day 3 - February 20 Bargain, Myth

Day 4 - February 21 Vengeance, Satisfaction Day 5 - February 22 Notorious, Altruistic Day 6 - February 23 Vanity, Feelings Day 7 - February 24 Rumor, Discovery

[tristayranambrosio]

[tristayranambrosio]

Six

Six weeks… Six weeks and I already feel something new, like heart flickers of starlight resonating on the edge of my comprehension. Everything is so much more intense, like I my void touched self at all times… all hours. Is that why it's so exhausting? But also so energizing? I’m still fuming too, angry one moment then forlorn and torn apart with hurt and the sensation of being inadequate in the worst ways… I look in the mirror and most days I see a stranger… or maybe a relative that was too close to my likeness to find her attractive… She looks at me, tired, and clingy, and nauseous… a burden… I hum a shaky tired tune before I can let them get to me, flood my thoughts with reminders that nothing has changed, ‘with child or not I’ve always been a burden’. The tune is aimless and frazzled, not real music. But it does the job. I brace myself on the edge of the washbasin of deep amethyst and silver accents trying to fight down the urge to dry heave into the beautiful bowl in Leo’s ensuite…. Our ensuite. The woman who looks back at me looks pale, for me at least, and slightly green at her cheeks and ears. My Husband is in no state to hold back my hair and stroke my back… the anger surges back at that reminder… I know he’d be here if he could be. Besides if he knew he’d blame himself, no matter that my mornings were now all too often were spent over a sink or toilet, he’d think this only started since… Stop… stop being angry. Its done… its. Done. “So why do I feel so guilty?” I ask the woman in the mirror who looks just as torn as I am… looking like she might cry or puke again, seemed like that kind of day. She never answers, just looks at -me- as if I owe her an answer… sad eyes… why are my eyes always so sad? People prefer me smiling. She smiles back at me but I see the crack in the composure; it's in her eyes, somewhat manic rather than lit with joy. She tries again this time it’s too many teeth in the smile… next it's the twitch in her brow… then it's the fact she’s hurling the contents of her stomach up in the purple basin staining it a transparent green of burning acid bile. I cough and sputter then wash the fluid down the sink hating it… and myself. I’m such a selfish ass sometimes, so consumed with my own problems when my Mate can’t even walk… what is -wrong- with me?! Now I stare an accusation in the mirror… but the glare withers and my hand goes to my stomach feeling something so near imperceptible…  But there… Its a blip. A tiny… quivering flickering twinkle of a feeling. I whisper, “Hey there… is everything okay little star? I’m sorry your Mommy’s such a mess.” I sink to the black tile floor and curl in trying to listen, hear… they’re too small… most medics clerics doctors… wouldn’t even consider Six weeks long enough to be more than a tiny shrimp or something -if- that let alone someone, a person, I could ask what was wrong… What’s wrong? “So many things baby… but none of them are because of you. You’re gonna make a lot of them better when I get to meet you. You’re worth feeling like this… I know you don’t believe me right now, but you are.” I cradled myself for a moment, rocking slowly back and forth, until the world stopped spinning and murmured, “You’re going to love your big sisters and brothers… they’ve all been so excited… so is your Daddy. He’ll be better soon and he’ll whisper all the beautiful words I never have…” I love you…

That broke me some, “I-I love you too my little star… I promise Mommy will be better. Strong.” I pushed Myself to standing and faced the woman in the mirror addressing her, scrubbing tears from her face and huffing with frustration at how easily they came even for -her- And cleared her throat, “You. Need a midwife, and a Magus. Luckily you are a well connected bard that knows MANY of those specialists. No more moping, we're going to be productive.” I squared my shoulders and returned to bed beside my Husband, being careful not to disturb him or even risk touching him while he Recovered. I won't risk his sleep... and quietly safe guard it while the wounds heal... And I feel the life inside me grow. 

#roleplay #moon guard #bard #short story #trist'ayran #world of warcraft #wow oc

[tristayranambrosio]

Monster in the Mirror

Three days had elapsed since the Ashenvale incident had left him confined to his bed. Now, having regained the ability to stand, he seized a moment of solitude—perhaps the first since the unfortunate event unfolded. Confronting himself in front of a mirror towering over him, he locked eyes with his reflection. A surge of anger and hate emanated from within as he confronted the person who had lost control that day. The realization hit hard—he was the catalyst for all that had transpired.

"It's about time we had a conversation," he declared to his own reflection. Within the silvered surface, a distorted version of himself stared back—monstrous in appearance. His skin resembled a black void, adorned with small flecks of silver starlight. Antlers sprouted from his head, and his feet had taken on a digitigrade form, complete with claws on both hands and feet. His arms appeared elongated, contributing to the overall otherworldly aspect. Despite the unsettling transformation, the reflection remained silent, offering no response.

Art by nodensart on Twitter "Curious that you remain silent. Your sole talent is sowing chaos and wrecking everything for me," Leo said. "It seems your perspective is unique. However, if that's your way of admitting your weakness compared to me, I'll accept it." The creature in the mirror smirked, its voice deep and resonant, carrying a demonic quality capable of sending shivers down one's spine. "Your admirers seem to appreciate what I provide. 'She' found pleasure in my presence..."

Leo's eyes widened, his expression turning stern as he spoke with a grave seriousness, "Keep her out of this." "But that's precisely what this meeting is about, isn't it? How I had to assert my dominance when she dared to provoke me." "You lost." "She was immediately healed. She would have bled out and died, and you know it."

Leo recalled the pool of blood under her body when he found her on the ground. "What… happened? Why did it happen?" "She angered me. No one restrains me. Holds -us- down." Leo raised his voice, "Don't make this about me. YOU did this! Not me!"

“-We- did this.  Do not try to victimize yourself.  You could have very well stopped me and you didn’t.” “You took over.” “With your permission.”

Leo felt the anger surging within, his blood reaching a boiling point. Nevertheless, he attempted to regain composure, stating firmly, "I never gave you permission." "But, in essence, you did," the star-flecked monster grinned once more. "We are one person, Ithilios. I'm not a separate entity, though you may want to believe otherwise."

It was in that moment that Leo realized something. Would others perceive the reflection as he did? The monster, attuned to his thoughts, answered the unspoken query, "It's just you. Engaging in a profound conversation with yourself in a mirror. Pathetic, but I suppose it was about time. Took you long enough to arrive. Perhaps now we can understand each other better and actually collaborate. And maybe, just maybe, it won't require me attempting to harm a lover next time—"

Leo suddenly violently shattered the mirror into pieces, sharp shards cascading to the floor as his hand bled from a few cuts.

Amidst the wreckage, he growled with anger, "I explicitly warned you to keep her out of this..."

Art by chrisnazgul on Twitter

[tristayranambrosio]

Growing Pains

While Leo's introduction to the world of escorting may not have been the smoothest, his determination to turn it into a sustainable livelihood was unwavering. Surprisingly adept at the job, Leo not only mastered the physical aspects but also gained a profound understanding of the mental and behavioral expectations from his noble clientele.

As time passed, days morphed into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. Despite the aging process, Leo remained relatively young, considering how early he had embarked on this unconventional career. Now, he was not only well-versed in the physical intricacies but had also honed his skills in understanding and satisfying the emotional needs of his recurring customers.

Leo became a purveyor of fulfillment, ensuring complete satisfaction for his patrons at the end of each encounter—whether it concluded in the late hours of the night or extended into the morning, contingent on the compensation. While Leo admittedly had favorites among his clientele, every encounter was just another job—a cycle of dazzling, charming, bedding, and repeating.

The protocol was clear: payment upfront, a night of charming companionship, and a return to regular life the next day. No attachments, no emotional entanglements—just a transactional exchange.

Yet, amidst the routine, one patron grew unexpectedly possessive and jealous.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice filled with sleepiness as daylight gently crept into the room.

"Home, Shandrial. As always," Leo replied, his tone soft and composed. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he exuded a quiet confidence.

She reached over, groaning, "Must you? Stay with me..."

With a sigh, he turned to look at her—a vision of radiance. However, Shandrial was just another customer. "How much longer?"

A hopeful smile played on her lips. "Forever... I'd hope."

Leo frowned, glancing away. "Shandrial, you know the rules. This is not— you are messing this up."

She sat up, questioning, "So what then? You're just going to keep selling yourself to the highest bidder?!"

"YES! THAT'S WHAT I DO! Remember?! We agreed on this. You understood," Leo asserted, standing up to retrieve his clothes.

Wrapped in linens, she moved to follow him until Leo raised a hand, signaling her to stop. "No. We're done."

"I will ruin your reputation," she growled.

He chuckled. "Sweetheart, I am an escort... No matter what you say, they all want to —fuck— me. Just like you."

Enraged, she hurled a lamp in his direction, her screams echoing through the room. With graceful agility, Leo effortlessly evaded the airborne projectile, savoring the satisfaction that her outburst provided. "You're nothing but a selfish brat. But I suppose that's to be expected from your kind. I am something money will never buy you. I still possess my dignity and will never submit to some noble as their permanent plaything. May your next escort be as skilled as I am. Frankly, I doubt anyone can match the way I bend and satisfy you just right." Leo winked as he gathered his clothes, leaving the noblewoman to throw her tantrum in solitude.

He bid a subtle farewell to the mansion's servants with a knowing wink, gracefully making his exit. In that moment, Leo carried an understanding that the grand doors closing behind him marked the end of any future encounters with Shandrial.

@daily-writing-challenge

[tristayranambrosio]

Expectation - Selfish (DWC Day 6)

I feel the tension every day… Sing the songs… I smile until the pull on my face makes it strained and painful to hold the mask on. Inside I feel my still shattered heart writhe and squeeze with the effort it takes to keep me alive, to keep me going. I am screaming silently and it makes my voice wobble, but I sing anyway… until my lungs rebel and my throat is raw. No one hears me… Tears stream down my face but I smile… I act… I have their expectations… I am their darling happy bard. I could not possibly feel alone when so many want to warm my bed, there is nothing I could want for, it would be selfish of me to have asked for more than what I already have… I weep in between the bars I’ve built for myself on music staff, but nothing sounds right… its all wrong, all I play the strings, the keys, the notes they’re all a discourse and tuneless broken melody that rips my throat like razors on their way out… it hurts… I play until my fingers blister, split then blister again… I want to break down, I want to scream but I remain this prisoner in their Expectations. Selfish… To want the burden lighter, to feel the loss and grieve the death of a home… a world where I did not live alone with the weight of it all. I hold them… I live as their fantasy, their joyful beaming ray of sunshine that has never known the barbs of heartache because his heart is so large it can host each of their sorrows for them, I can carry more still. My body is an escape, I’ve built it that way, made it into a play thing that can operate without my input, and be a well to fill with their pain and their regrets… a means to forget. Its easy for me… moreover it is what they expect. But I’m Selfish. I am a temporary visit, never someone’s destination, when I grow tiresome… when I dare to ask… to beg for understanding, plea for someone to comfort me… I become useless, worthless, my value vanishes like they do given enough time. I let them… I do not fight to keep them… That would be selfish. I’m broken strings… of key scores and shattered symphonies… I am torn up staff and untuned instruments, and yet I try… for them… they need me… don’t they? I ask in vain for a moment which is better, if they knew the torment it was to play their favorite songs and hear only the tattered vestiges of my once talented echoes… or that my efforts remain the selfless ones of a man doomed to face this yawning ache alone. I live each day with broken glass in my throat and golden lute strings cutting dangled lines into my insides. Sing… they expect it. Play… they expect it. Smile… they expect it. Perform… they expect it… Lie. Otherwise… you’re being selfish for wanting to feel. I’ve never blamed them… to expect their kindness and open hands is a foolish selfish thing, I don’t deserve it… The best I can offer is to be their smiling dancing bard… a fantasy that doesn’t hurt that doesn’t stop thinking… that doesn’t feel anything but grateful for their coming to him to idle their sorrows and their burdens away… to assure them they are beautiful, to promise them they are loved. Because it was Selfish of me to hope someone could love the boy behind the bard… selfish of me to need more than the reminder of their need to unburden their hurts by using me. I shake… the smile hurts my jaw I hold it so tightly on my features… and I play a song that sounds like the sleepless nights I live perpetually… and for a moment my guard must have slipped… because I hear him say, ”I prefer the sad songs… you are more honest with them…Real” My mask cracked… but his voice was music… and it carried no expectation.

(I'm not gonna lie. This one was the story I was dreading to write. I very rarely let him have a multifaceted existence, my Happy-go-lucky bard is made to make people feel good, to smile and to enjoy him, to feel BETTER for having interacted with the dope... but you don't come to yearn to bring that out in others without aching for it yourself. When ever he came close for years he was met with these feelings confronted with those who just made things hurt more and worse made him feel selfish for hoping there could be something more than shallow stolen moments for him. Luckily for me, there are those out there that taught him its not selfish to want someone to love him for who he is, at his lowest... and at his highest. After making mistakes... after saying something wrong and atoning or apologizing. Its. Not. Selfish. To want to be loved even when you aren't perfect.) @daily-writing-challenge

#roleplay #moon guard #world of warcraft #wow oc #short story #bard #trist'ayran #original character #feelings #sad thoughts #hope #novemberday62023

[tristayranambrosio]

Burning Dawn (DWC day 5 Flame)

(The song the Performance is to) The deep violet colored silk runs like a living fluid around me… I am shrouded in their darkness, my light obscured by the panels of night. I am center-stage though I have no audience tonight, I never do for this… I’ve not the skill to perform these acts like those I’ve been lucky enough to call my peers… in this I am out matched, but this is not for them… for anyone. When I part the silk like veils I see her face… forever burned into my thoughts like a desert flame, she wound herself in the very same silks and seduced me with the songs she sang from their heights… I twist the panels of fabric into rope using my toes and tension builds, strength from the coiled silk that is stronger than what it’s softness implies, above my head I wind and twist the second panel of fabric as music fills my ears and muddies her features makes her chestnut skin fade into the same dark violet above me. This isn’t for her… this isn’t for anyone… this is for me. When revealed the lights that pin me scatter rhinestone catch lights like a thousand starbursts from my skin tight attire, in the pinks and magentas and oranges… reds of a sunrise, of a dawn bursting to life still barely arched off the stage between two dangling streams of midnight. I nestle into the familiar embrace of the dark, as if I am the flame of daylight… the first pink fingertips of sunlight reluctant to look towards the horizon. She whispers promises I once believed, the sweetest Symphonies of the life I might have had… She asks the question none had ever before, and I melted in her thrall… I wind the silks tight about my torso, fiercely hoisting my upper body level with the engagement of my core set into a hold the position by gripping the far silk partially wrapped about the arch of each foot, pantomiming a steady ascent away from the ground, as if I am walking step by step while parallel to where I’d laid Dormant. “And who is it who takes care of you I wonder?” The words sound like poison now, they were nectar and I was starving and even now they ring true enough to sting my heart with the memory of barbs plunged into it by the very same question from the very same lips… uttered instead in cruel irony.

I climb. My arms scream in protest but I climb. With each yard I gain another coil wraps about my arm until I use one sweep to upend myself to trade one binding of the arm to wrap my thigh… I echo the same then reach out to the darkness into which I cast a thousand prismatic stars from the gems sewn into my suit. I spread my legs and in a surge throw my weight to swing me upright, my hair threatening to escape its tie, but not yet. I catch myself on the two silk sheets and wrap them under my shoulders, closing my knees to artfully construct a hammock for me to hang seated far above the stage. Perhaps I am a fool to practice the art she perfected… that I learned once to offer a partner… a dancer in silk and symphony. Perhaps I’m torturing myself… But I feel a burning in my limbs, and in my core, and it makes me feel I am one with the music in the air. I give in to the music and the exertion becomes a flurry of flips, and reversals tangling, and untangling, whipping my weight in precise extensions to fall… just right and I climb… higher and higher… towards the light that refracts off of me as if I am a jewel, a lantern hung between the last clutches of violet night.

As I crescendo into the rising action I am suspended, legs split above me as I yank the tie from my hair and it cascades out and down with gravity as I defy it with not but silk tension and the power of my core’s ability to support me. I rake my fingers through the curls I unleashed and feel like something wild and alive, like a spill of color blooming in the waking world. I curl myself in and clutch the underside of my knees back bowed and chest arched outward to the open air, like a star is attempting it’s escape from within me… then I reverse and use the momentum to flip upright my hair fanning out in a wild after image behind me that makes me a magenta comet, like a dawn fast approaching to chase the nocturnal back into resting. I wrap my arms in the silks freeing my legs to walk mid air and build momentum… speed… and I am spinning. I tuck my knees in and clutch my silks so the coil with me, I twirl and spin so fast that I am a blur my hair and crystalline catch lights sparkling like I have set the silk ablaze with flame, with sunlight. I burn… This does not -belong- to anyone… this is just as much my art… in fact, with no witness to it, I am the only one this is for.

As the spinning slows I untangle myself… just to wind the length of the silks slowly in coil after coil around my middle, to cross the one rope with another until I reach the knots above… I am wound and cocooned parallel with the stage once more… and as the music halts I take the breath I need to extend my arm and leg out to one last desperate hold… Then I fall, my weight cut loose from its wound coil and I plummet between the silk like a whirlwind yards and yards that took me the whole performance to ascend, unravel me, and -just- as I would crash land… I catch myself mid drop held effortlessly like a timeless piece of art, limbs like brushstrokes lit by my contrast against the dark… I am a flame defiant and my own. The music fades… and I gracefully lower myself to touch down… now a flame slowly dying in the sunset of the performance. No one applauds… but I also do not feel the lingering scorn… or the shame for having come to love the way my body aches after each dance in the air with not but fabric as a partner… I let the streamers of midnight brush my cheek as they settle back as long curtains untangling themselves from my harsh movements suspended between them. It is strange and painstriken how I found this outlet… but I embrace each moment that I blaze as dawn between the silks. 

( @daily-writing-challenge )

#moon guard #roleplay #world of warcraft #wow oc #bard #warcraft rp #short story #trist'ayran #silks #dance #emotional #art #daily writing challenge #@daily-writing-challenge #Spotify #novemberday52023