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morgandria · 4 years ago

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Moon Musings

I am on day #!^* of One Of -Those- Migraines (thanks, March), so while I’m sitting here trying not to be miserable, you’re getting some moon stuff. I have a pile of random thoughts that are trying to coalesce themselves into a coherent lunar-focused project in the future, so the moon has been on my mind. In many ways, I miss the moon. I live on a street corner in town where two separate lights shine directly on my yard, and since they installed new LED lights there's no such thing as darkness at night. Even my backyard, which would be in the shadow of the house normally, is lit since the LEDs spill farther and brighter now, and my neighbours keep their back porch light on all the time. We won't even talk about the fact that out of the last 16 months, I think we had full cloud cover for about 14 of them. That's the reality.

So this is more of the woo side. This is UPG, 100%. I often don’t use traditional names for the different Full Moons - some of them don’t resonate, so I do what works for me. Secondly, my personal lunar lore behind the names I do use is all mashed up with a whole lot of synesthesia, and some personal experiences. So...if any of this works for you or entertains you, cool. If not? No worries. Do your thing, and I’ll do mine. I also live in Ontario, and always have, so my experiences and practices are absolutely rooted here. Weather patterns and seasons won't work the same elsewhere, so you need to work with what you've got.

January: Wolf Moon

I do use a traditional name for this moon, but only because I used to go howling with the wolves in the back 40 when I was a teenager. I used to be able to take long white walks in the fields when they were all lit up, and were fortunate to have some lupine neighbours. I love the sharpness of the night sky, and finding moments of silence and stillness. More practically these days I bundle up at home away from the ice and the cold and enjoy a good cup of tea when I can. The vibration of this moon's energy always seems to bring me insomnia, though. The colours I associate with January’s moon are white, silver, red, and a deep amethyst. Other things, more randomly: birch trees, the sound of cracking ice, the hissing of river reeds in the wind.

February: Storm Moon

There’s a tempestuous feel to February’s moon for me. It’s usually the month we get intensely cold. January is often a icy, thaw/freeze mess, but February always feels like the time when Winter decides it’s time to really throw its’ weight around with some serious storms. The feel of this moon’s energy is sinuous for me, sliding around and into everything, but also fierce. There’s something profoundly cleansing about letting a sharp winter wind pierce through to your bones and strip away all the gunk cluttering up your energy. My colours for this moon are grey and deep blues, like Prussian blue or steel blue. Other things: labradorite, blue tiger’s eye, and the smell of wintergreen,

March: Crow Moon

This is the moon when my crows come back to my neighbourhood. They usually move out around the start of December, and I start to see and hear them again around the start of March. Nothing about March in Ontario is spring-like: it’s either a solid mass of ice coating everything, or faded grey-brown and thick with mud. Ugh. I actually used to camp on March break as a teenager, but inevitably it ended up with a dozen frozen teenagers in a friend's kitchen having an impromptu Sunday breakfast while I woke up and wondered where everyone'd gone. (Stir-crazy kids in the sticks with nothing to do for a week do silly things.) Nowadays, I’d rather look up at the skies than down at the earth during this moon, and I choose to focus on my corvid friends because they make me happy. Crow Moon is somehow all aquas and peacock blues in colour, and mare’s tails in impossible blue skies, and the world smells once again of fresh, clean Earth, when the ice lets it through.

April: Seed Moon

Maybe the moon where (people who are better gardeners than me) start to get their seeds in the ground. I live in a snow belt, so I don't trust myself to plant anything until May. It's still not super warm, or even remotely dry, but there starts to be hints of things like warmer sun and breezes around the edges. Later in the month you get those days where pollen and snow can fly at the same time. There's no leaves yet, but you can see the buds getting fatter. I think of it as a "restful" time during the year, before summer gets really busy with family and friends. If we're having a good Spring I might get a day or two where I can actually get outside and tidy the yard some. I associate Seed Moon with the colours of soft buttery yellow and pale peridot green, which starts to invade around the rust-brown-green background. It's a citrine month, and also one where those little blue flowers come up in people's lawns.

May: Hare Moon

We don't have hares here. I wish we did - I used to see snowshoe hares in the country when I was wee - but I have rabbits, at least. And yet, this is not "Rabbit Moon". A hare is a different beast from a rabbit entirely. They have a fierce wildness that our Eastern Cottontails do not. And for me, the moon of May, the month of Beltane and the nuptials of the Lord and Lady, have a fierce, wild joy as the world finally explodes with warmth and light and leaves and flowers. I don't ever really trust winter is gone until mid-May. Hare Moon is emerald and violet and velvet, the shadow of leaves and sweet intoxicating aromas. There's something tactile about it - you want to run your hands through it, let it brush past you and run its' fingers through your hair.

June: Mead Moon

I sometimes also call this the Honey Moon. It is the sweetest time of the summer for me, before it's mind-meltingly hot. You get those gorgeous days that are still draped in gentle grey veils of rain on the growing, swaying green fields, and the flowers are growing tall and tangled - honeysuckle, clover, alfalfa and St. John's Wort. There are bees -everywhere-, and the very first of the summer fruits are coming ripe and I spend eight months of the year absolutely dying for the four when we get local, seasonal fruit. It's an idyll, before I'm completely sunbaked and dried out in the heat. Mead Moon is all sky blue and honey gold, saffron and ultramarine. It's warm sand and cold lakes, the smell of hay drying in the fields, and long drives down country roads to escape the concrete of town.

July: Satyr Moon

This month's moon is probably the time when folks in these parts get up to the most outdoor activity. I associate it most with a kind of revelry and hedonism - hence the 'satyr'. We get people taking their vacations, heading to the cottage, the campsite, and having their reunions and parties. Concerts, fairs, festivals...we have a lot to cram into a short time. The lilies in my yard finally have bloomed their brilliant orange, by the start of the month, and July is one long stretch of pure jewel-like greens, under bleached blue skies. This is the other month, like April, where everything feels like it's just poised, waiting to explode with the brisk business of harvest. For me, this moon is natural life in its' prime, and despite my dislike of intense heat and humidity I try to remind myself to enjoy it where and how I can. Satyr Moon is an endless mosaic of greens, a heady musky smell of wood and water, cedar and leaf, shadows and firelight dancing, and distant music everywhere.

August: Barley Moon

This moon is the first harvest moon, here, when the wheat is finally harvested and all that dust in the air makes it ripe and golden and warm. Haying season will sometimes give the moon a bit of a gold tint earlier on, but not those deep amber rises I adore in August. I am an August Virgo, and I adore the Barley Moon - I mean, I quite literally worship wheat. All the first fruits of harvest are peaking, there's SO much goodness in the fields, and yet I can feel summer slowing down, and gradually waning to a bronze-green glowing that I absolutely adore. The nature of daylight changes, subtly, and I try to catch onto every sunset and fix it into my brain, to save it for those white winter days when we haven't seen even the notion of sun for weeks. When we slide from the scorch of the dog days into long, gloaming evenings and cooler nights and the hints of colour on the leaves at the end of the month - heaven. Barley Moon is wheaten and speckled browns, endless golds, blackberry and peach, the smell of dry grass and fresh corn. It's countless toasted tomato sandwiches, far too much zucchini, and penetrating spears of bronze light through the trees as the sun slides away to let the fat amber moon rise up.

September: Harvest Moon

There's no stopping harvest. This moon is when -everything- comes down, and you have no choice but to get your ass moving. You try to get as much of it off the vine while it's best. I get very hobbity when Harvest comes, and I want to be living a simple life. I start to miss home, and rural life, and my family, a lot. It feels different than my youth, and it's...wrong now, somehow. These days it's more like Second July - it rarely cools off below 20°C., it's often stupidly humid, and can be much, much warmer. Our changing climate makes it feel like a month of dragging what I dislike most about Summer out, and it just feels unnatural. Add into that everyone still running around trying to pretend like Summer isn't ending, and I do not like it much for that reason. September always ends up cluttered and rushed, just too much going on in our lives for various reasons. I wish I appreciated it more, but I don't. But there are moments: the deepening indigo of September twilights, the movement of the birds (both those ready to move on and those snatching up all the food they can before the cold comes), the exuberance of goldenrod and Queen Anne's lace and asters. Harvest Moon is indigo and wine-red, the sweetness of a frost-touched grape, the musk of a yeast-laden apple's skin, and the first cries of the migrating geese.

October: Hunter's Moon

Hunter's Moon has two sides. From the start of October, until Thanksgiving, is gorgeous, brilliant leaves and bright crisp skies. It's deep blue waters reflecting streaks of smoke and high cloud. Any time after that, it can snow. It certainly will get wet and windy, at the very least. And then everything is grey, torrents of wine-dark leaves all with that sugar-sweet rot as they lie where they fall intertwined with the smell of the cold and everyone's woodstoves firing up. I cannot tell you how much this season refills my spirit. It's always been a hunter's moon for me. Various hunting seasons start (turkey, duck, deer, then into moose later in the fall), and I have many fond memories of delicious game meat meals with family well into the spring. It was a vital part of life, and always done with respect and thanks. Hunter's Moon is grey on grey, the edges of smokey obsidian and crimson-carnelian-red. It is antler and bone and slow-burning hardwood, the hissing of the corn stalks drying in the darkening fields.

November: Snow Moon

You'll see Snow Moons all over the winter calender, depending on where you live. For me, winter starts at Samhain, and it is inevitable that we have snow here very close to that date (whether before or after). It was true living on the Rideau, and it's still true over here in the Central Ontario snowbelts off Georgian Bay. November's is another two-sided moon: there's the gold, and the grey, The gold is of a clear day's sun through the last of the golden maple leaves clinging to the branches is clarion, of wetland reeds and cow corn still standing in the now-frosty fields. The grey comes softer than October, creeping softly across lawns and windows and the brown leaves curling on the ground, and as drifting veils of snow blowing in to cover the land in its' first lingering solid coats of white. I love the world's withdrawal into silence - I too, withdraw into myself and listen to inner voices. Snow Moon is white and silver (but also pearl grey and ash and brown) and the nights are long, powdery indigo, mounted by silent owl wings, iolite eyes set in silver frames.

December: Oak Moon

This last moon is curious for me, in that I do not know precisely why I continue to use this name. I like it - it has many associations for me in my Craft - but I guess I haven't thought much about it. Many oak trees do keep some or all of their rich tannin-brown leathery leaves through winter, though, and I do enjoy their song (along with the remnants of the leaves on our ash trees) in the wind... but that's not it. Neither is the whole Oak King/Holly King construct, which I don't really engage with. I have a strong connection with a particular energy, that of an aged, Green Man sage-type spirit that comes with this moon, so perhaps that's part of it as well. I suspect it will always be a bit of a Mystery, which I'm ok with. December's night skies seem curiously leeched of their blue hues, as the nights grow longer, a velvety black glittering blanket. Oak Moon comes dressed in the deep, rich colours of the Earth element - glossy evergreens, rich brown, deepest black, and is redolent of pine and cedar, and the flash of cardinals and blue jays at the bird feeder.

I don't know if any of that is useful, entertaining, or even intelligible. I hope at the very least, it prompts you to think about how you interact with the moons of the year, and the seasons, and how you perceive the world around you.

#lunar calendar #full moons #UPG #witchcraft #musings #personal #seasons #Ontario #i miss living in the country

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miscellanyofmusings · 4 years ago

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Grimscribe Aesthetic Meme

REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG AND DO NOT DELETE THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION.

The following quotes and phrases are taken from the stories in Thomas Ligotti’s anthology Grimscribe. Some of these quotes were slightly tweaked for the sake of this meme. If you enjoy the imagery or writing in this meme, please support the author by purchasing his work. Content warnings for horror in general and brief mentions of blood, gore, nihilism, unreality, body horror, clowns, and insects.

Bold what applies to your muse.

Muse: (If you are a multimuse blog, specify what muse you are filling this out for.) Tagged by: Tagging:

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The Last Feast of Harlequin

A place behind the clownish mask / an enthusiastic urgency / sunny fields and farms / steeply roofed houses / a weird distortion of perspective / an album of old snapshots / a pointed hat jauntily askew / a billboard displaying a group of grinning vegetables / a neutral, bureaucratic voice / blue-green ink / a brilliant and profound circus of learning / a quotation from Poe’s “The Conqueror Worm” / a feeling of frigid numbness / dull, earth-colored scenery / the snowfalls of late autumn / black, ragged clumps of abandoned nests / the thin light of a winter afternoon / poles raveled with evergreen / holly wreaths / green lights / green streamers / peacock green floodlights / an eerie emerald haze / chthonic divinities / miniature candy canes / colored lights that bloom out of flower-shaped sockets / a chilling brilliance of manner and expression / sea-green lights / the face of an adept clown / a heart bathed in green / another coldness within the cold / warmly wrapped bodies and green-scarved necks / worried and guilt ridden glances / a wormy mass / the black void of winter / the brightness of an artificial spring / a great green rainbow / green gleaming streets / the dark immensity of a winter night / an effect of stricken horror and despair / an inhuman likeness more proper to something under the earth than above it / a festival within a festival / depressingly pallid clowns / the particular kind of hatred of resulting from some powerful and irrational memory / optimistic greenery in a period of gray dormancy / a kind of obnoxious intelligence / freezing atop an icy throne / commitment to a meaningful mania / bodiless invisibility / seeing without being seen / a sea of zigging and zagging celebrants / the darkness of narrow country roads / innocent normalcy / icy wind / trembling with cold / lanterns that beam with dazzling and frosty light / cadaverous clowns / the apex of darkness / a long snowy robe / moody malignancy / pure unlived lives / all the many shapes of death and dissolution / a dirge for existence / a sea of thin, bloodless faces / icy beauty / a moment of frozen trance / the death known to those whom the gods have first made mad / the welcoming glow of green / slow and silent and entrancing / a velvety white abyss / the paradise of the unborn

The Spectacles in the Drawer

A double-handled dagger with a single blade of polished stone / tall cabinets / ceiling-high shelves / tantalizing arcana / glistening fog / a tedious clarity / a cyclone of strange patterns and colors / spasms of sardonic hilarity / a pale-blue blade / stiff, crackling pages / a seeker of recondite knowledge / undying hope / a gutful of shame and regret / a small and silvery knife / a razor-sharp letter opener / a pair of old-fashioned wire-rimmed spectacles / everything that fascinates / the wish to look away / an infinite and overwhelming scene / the dazzling diffusion of all known universes / landscapes without end / landscapes that are themselves alive / a life unknown to mortal eyes / form and motion / design and dimension / cilia wriggling / mammoth shapes lurching in outline / an obscure oceanic niche / a mere fragment of all that there is to see and to know / labyrinthine astronomies / constant transformations of both appearance and essence / a witness to the most cryptic phenomena that exist or could ever exist / the ultimate thing waiting to be born / still greater visions / a cataclysm which will be both the beginning and the end / unbearable anticipation / ecstasy and dread / the ultimate source of all manifestation / the absolute and the wholly unknown / a revolution of all matter and energy / the visions remaining active inside you, deep in your blood / to be dazzled in the worst way / the total substance of things / an occultist auction / a disreputable quarter of a foreign city / a student of the Gnostics / artificial eyes / a malicious aim to undermine / a child’s awkward embrace / rusty scales / cockeyed bookcases / broken toys / standing ashtrays / desolate bazaars / the charm of disenchantment / a tilting mirror / a climate of dull horror / sinister whispers that make no sense yet seem filled with meaning / sensations of infinite expansiveness and ineffable meaning / astronomical emotions / a mutilated carcass / something of terrible rawness / a torn and flayed thing / microscopic precision / twitching and quivering like a gory heart / hellish giggling / a haunting, lifelong memory / unfathomable depths of feeling / to suffer over and over / a way to kill a dream / the sheltering shadows of one’s home / sobering shadows / a cold and stagnant peace / esoteric ecstasy / vulgar pain / a broad expanse of empty field / a mosaic of mirrors / a shocking galaxy / redundant reflections / dark stars on a silvery firmament / to see with countless eyes / a body ripped raw / a gallery of glass and gore

Flowers of the Abyss

The first rank scent of autumn / a glass of water / a thirsty walker of the woods / a pale flower amongst the dark summer trees / a ghostly flower of autumn / grayish planks / a pallid lily / a pulpy toadstool / a roof of rippling shingles shaped like scales from some great fish / sea-green and sparkling / attic gables with paned windows / the tip of a tear / hundreds of raindrops / light rain / an icy autumn storm / a fragrance damp and decayed / walking ahead of the clouds / the echo of hollow words / a long crooked arm / malodorous gardens of misshapen growths / an oval mirror in an ornate frame / cobwebbed corners / tilting books / something shapeless and nameless / something dampish and submerged / something swampy and abysmal / the pure cold of an autumn storm / a dusty green bottle / a sparkling glass / a world of frozen light / cool and limpid water / the hardness of a jewel / a small music box / stars of sound / twilight shadows and silence / infinitesimal flakes of light / barren decor of dead days / yellowish haze / silvery tones / a tenebrous expanse / unknown exploits / the madness of things / a vagabond of the universe / a drifter among spaces / a mess of hacked pieces / dark horizon meeting dark horizon / a universe of darkness / a convulsing tangle of shapes / the radiant entrails of hell / rain-softened soil / parted waters rushing to remerge / corrupt waters / sticky and pumping veins / slimy tendrils / aberrations of the abyss / a night-gowned figure / a crowd carrying lights / lamps and lanterns bobbing in darkness / clusters of flames / buried like a forgotten dream

Nethescurial

Delicate, crinkly script / greenish-black discoloration / dark waters / moonlit skies / earth mounds / mountain peaks / northern leaf and southern flower / each star and the voids between them / blood and bone / watchful winds / murky waters below / contorted rock formations / pointed pines and spruces of gigantic stature / sea-facing cliffs / stagnant fog / an omnipresent evil / a sleeping sense of doom awakened into full vigour / evil, beloved and menacing evil / sunshine and flowers / darkness and dead leaves / some shaping force of demonic temperament / wartlike hills / tumorous trees / oil lamps scattered about / a sacral glow / a degree of mutual ease / the verdigris of centuries / decomposing jade / pandemonism / cold gray waters / a mere mask for the foulest evil / an absolute evil whose reality is mitigated only by our blindness to it / the universe as a dream / the feverish nightmare of a demonic demiurge / an abstract monster of metaphysics / an altar of coarse stone / skinny shadows / to be actually bound in blackness / white-faced shadows / luminous smoke / glowing, ectoplasmic haze / something thick and oily and strangely colored / an ancient anonymity / spirits beyond all hope or consolation except in the evil to which they would abandon themselves / a ceremony of the chosen / an ancient, darkened mould / petrified lichen / wrought iron tracery / great overgrown gardens of writhing coral / a chaos of little carvings / a world of demonic faces and forms / oneiric visions / inkish waters / an infinitely extensive body of evil / the gods of the ordinary world / dream-induced illusions / visionary intrusions / a banquet of fear / what is squirming beneath every surface / penetrating the usual armor of objects / dark and greenish / garbled whisperings / an island of grass and trees in the middle of the city / globes of light balanced on slim metal poles / a glowing orb / set in the great blackness above / trees swishing overhead / muddied green / walking some indefinite time along some indefinite route / strings of colored lights / a tall, illuminated booth / clownish creatures / expressionless faces and dead puppet eyes / slow, monotonous phrases mingling like the sequences of a fugue / the faces of the living and the dead / wind-blown trees / the greenish darkness of the night / mold-colored smoke / a squirming, creeping, smearing shape / a great deformed crab / the black oceans of infinity / the island of the moon / the cancerous totality of all creatures / oozing ichor / dying in a nightmare

The Dreaming in Nortown

A solitary perdition / a mind to remember the stages of their downfall / a mirror to multiply their abject glory / a memoir of dreams / peculiar powers of sympathy / a decaying and spacious apartment / an ill-mapped world of dreams / a slightly infernal aroma / an acrid combination of tobacco and autumn nights / a small red glow / a long threadbare overcoat / many pungent Octobers / the remote heights or depths of an artificial paradise / the stumbling words of a returning explorer / a stuporous and awed voice / midnight assemblies / in the grip of strange mystical ecstasies / long red hair / esoteric development / a general tenor of chaos / a quality which may or may not make for good company but which always offers promise of the extraordinary / a contrived noisiness / a strange catalogue of sounds / low moans emanating from the most shadowy chasms of dream / sudden intakes of breath / the suction of a startled gasp / abrupt snarls and snorts of a bestial timbre / expressions of unknown turmoil / the calm darkness of the night / staccato groans / the entire audible spectrum of nightmare-inspired terror / mingling overtones of awe and ecstasy / a willing submission to some unknown ordeal / the deeper registers of somnolence / the smell of a freshly lit cigar / the dun colors of dawn / a flood of eidetic horrors / fleeting scenes of nightmare / a reverberating slam / a note scrawled upon a slip of paper / a disproportionate anxiety / the imagined threat of a reprimand / the frayed end of a disciplinary whip / colors twisting in blackness / a tentacled abyss / bone-colored stars / a dream-distorted voice / a spiral notebook with a cover of mock marble / mystical masochism / feats of occult daredevilry / glimpsing the inferno with eyes of ice / a doomed determinism / the striving for horrific dominion over horror itself / wobbling glitter / a field of venomous colors / the glistening inner skin of deadliest nightshade / the entrancing fragrance of fear / the city’s lurid glamor / cryptic badges whose significance is known only to the initiated / comic colors from an electric spectrum / a chilly autumn evening / engraved brass / dingy neon / a black autumn sky / scattering sparks across the sidewalk / flea-market antiquities / calling feline-voiced / colorful chaos / neon signs streaming across the night / clothed in flashing colors / a many-hued phantasmagoria / a flickering and disorderly rainbow of dreams / a multitude of indecisive thoughts and impulses / a brick and neon landscape / a frigid and fragrant October night / darkness and a voice / a coarse scream / a pulsing opalescent aura / a delirious blend of images derived from nightmare/ an ominous sunrise over a dark horizon / a field of fear / a painfully lush iridescence / a burnt-out patch of earth / newspapers mutilated by time / two fresh cigars / a thin book-like box / a scene from some Boschian hell / a hideous series of transfigurations / the screaming mass of a damned soul / an abyss of nightmares / explorations in a hell of one’s own choosing

The Mystics of Muelenburg

Trees made of poster board / houses built of colored foam / mud and dust and ashes / a nightmare of nonsense / fantasy, that misty domain of pure meaning / dim and empty storage space / an ancient armchair / reposing far beneath crumbling rafters / surveying remote worlds / a burst of fireworks / buzzing like flies in the blackness / glow worms flitting in the blinding sun / to keep the sun in the sky / to keep the dead in the earth / a universal vice / a parasite of chaos / a maggot of vice / the prospect of absolute terror / men in the mouths of demons / withholding heaven’s light / the pointed shadows of peaked roofs and jutting gables / faded artifacts of a dead town / high castle turrets / grayness undisturbed / ashen twilight / the yellow light of lamps / sumptuous chambers / humble rooms / the lost luxury of shadows / an infinite vault of glowing dust / a deception by demons / old deities formerly driven from the earth / shadows streaming horribly / the twitching light of a thousand candles / prismatic jewels / a greyish whirlpool / indefinite twilight / the blackness which is the domain of death / necromantic learning / drunken dialogues / unparalleled credulity / fluidity, always fluidity / an ornamented void / the stars and moon / the legions of the dead

In the Shadow of Another World

Walking down streets at twilight / watered lawns / the edges of leaves / pale specters within a fog / the infinite sky itself / gently stirring trees / old silent houses / strange cities disguised as clouds / the depths of a vast, echoing abyss / a blurry little window with a crack in it / a tree-lined street / a pale sky at dusk / peaks and porches / worn wooden steps / dreams and vapor posing as solid matter / a fabulous overlap of properties / petrified flesh / gigantic bones from great beasts of old / chimneys and shingles / a shadow on the horizon / a thing of nightmarish beauty / impossible hopes / a kind of ceremonious desolation / translucent festivals / the faraway sounds of mad carnivals / an instinct for mystification / dubious spectacles / trumped-up histrionics / immaculate to the point of being suspect / a plush and well-tended mausoleum / where the dead are truly at rest / oppressive awareness of other times / secret conspiracies with departed spirits / the unnatural mood of twilight / sinister echoes / dark, polished floors / lofty, uncobwebbed ceilings / a malign presence in the cellar / an insane shadow in the attic / thaumaturgic curios / a hermetic chant of the heavens / no hint of hauntedness / an innocent ambiance / a spiritual wasteland / spiritually antiseptic surroundings / a twisting and tenuous stairway / shattered panes of glass / misshapen glyphs / the shadowy nuances of clouds / a twisted kaleidoscope of colors / the aura of stained-glass cathedral / some obscure desecration / prismatic lenses / that of the dead or the demonic / an eclipse of this world’s vision / a quivering translucence / iridescent sterility / the aftermath of a strange exorcism / neither hallowed nor unholy / a pristine laboratory / a science of nightmares / a small, lamplit library / night’s darkness / a voice that’s accustomed to speaking of miracles / mystical freakshows / a grave sincerity / dissonant overtones of fear / the shadows of another world / forms of specter or demon / the eyes of the flesh / a luminous hell / psychic survival / hopelessly dreaming / terror recollected in tranquility / mazy trauma / the sensations of the soul / a monstrous mystery / a theoretician of nightmares / crude and cryptic designs / a remote and shadowy stage / an adept of pasteboard visions / mucilage and gauze / pulling the strings of light and shadow / shadows gathering / a strange radiance / phosphorescent panes / superlunary light / some cosmic tapestry / a haunted world / the marriage of insanity and metaphysics / a spectral ontogeny / a pageant of nightmares / sunlit bazaars in exotic cities / transparent masks / insectoid countenances / moonlit streets in antique towns / a strange-eyed slithering / dim galleries of empty museums / a ghostly mold / the sullen hues of old paintings / sticky luxuriance / pulpy warmth / an uncanny flux of sounds / cadaverous generations / sculptures of human coral / bodies heaped and unwhole / limbs projecting without order / eyes scattered and searching the darkness / a monument to Terror / a maze of interconnecting doors / spectral monstrosities / the cover of masks / the concealment of stones / feverish properties and intentions / a framed phantasmagoria / grotesque transfigurations / a systemless cosmogony / the caprice of the immaterial / weirdly lucent rooms / chaotic fantasies / narrow, spiraling stairs / the gazing eye of some god / a pyrotechnic craze of colors / a vibrating echo of vocal utterance / swirling sights / a vacuum and a void / doubtful strategies / unknown and extravagant possibilities / occult theories / arcane analyses / the irreducible certainty of nightmare / great shadows in the stars / an infinite catastrophe / protective sigils / the full glare of starlight / stars and shadows / privileged arcana / the enchantments of hell / cold sunlight / the visionary time of twilight

The Cocoons

A gloved hand twitching / a rather unapologetic tone / egg-shaped pills / a half-glass of water / a soft grinding noise / a quietly urgent voice / blotched vapors / a growl of exasperation / unpeopled avenues / a mass of shadows / a landscape without pattern or substance / the moon shining / a doubtful glance / a devastated plain / an open field heaped with debris / bits of glass and scraps of metal / lunar spaciousness / a skeletal structure with all markings of identity scraped off its bones / a densely tangled nest of houses / the dull light of the moon / a yellowish swatch of illumination / high wooden fences / a ruined turret grazed by moonlight / a minor mania / a cobwebbed corner / a blank battered wall / warped floor moldings / a watery light / the quivering light of candles / an old-fashioned film projector / the whirring of a projector / a visual record of a scientific experiment / dark wiry appendages / a pair of slender snapping pincers / tiny translucent wings / glistening but useless / malicious eyes / a dubious look / candles flickering like fire-flies / a cold swamp of shadows / a collection of bones / dazed silence / a clockwork world / sunrise schedules / lunar routines / a pandemonium of forces / a phantasmagoria of possibilities / the shadow of a laugh / a curious hedonism that can’t be controlled / the vagaries of omnipotence / breeder of indulgence / languorous exhaustion / a psychic matter / unheard of habits / languorous exhaustion / a clown’s oversized grin / bliss on the brink of apotheosis / a universal process of transfiguration / restless skittering / a pitiful delight / giddy pride / demoniac undercurrents / the grotesque ultimatums of creation

The Night School

A high, full moon shining among the spreading clouds / shadows singing with the clouds / a slowly flowing mass of mottled shapes / a kind of unclean outpouring / the black sewers of space / the wall of night / smoke, dense and dirty, rising up to the sky / the spastic flames of a small fire / a slender gentleman / a dark suit / broken bones / the process of degeneration / the mulchy rot of autumn or early spring / yellowish light / dark scabby bricks / ruined factories / ravaged mausoleums / abandoned orphanages / a blossom of the cemetery or the cesspool / guttering candles / blurred remnants of past lessons / cloacal forces / time as a flow of sewage / drowning in the pools of night / a thousand molting autumns / the melting soil of spring / a pair of yellowish eyes / undiluted darkness / a darkness far greater than the night itself / consolidated darkness / the science of a spectral pathology / a philosophy of absolute disease / the metaphysics of things sinking into a common disintegration or rising together / dark rottenness / filthy smoke from some smoldering source of expansive corruption / the scent of corruption / the nostalgic perfume of autumn decay / the feculent muskiness of a spring thaw / smoky blackness / the offal of worlds in decline / the dark compost of those about to be born / the primeval impurity In which all things are founded / native putridity / pieces of paper with strange symbols on them / the very face of a plague—pustulant, scabbed, and stinking terribly / a black fog / many voices crying and calling from total blackness / tightly packed earth in a grave / the disease of the night / bright flames / the noise of a fire and the wind / a full moon / shining bright and blurry / a luminous mold / the great sewers of night

The Glamour

A fine aura of fantasy / both blurred and brightened / a starless evening / diamonds of plate glass / old buildings of dark brick / the display window of a toy store / a chaotic tableau of preposterous excitation / mechanized monkeys / fated antics / tiny cymbals / the destined pirouettes of a music-box ballerina / a newly sprung jack-in-the-box / strangely picturesque / dreamily illuminated / sculptured frosting / a winter landscape of swirling, drifting whiteness / snowy rosettes / layers of icy glitter / a glacial kingdom / a brilliant arctic scene / a vitality of enterprise / a glossy light / the placidly enigmatic expressions of a different time / faded lighting / an old photograph / the kind of acute anticipation that a child might experience at a carnival / a possessing impulse without object / wretchedly aglow / a long, narrow corridor with a single light set far into its depths / a strange shade of purple, like that of a freshly exposed heart / a purple lamp / arterial light / a deep pink / a richly blooded brain / a beating heart / wispy shrouds / sparse hairs sticking to the scalp of an old corpse / purple-tinted glass / the darkness of a theater / a swarm of filaments / an elaborate chandelier / a sickly, liverish shade / an operating room where a torso lies open on the table / a palette of pinks and reds and purples / diseased viscera imitating all of the shades of sunset / headstones in a graveyard / endless filthy alleys / long desolate corridors in an old asylum / the dripping passages of a sewer / a dust-blinded window / a dark unvisited cellar / a mirror gone rheumy with age / facets of murky crystal / cobwebs / long pale threads / hazy purple light / the slow curling of thin smoke / a great rectangular web / the ever-mutating images of clouds / a surge of dark elation / a sudden chill announcing bad weather / a vibrant presence / an expression of avid malignance / inner webbings / swirling fibers / wild shocks of twisting hair / a portrait of atrocity / lust for sites and ceremonies of mayhem / writhing cobwebs / reaching tendrils / graveyards and alleyways / a joyous hysteria / a pale purple / sinister and seamy regions / spectral ambiance / all pervasive purple coloration / the labyrinth of a living anatomy / palest pink / a purple light / putrid chambers and cloisters / an infernal land / fleshy, gelatinous integuments / translucent tissue / the theater of a mad surgery / hair-thin sutures / unseen hands designing unnatural shapes and systems / weaving a nest in which possession would take place / the weaver and web-maker / an old puppet-master / setting a helpless creature with new strings / through eyes unknown / purple shadows / a type of degraded rapture / a seizure of debauched panic / webs of hair / great evil / an appeal for deliverance / eyes that would see what should not be seen / stray threads pulled from a sleeve or pocket / a paralytic silence / eyes gazing fierce and malignant / a purple glow / two shafts of the purest purple light / an old woman with glowing eyes

Father Sevich’s Visit

A manner at first vaguely troublesome and afterward rather attractive / the arrival of a priest / the very echoes of the air / mellow afternoon sunlight / dark wooden floors / pale contortions of ancient wall paper / invisible games / abstract dread and a bizarre sort of indebtedness / a thick maze of propositions / a well-made bed / a relentless failure / cloistral tunnels / vaulted penetralia / a single column-clutching hand / the necessary features of fear / a maddening task / a series of completely irrelevant expressions / misty-eyed wonder / cretinous bafflement / smiling in an almost amiable way at one one’s impending doom / the trap of expectation / a sleepy whisper / the sound of soft conversation / the world of good manners and polite talk / a look of incompleteness / some unfinished effigy in a toy maker’s workshop / something vital to expression / the purple-robed mysteries of priesthood / animated eyes / withered things reeking of medicine and prayer / a painfully delicate subject / varnished wood / salvation through suffering / sacred horrors / the divine destiny toward which the paths of anguish have always led / volumes of blessed agony / an attitude of prayerful pleading / torturing demons / a single squatted devil / bristling lashes that sprout like weeds / an explosion of miniature grotesquerie / a brief and calculated absence / a modest fund of moral energy / a macabre icon / profane lessons / a countenance of true terror / a ridiculously empty slate / an off-stage atrocity / a cycle of mute, incredible lore / anthropomorphic mist / an eerie lividity / unconscious hours of darkness / a chronicle of truly unspeakable things / the light of every constellation in the visible universe / the oppressive mysteries of the autumn season / thick orange crayons / black cats / black paper / a hopeless urge for innovation / a tiny white collar / dripping with fever / hat and cloak and walking stick / narrow, nocturnal streets / a fairy-tale vision / serpentine lanes / the distorted glow of street lamps / the thinnest blade of moon / a narrow niche / an unpaved lane / a small courtyard surrounded by high walls / the stars above / jaundiced lamplight / a stairway of cut stone / the earth and absolute blackness / tiny lights glimmering like stars / clouds of shadows / some golden metal / a caricature of serenity / a hand as white as the whitest glove / chaotic rays / underworld starlight / a certain expression of rarefied scorn or disgust / indignant shadows / black, ankle-high shoes / the natural nightlight of the moon / an infernal aura or an angelic halo / a planet revolving its unspeakable tonnage in the blackness of space / a small bottle of holy water / secret denial and privilege / a smile of deep contentment

Miss Plarr

Misty, drizzling days / sharp, urgent rappings at the front door / a world of darkening mist / mist-covered locks / listening with intense expectancy / the world’s chaos of faces / a seething luxuriance / dark battlements of clouds / a mute and sullen twilight / a stone-gray sky / those days all shackled in gloom / a fugue of noise / the livid radiance of moonlight / the wild shape of some night-blossom / some strange and cruel kingdom / an intimate dungeon cell reserved for the most exclusive captivity / constant, noisy marauding / sedentary or stealthy rituals / an abyss of unspoken reproaches and suspicions / some ancient seagoing vessel / an old oil lamp / a series of quite fascinating lectures / a kind of brutality and an air of exile / deliriums of earth and sky / fog-bound islands in polar seas / shadowed realms littered with dead cities / peaks lacerated by unceasing winds / a bluish slime / the proper way to behave / the great mists of spring / murky sheets of ice / a world of shadows bound in place / the sound of something that stings the air / the hissing of rainy afternoons / immense blades sweeping over vast spaces / expansive wings cutting through cold winds / long whips lashing in darkness / intangible sympathies / a dark mesh of nightmares / a foul nest in which one’s own suspicions are swarming / links to a strictly mundane order / a briskness that seems to be an effort / a heavy spring dampness / lost to the world of wholesome practicalities / a hypnotic and fateful determination / a child’s weakness for prospects of misadventure / a fog-smothered landscape / a pale, floating web / an immense and awful kingdom / a patternless conglomerate of crystals / a misty graveyard / angular and many-faced monuments / the mountainous and murky thunderheads of a rainy season / the very essence of a storm / a matter of suspicion and conjecture / atrocious potential / fogs and mists and gray heaping skies / a conspicuous stridency / a dour mystique / a gray mist / skies of hissing rain

The Shadow At the Bottom of the World

Some feverish intent / sheaves of cornstalks standing brownish and brittle in a newly harvested field / a sky of empty light / fiery leafage / something dark, something abysmal / small shadowy voices / sweet wine turning to vinegar / a hysteric brilliance / displays of thorn apple, sumac, and towering sunflowers / crooked roadside fences / a moonlit field / a bright round moon / nocturnal solitude / patched-up overalls / worn flannel / the withered leaves of cornstalks / moonlight spread across a dead field / a great idol in shabby disguise / a sacred avatar out of season / fidgeting bemusement / a leaden vault of clouds / pure sunlight / misty dreams of the past night / a vine-twisted stone wall / dormant vines / a strange network of dead veins / calculated grayness / radiant leaves / legions of local cicadas / a dark fungus / of the blackest earth / a rich loam / a bog of shadows / an abyss in the outline of a man / the feel of wind and water / a few shifting flames / flames of only the slightest warmth / black flames / the molten texture of spoiled fruit / a shriveled scarecrow / an armory of axes, shovels, and other implements / an eccentricity of the harvest / a viscous mire / innumerable insects laughing / sprouting blackness / a perverse reluctance / the great shadow of a moonless night / the dark rustling depths of the season / the glass globes of streetlamps / the dense leaves of elms and oaks and maples / blazing auras / the frigid aurora of dawn / frost-powdered earth / shadows and corn shocks / countless insects chattering unseen / the feverish life of the earth / the wrinkled grimace of decay / corrupted by vile impulses / a mound of soft dirt / the darkish grooves of ancient bark / the mottled complexion of old flesh / a multitude of crooked smiles / a freakish mask painted with russet, rashy colors / a virulent intensity / an autumn night when fields lay ragged in moonlight / moist and fertile shadows / a hollow-eyed howling malignity / the cold emptiness of space / the pale gaze of the moon / the depths of an extraordinary harvest / insecure hints and delvings / the luxuriant shadow of trees / the mocking plumage of a strange season / an array of whims and suspicions / scraps of lush color / gold and crimson hieroglyphs / deathless leaves / an ill-formed village / a hideous impersonation of a face / leprous masks / knotty shadows / a subterranean craze of roots and tendrils / an underworld riot of branching convolutions / gnarled ornamentations / autumnal decay / knives and axes and curving scythes / countless colored leaves / pronouncements of dire or delightful curiosity / a dull trance / a wild luminousness / a diamond-bright fever burning within / perennial strangeness / tenacious foliage / softly glowing against a black sky / an untimely nocturnal rainbow / a harvest of hues / peach gold / pumpkin orange / honey yellow / winy amber / apple red / plum violet / the pyrotechnics of a new autumn / a thousand glittering dreams / a rigid scarecrow / a patchwork of shadows / a quivering glow / a premature craving / an expertly whetted blade / a betrayal or deception on the part of creation itself / something buried deep within appearances / something that wears a mask to hide itself / holding a spatula like a weapon / moldering shadows / a dreamless sleep / a sudden rage of mortification / the remains of a dismantled scarecrow / an ashen autumn morning / the feeling of blood / a bottomless grave

#rp meme #roleplaying meme #aesthetic meme #horror tw #blood tw #gore tw #clown tw #body horror tw #nihilism cw #roleplay meme #long post #meme

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turquoisedays · 4 years ago

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Grimscribe Aesthetic Meme

REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG AND DO NOT DELETE THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION.

Bold what applies to your muse.

Tagged by: Me, myself and I, because I’m ALWAYS A SLUG FOR THOMAS LIGOTTI.

Tagging: @choujin @mothersins @flowerytruth (You decide which muse! >:3c) @givealls (For Kazuma mayhap?) annnnnnnd my other blog.

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The Last Feast of Harlequin

The Spectacles in the Drawer

Flowers of the Abyss

Nethescurial

The Dreaming in Nortown

A solitary perdition / a mind to remember the stages of their downfall / a mirror to multiply their abject glory / a memoir of dreams / peculiar powers of sympathy / a decaying and spacious apartment / an ill-mapped world of dreams / a slightly infernal aroma / an acrid combination of tobacco and autumn nights / a small red glow / a long threadbare overcoat / many pungent Octobers / the remote heights or depths of an artificial paradise / the stumbling words of a returning explorer / a stuporous and awed voice / midnight assemblies / in the grip of strange mystical ecstasies / long red hair / esoteric development / a general tenor of chaos / a quality which may or may not make for good company but which always offers promise of the extraordinary / a contrived noisiness / a strange catalogue of sounds / low moans emanating from the most shadowy chasms of dream / sudden intakes of breath / the suction of a startled gasp / abrupt snarls and snorts of a bestial timbre / expressions of unknown turmoil / the calm darkness of the night / staccato groans / the entire audible spectrum of nightmare-inspired terror / mingling overtones of awe and ecstasy / a willing submission to some unknown ordeal / the deeper registers of somnolence / the smell of a freshly lit cigar / the dun colors of dawn / a flood of eidetic horrors / fleeting scenes of nightmare / a reverberating slam / a note scrawled upon a slip of paper / a disproportionate anxiety / the imagined threat of a reprimand / the frayed end of a disciplinary whip / colors twisting in blackness / a tentacled abyss / bone-colored stars / a dream-distorted voice / a spiral notebook with a cover of mock marble / mystical masochism / feats of occult daredevilry / glimpsing the inferno with eyes of ice / a doomed determinism / the striving for horrific dominion over horror itself / wobbling glitter / a field of venomous colors / the glistening inner skin of deadliest nightshade / the entrancing fragrance of fear / the city’s lurid glamor / cryptic badges whose significance is known only to the initiated / comic colors from an electric spectrum / a chilly autumn evening / engraved brass / dingy neon / a black autumn sky / scattering sparks across the sidewalk / flea-market antiquities / calling feline-voiced / colorful chaos / neon signs streaming across the night / clothed in flashing colors / a many-hued phantasmagoria / a flickering and disorderly rainbow of dreams / a multitude of indecisive thoughts and impulses / a brick and neon landscape / a frigid and fragrant October night / darkness and a voice / a coarse scream / a pulsing opalescent aura / a delirious blend of images derived from nightmare / an ominous sunrise over a dark horizon / a field of fear / a painfully lush iridescence / a burnt-out patch of earth / newspapers mutilated by time / two fresh cigars / a thin book-like box / a scene from some Boschian hell / a hideous series of transfigurations / the screaming mass of a damned soul / an abyss of nightmares / explorations in a hell of one’s own choosing

The Mystics of Muelenburg

In the Shadow of Another World

The Cocoons

A gloved hand twitching / a rather unapologetic tone / egg-shaped pills / a half-glass of water / a soft grinding noise / a quietly urgent voice / blotched vapors / a growl of exasperation / unpeopled avenues / a mass of shadows / a landscape without pattern or substance / the moon shining / a doubtful glance / a devastated plain / an open field heaped with debris / bits of glass and scraps of metal / lunar spaciousness / a skeletal structure with all markings of identity scraped off its bones / a densely tangled nest of houses / the dull light of the moon / a yellowish swatch of illumination / high wooden fences / a ruined turret grazed by moonlight / a minor mania / a cobwebbed corner / a blank battered wall / warped floor moldings / a watery light / the quivering light of candles / an old-fashioned film projector / the whirring of a projector / a visual record of a scientific experiment / dark wiry appendages / a pair of slender snapping pincers / tiny translucent wings / glistening but useless / malicious eyes / a dubious look / candles flickering like fire-flies / a cold swamp of shadows / a collection of bones / dazed silence / a clockwork world / sunrise schedules / lunar routines / a pandemonium of forces / a phantasmagoria of possibilities / the shadow of a laugh / a curious hedonism that can’t be controlled / the vagaries of omnipotence / breeder of indulgence / languorous exhaustion / a psychic matter / unheard of habits / a clown’s oversized grin / bliss on the brink of apotheosis / a universal process of transfiguration / restless skittering / a pitiful delight / giddy pride / demoniac undercurrents / the grotesque ultimatums of creation

The Night School

The Glamour

Father Sevich’s Visit

Miss Plarr

The Shadow At the Bottom of the World

#meme response #this took a bit but >:0 i enjoyed it #gore tw just to be safe?#blood tw also to be safe #horror cw #nihilism tw #unreality tw #clowns tw ////

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acemenagerie-a · 4 years ago

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Get To Know the Muse: Antes Kallus

tagged by: @writedisaster tagging: have at it!! ^^

Favorite things.

season: Seasons throughout the galaxy are variable by planet, but he does prefer things to be on the cooler end. After being stranded on Bahryn, he’s more inclined to prefer the equivalent of spring or fall over winter - too much snow starts stirring unpleasant memories. color: Orange pie: Would probably enjoy the equivalent of a key lime pie a lot. fruit: Jogan fruit was his childhood favorite, though he didn’t get it often. He still, technically, prefers that fruit flavor above others, but has mixed feelings regarding the memories it brings up and so avoids it. ice cream flavor: Chocolate breakfast food: Fried eggs alcoholic drink: Any really, but does have a fondness for Corellian spiced ale. soda flavor: Cola scent: A scent like Lady Grey tea flowers: Fire lily animal: Always had a fondness for the various canids in the galaxy, though now has a marked preference toward Loth-wolves movie: Would rather watch something slow and character-driven tv show: He’d like procedural dramas and mysteries, but also would get incredibly invested in figuring it out and be utterly insufferable about it book: Mysteries and, again, will get too invested in solving it first. May make a conspiracy board for it, don’t get him started. Admittedly, he has very little free-time to indulge such things. superhero: Not very into the genre at all fairy tale: Could absolutely not tell you a single fairytale if asked. If he was ever told one, he completely deleted the tale. genre of music: Heavy and solid, with good drum beats genre of movies: As mentioned above, character-driven dramas. genre of books: As mentioned above, well-plotted mysteries, though he’d probably also enjoy something light and humorous.

Pick one.

hot or cold juice or soda tv or movie movie or book late night talk shows or reality tv twitter or instagram trees or flowers philosophy or psychology ocean or lake water park or amusement park cats or dogs fresh water or sparkling water sugar or honey cookies or candy bath or shower morning or night running or walking piercings or tattoos frozen yogurt or ice cream vanilla or chocolate caramel or butterscotch art or music t-shirt or button down text or call ghosts or aliens

Have they ever.

ridden a motorcycle: No. Has driven speeders though, which is kinda same vibe? stolen something: Yes. eaten an entire pizza by themselves: No. made a prank call: No. broken a bone: Yes absolutely and has gotten approximately zero of those injuries properly treated. He’s got some wonky bones under than armor. fallen asleep during a concert or movie: Yes. walked out of a movie because it was so bad: No. been on the phone with someone for longer than 2 hours: Yes. Not entirely willingly. dined & dashed: Yes, when he was much, much younger. held a gun: Yes. ding dong ditched: No. gone skinny dipping: Absolutely not. cried during a movie: No. smuggled food into a movie: No. lied to get a job: Yes. Getting hired by the Empire involved a lot of... obfuscation about his ancestry. practiced lines in front of a mirror: No. He has glared at himself and mentally told himself to get his shit together, though. tried to see how many marshmallows they can stuff in their mouth at once: No. been kicked out of somewhere: Yes. been on a blind date: lmao no. ghosted someone: No, but he has been Ghost-ed!! ba-dum tsh!! that barely makes sense as a pun but im keeping it in y’all can’t stop me bragged about something they haven’t done: Yes. said i love you without meaning it: No. gotten in a fight: Yes 100% absolutely fallen asleep on a bus: No.

Miscellaneous.

how do they take their tea or coffee: Black, no sugar what is their ideal date: Being vulnerable? In his him??? He’s incredibly repressed and also incredibly inexperienced so he’d do way better at something informal and casual. He hasn’t experienced a lot of tenderness since all those years back when he first became a Coruscanti cop in the underworld, so... what are some of their guilty pleasures: Has a tiny bit of a sweet tooth that doesn’t get indulged often given the setting. To be fair, he also considers a lot of basic self care like sleep and relaxing to be guilty pleasures because he is wound up incredibly tight and holds himself to very exacting standards even after defecting to the Rebellion. longest they’ve stayed up for: Approximately 96 hours with aid of stimulants. greatest talent: Ability to survive against all odds. To this day, I am still amazed he survived the entire run of Rebels, since the moment he was on screen, I thought he was doomed to die. strange habits: He keeps the meteorite from Bahryn and will hold it for comfort or reassurance. He also staunchly refuses most medical treatment; while with the Empire it was because he couldn’t risk his hyperpigmentation revealing his Chiss ancestry. With the Rebellion, it is more of a hold-over habit. He’s used to hiding and doesn’t know how to stop. first job: Cop in the Coruscanti underworld. can they do a handstand: Yes. can they cook: Not really. He can follow instructions if given, but he doesn’t cook-cook much do they have allergies: Nope. do they believe in love in first sight: No. He doesn’t think much about love, but also doesn’t believe it could happen instantly. have any special talents: Biologically, he is very resistant to cold. He’ll still, eventually, succumb to hypothermia if left too long, but it takes him much longer than most other humans to reach the same “stages.”

#(( it's been a hot minute since ive thought abt good ol' space javert here!! ))#the compass inside | kallus headcanons #play in this space | dash games #ace the helpful place | ooc #injury mention #alcohol mention

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thou-crusty-batch-of-nature · 6 years ago

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A light in the darkness - Part 2

Pairing Remus x reader Warnings language, cuteness overloaded A/N Thank you @futurewriter2000 for all your help! Here comes part two. I hope you will like it! Feel free to send me feedback and requests!

GIF NOT MINE

When I arrived in the great hall, everyone was waiting for me. Aza, Lily and Remus were discussing upon a book they've recently read, while Zoe, James, Peter and Sirius were arguing over quidditch. Zoe seemed the most devastated. "Oh, Peter; even they've realised that they are the worst! They've even changed their motto to: "Let's all just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best!" On the other hand, Ballycastle Bats is the second most successful team in the League's history!" "Slow down, Miss Fruitbat! There will only be one champion! Your team may be the second, but Puddlemere United has twenty-two League wins!" James interrupted. "Yeah, and another two at the Quidditch World Cup!" Sirius added, before turning to me. "Look, the queen has finally decided to come! I was ready to send your servant to escort you!" "You are too kind, but we all know there'll only be one true queen here!" "Yes, a drama queen!" Remus snorted. "I bet the ladies at the palace would kill for your hair, Snuffles!" James said. "Where shall we go?" "I really need to buy some quills, as a very annoying dog decided to destroy all of them!" I announced. "In my defence, the ulm wood is very tasty!" "I need to buy some parchments, we can go together to Scrivenshaft's." Remus said. James rolled his eyes. "Nerds." "Then we will all meet at the Three Broomsticks in an hour, is that okay?" Lily asked. After everyone had agreed, Remus and I headed for the shop. It was a warm late-autumn day. The sun was shining shyly. I was looking at the quills, trying to choose between a white and a black one, when I heard my name being called. "You won't believe what I've found!" "If it's a very interesting book, you can just say!" "Then I guess I'll just leave with the newest AC/DC album, what a cruel life!" "What!?" He was one of the few friends who knew my love for rock. Growing up in the Black family, I hadn't had access to any kind of muggle stuff, but having Zoe as my roommate soon made me love music as much as her. We paid for our stuff, then we walked for a while, letting the scrunching leaves bring back our happiest memories, slowly getting closer. "Did Padfoot really destroy your quills?" "Yeah, and most of my shoes. Once I've found him on my bed, ready to play with my History of Magic essay! After I'd worked 3 hour for that, I was ready to make him a coat!" "He chewed my wand a few times, too." We were walking up the hill. The village was painted in tones of red and orange. "I know. He came running to my room, begging me to let him hide there. I haven't seen him more frightened before." We laughed. "I still don't know how you managed to find the spell for entering the girls' dorms." "A gentleman never tells his secrets." "Come on, I want to take revenge! He destroyed my favourite trainers!" I tried to nudge him gently, but I accidentally tripped over a root and fell on the ground. Remus attempted to catch me, but he was too slow. "Are you okay?" he asked panicked. He took my hands, helping me stand. "Yes, it's just my foot. I think I sprained my ankle, but I can walk-" "Nonsense! There's no way I'm going to let you limp until we get there!" That's how I ended up on Remus' back, my hands around his neck, while he was carrying me through the sleepy village. My chin rested on his light brown curls. In a few minutes, we arrived at the three broomsticks. When he gently put me down, I didn't hesitate to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Thank you so much!" "Don't mention it, love!" Roses bloomed on his face, looking so stoic against his freckled cheeks. "Well, you two obviously had some fun!" Lily cheered. "Oh, will you shut up already!" We sat down at the corner table. "Where are the rest?" "Sirius and Peter are at Zonko's, and Zoe and Aza went to Honeydukes to 'refill the emergency stash' whatever that means." James said, "Would you like anything to drink? I was ready to go give the order when you came." "A butterbeer." "I want one, too, but I am coming with you." Remus answered. Seeing the boys leave, I turned to Lily. "So, how did your first date go?" "It was amazing, we went to Madam Puddifoot's." she mused, glancing at James. "Didn't you two hate that place?" "I for sure do, but he doesn't have to know that. I had to see if he was willing to do what I wanted, even if it was pure torture for him." "You know he's been at your feet since our second year; why did you bother?" Lily smirked mischievously. "It was hilarious to see him covered in pink confetti and glitter, not to mention the group of first year's who stalked him all the way here."

"Your order, ladies!" Remus said, putting the beverages down. The others came after that, and we spent the rest of the day talking and laughing. Soon the sun was setting and we needed to go back. As I stepped outside, I realised that wearing a shirt wasn't the wisest decision. The wind was blowing violently, but it wasn't the only thing sending shivers through my body. Remus' hand was around my shoulders 'just in case I needed support to step' as he said. However, I almost fell again when he moved it on the small of my back. "Are you alright there, little one?" my brother asked, noticing my behaviour. "Just a bit chilly, that's it!" Remus removed his hand, only to take off his coat and put it over my shoulders. It smelt like his musky cologne. It's strange how cozy and happy I've felt under his touch. I looked in his eyes, smiling sweetly. "Thank you!" "The pleasure is mine!" he answered, taking my hand in his. 'I used to think love was bound by numbers: first kisses, second dances, infinite heartbreaks. I used to think numbers outlasted the love itself, surviving in the dark corners of the demolished heart. I used to think love was heavy and hard. I don’t think those things anymore.' -David Arnold, Kids of Appetite

Time flew by like a petal in the wind. The Christmas break was only a couple of days away. My friends and I hadn't planned anything this year, so we had to go home. The classes have just finished. Aza, Zoe and I decided to celebrate the winter wonderland by going outside. With thick, woollen socks, scarves and beanies, you could say we were ready to move on a glacier. We were just finishing a snowman, when I felt something cold landing on my back. As I turned to see the attacker, another snowball hit my face. "You blithering idiots!" I took the snow out of my now freezing face, turning to the source of the brutal attack. I immediately saw the innocent faces of the marauders. "It was Remus!" Sirius denounced, hands up in surrender. "Y/N I am truly, terribly sorry! Are you hurt?" "You better fucking start running!" "Oh- I get it." With that, he sprinted through the snow, without a destination. Still, I didn't need more than a minute to catch him. I quickly made the biggest snowball I could, from which he dodged easily. However, when he threw his, I was so taken aback that I fell, sprawling over him. "Hi," I whispered innocently, my thighs around his waist. "'Ello, little one! Got yourself cosy here, didn't you?" "I suppose I did, " I said, slowly grazing my fingers over his face and neck, following the pattern of a scar. I let my eyes turn the same greenish colour as his, observing how they dilated. Frozen as in a spell, he didn't see the fist of snow I managed to take and smash in his face. "Oh, you little minx!" That's not fair!" "Only losers say that!" "Fine, I surrender, you've won!" We went to our rooms wet and filled with joy. With the winter outside, we couldn't ignore the summer from our souls. "Are you going to be okay?" Aza asked. "Yes." "You know, if they do anything to you, you can always send me an owl and I'll be ready to beat their ass." Zoe said.

"I will be fine, I'll be with Sirius." We were in our dorm, packing our stuff. It was a rather cloudy night. Snowflakes were peacefully making their way to the ground, turning the world in a enormous chess board. I finished drying and packing my clothes from today's snowball fight. I was exhausted. "I am off to bed!" I announced.

TAGLIST @futurewriter2000 @booksbeforebois @puppycat714

#gryffindor #remus x reader #remus lupin #james potter #sirius black #lily evans #peter pettigrew #marauders era #hogwarts #the marauders

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bluekookutchoo · 7 years ago

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Arcana Apprentice muse preferences and nature aesthetic tag! I was tagged by @murielswife Thank you Birby😘

I will tag @debesmala @jeminy3 @ophrana and anyone who wants to do it! (You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to) Basic Info About My MC Name: Imogen Zodiac: Scorpio Favorite Food: Garlic chicken w rice Favorite Drink: Frozen pomegranate lemonade Favorite Flower: Calla lily Muse Preferences Open curtains | CLOSED BLINDS ~ STRAY DOG | House cat ~ People | PETS ~ OUTSIDE | Inside ~ HALF-EMPTY | Half-full ~ tv | RADIO ~ SING | Dance ~ SHOES | Sandals ~ CASH | Credit ~ Hike | DRIVE ~ Casual | ELEGANT ~ Center | CORNER ~ SWORD | Shield ~ AIRPLANE | Boat ~ FIZZY | Flat ~ GARNISHED | Plain ~ EXTRA SALT | Extra pepper ~ Spicy | MILD ~ Record player | DIGITAL MEDIA ~ OPAQUE | Transparent ~ WHITE LIES | Complete truth ~ BLUNT | Subtle ~ Noisy | SILENT ~ BOOKS | Music ~ FAMILIAR | New ~ Youth | EXPERIENCE ~ Spoon | FORK AND KNIFE ~ KNIFE | Baseball bat ~ Space | OCEAN ~ BOW AND ARROW | Blow dart ~ Love at first sight | SLOW BURN ~ FRECKLES | Dimples ~ LONG EYELASHES | Long fingers ~ Soft lips | SENSITIVE NECK ~ Stubble | THICK HAIR ~ Slow dance | INTIMATE CONVERSATION ~ CANDLELIGHT DINNER | Stargazing ~ Natural Aesthetics BOLD the natural aesthetics that appeal to or apply to your muse! fluffy white nimbus clouds. dark grey cumulonimbus clouds. RAIN CLOUDS. a hurricane.light spring breeze. a sherbet-colored sky at sunrise. hazy yellow skies. deep blue ponds of fresh water.BLANKETS OF SPARKLING SNOW. tornado winds. monsoon flooding. rich, orange sunsets.soft, purple clouds at dusk. heavy hail. THE RUMBLING OF THUNDER. icy sleet. GENTLE SNOWFALL. moss - dusted tree bark. pink sunset clouds. grey winter skies.navy blue skies in the daytime. COOL MIST IN THE MORNING. leaf - bare trees. giant ocean waves. THE FULL MOON. a cracked, dry desert. rolling hills of prairie grass. sweeping waves of briny seawater. rocky, steep ravines. rippling canyon walls. spindly, cave stalactites .creeping, green ivy. lush canopies of leafy trees. DENSE, WHITE FOG. a peaceful creek of clear water. flowering cacti dusted with dew, catching light in the morning sun. a bubbling, hot pool of volcanic sulfur. SHARP, GREY MOUNTAINSIDE.fossils nestled in chunks of rock. a white sand beach. deep imprints of animal tracks in the dirt. soft, squishy moss. uniform rows of birch trees in winter.delicate mushrooms popping up in spring from beneath the decay on the forest floor. tumbleweeds jerking in the faintest wind across the desert landscape. light rain. summer wildfires. a mixing of hot and cool air before a storm. silent lightning in the static of summer heat. a windy blizzard. thick flakes of snow tumbling down from the sky. a tree standing alone in a barren yellow field. a desert of loose sand and tall, orange dunes. a pure blue sky. a river of molten rock. a grove of flowering trees. twisting, mangled roots sticking up from the muddy ground. bitter, cold winds. TUMULTUOUS SKIES OF STORMY CLOUDS. branches of lightning ripping across the sky. a foggy swamp. the tree - bare foothills of a mountain range. sandy brown cliff sides. rocky coastlines. the violent shaking of an earthquake. the lights of the auroras borealis and australis. A BLACK SAND BEACH. a lone tropical island in the reef of shallow, aqua waters. underwater volcanic vents. a herd of migrating mammals. tree branches growing heavy with ripe fruit. light streaming down through the clouds. a field of lush grain wading peacefully in the summer breeze. the sound of insects and frogs teeming in the night. natural diamonds nestled in coarse desert sands. a frozen lake.

#thanks for tagging me!#my ocs #the arcana game

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cursedandcarried-blog · 7 years ago

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NATURE AESTHETICS.

BOLD the natural aesthetics that appeal to or apply to your muse! Repost, do not reblog. Feel free to add any natural features you see fit!

fluffy white nimbus clouds. dark grey cumulonimbus clouds. rain clouds. a hurricane. light spring breeze. a sherbet-colored sky at sunrise. hazy yellow skies. deep blue ponds of fresh water. blankets of sparkling snow. tornado winds. monsoon flooding. rich, orange sunsets. soft, purple clouds at dusk. heavy hail. the rumbling of thunder.

icy sleet. gentle snowfall. moss - dusted tree bark. pink sunset clouds. grey winter skies. navy blue skies in the daytime. cool mist in the morning. leaf - bare trees. giant ocean waves. the full moon. a cracked, dry desert. rolling hills of prairie grass. sweeping waves of briny seawater. rocky, steep ravines. rippling canyon walls. spindly, cave stalactites. creeping, green ivy. lush canopies of leafy trees. dense, white fog. a peaceful creek of clear water.

flowering cacti dusted with dew, catching light in the morning sun. a bubbling, hot pool of volcanic sulfur. sharp, grey mountainsides. fossils nestled in chunks of rock. a white sand beach. deep imprints of animal tracks in the dirt. soft, squishy moss. uniform rows of birch trees in winter. delicate mushrooms popping up in spring from beneath the decay on the forest floor. tumbleweeds jerking in the faintest wind across the desert landscape. light rain.

summer wildfires. a mixing of hot and cool air before a storm. silent lightning in the static of summer heat. a windy blizzard. thick flakes of snow tumbling down from the sky. a tree standing alone in a barren yellow field. a desert of loose sand and tall, orange dunes. a pure blue sky. a river of molten rock. a grove of flowering trees. twisting, mangled roots sticking up from the muddy ground.

bitter, cold winds. tumultuous skies of stormy clouds. branches of lightning ripping across the sky. a foggy swamp. the tree - bare foothills of a mountain range. sandy brown cliff sides.rocky coastlines. the violent shaking of an earthquake. the lights of the auroras borealis and australis.

a black sand beach. a lone tropical island in the reef of shallow, aqua waters.underwater volcanic vents. a herd of migrating mammals. tree branches growing heavy with ripe fruit.light streaming down through the clouds. a field of lush grain wading peacefully in the summer breeze. the sound of insects and frogs teeming in the night. natural diamonds nestled in coarse desert sands. a frozen lake. a thicket of thorny bushes. ruins overtaken by nature. a solar eclipse. lily pads on dark pond water. a field of wildflowers.

tagged by: @underthekillingmxxn tagging: anyone who wants to do it

#meme

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grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales · 7 years ago

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Cold comes and goes, love remains

It is summer but why not. Set after Snow Queen.

Magic always leaves trace. Magic of immortal things from before time doubly so. Gerda cannot forget and Kai can’t help but remember.

Together, they make it work.

They never tell you what happens after. After the tale. After the villain is defeated and you are back home. After the friend is saved.

Sometimes, Gerda wonders if that is her mistake. Should she have walked in while Snow Queen sat on her throne, engaged her in duel, killed her? Her stomach turns at thought of killing a living being, of taking another’s life.

But Snow Queen isn’t human. Gerda isn’t even sure she can be counted as alive. And what use is there for world of somebody that steals children and buries people under ice and snow?

‘’ No,’’ says Kai. ‘’ You did everything great. Without you, I’d never be free. And you wouldn’t kill her. You shouldn’t stain your hands with blood.’’

He doesn’t lie, as Snow Queen didn’t ( couldn’t), but like her leaves piece of truth hidden. He doesn’t say that otherwise Gerda would have fallen, one more victim of frostbite. He doesn’t say that you can’t kill blizzard, can’t harm winter, can’t make cold of vast space bleed. You can only prepare shelters, wrap yourself in fur and wool, and wait for it to pass.

He doesn’t say that army of angels was needed to fight against horde of snowflakes, that even Michael, he who leads God’s armies, would have failed against Queen there, in heart of her power.

He doesn’t say that Queen deserves no punishment, that she did nothing wrong. Winter gale doesn’t choose which way it blows, doesn’t seek to end lives. How can something without conscience, without morality, be called evil?

At first, everything is same as before. They are at home, living with grandmothers, playing on roofs and planting roses. They forget for a while.

It is small things at first. Seeing herself in windows and mirrors, all tall and grown up. Meeting old friends and not recognizing them. Reminders of years missed that slip from grandmother’s mouth. Finding job.

Whispers of roses. Chatter of birds. Kai’s hair, long and white as freshly fallen snow. His dark skin, once warm and rich as fertile earth, now pale as frozen ground of taiga.

Gerda closes her eyes and pretends not to hear.

‘’ It is so hot.’’ Gerda’s granny says.

‘’ I don’t remember summer this dry and warm.’’ Answers Kai’s.

‘’ I don’t think I could stand a day more of this heat.’’ Lies Kai. It is easier to pretend then admit that neither heat or cold bother him anymore ( Gerda restored his memory and took him home, but Queen kissed him, and he isn’t sure if she made him immune or fire and ice don’t dare harm him, but since that day he could go nude in blizzard and wrap himself in furs and walk through desert and not feel anything).

‘’ Rain will soon fall.’’ It comes out of her mouth without thinking. They turn, blink, and grandmothers ask ( how do you know, why are you sure, did somebody tell you).

Words stop in her mouth. How does she explain, sparrows gossiping about faraway storm, soon to come. How does she explain about roses knowing, feeling it’s arrival, starving for water that shall descend from sky.

‘’ I just know.’’ It is enough for now.

She sets up flower shop. Of course she does. What else could she have done?

Many things. She could have opened bakery, or served in inn, or became a teacher. She could have become a nurse, or started selling clothes she made, or cared for children of not so rich families. And she is princess’s friend. She could have had anything. She really shouldn’t treat it as such mundane thing, even if it maybe is. Because even princesses have friends but who would have thought that she, Gerda, would be one to befriend the princess. She has spent years on journey, planning, hoping, fighting to survive. Childhood friends are nothing but blur in her mind. Princess is one of few people in world she can call friend anymore.

Princess in name only, she should add, for her friend has reigned over their land since she was fifteen, first aided by regent and advisers then alone, guided by her own wisdom. Year still needs to pass for her to ascend to mantle of monarch formally, which is stupid tradition in Gerda’s opinion, but Princess is content with waiting- rules are to be followed, and Gerda doesn’t begrudge her that, as long as none suffer under them.

But thing is, she could have had any job she wanted. Anything that didn’t involve flowers and plants and hearing voices nobody else does, understanding their songs and stories. She didn’t have to do that.

But she likes gardening. She has always loved it, since she can remember planting and tending seeds, nurturing and guiding young green things to their first bloom, caring for them through year until cruel frost steals their life, as winter always does.

And she will be damned if she lets magic or bad memories take that away from her

She is successful. Beyond that even. She nourishes her plants, like mother caring for children, and they drive. Years of experience and hard work and knowledge she gained make sure none can match her.

Her flowers don’t speak, which surprises and relaxes her (but doesn’t disappoint, of course not). Flowers of old woman who enchanted her could speak like men, though they knew only to tell one story and to argue. Her roses, red and white, could muster words, not sentences but still expressions that she could understand.

Flowers she grows just murmur, too low for her to understand, and sing their wordless tunes. Still, she feels, and can imagine what story they would tell, if nourished by old woman’s magic.

Lily who drowns with despair, rolling off it like dew would be about girl who lost too much and walked into lake on her own.

Wildflowers that chime like jingle bells would be about three girls running under summer sun in green meadow.

Carnation with anger and pride as bright as fire would be about woman who knows what she desires, and dance laughing at those who try to stop her, for sooner will world burn than she will bow.

That is what attracts her customers, she muses. Somehow, she coaxes out those stories from flowers into hearts, and people know that her boquets mean more than any else. They come to her with wishes, flowers for first date, flowers for marriage, flowers for separation, for funeral, for spite, for apology. She cares not for so called flower language or even colors clashing in some cases-she gives grieving mother sunflower that scream with rage and loss, violets that soothe and give strength to move on, pink roses that fondly sing of loved ones long gone by.

Her competition laughs at first, but then they smell her work, or walk in room containing her pots, and their hearts are overcome with emotion, and they know she is right.

Gerda laughs. Perhaps it isn’t so bad. People are happy and she brings many coin home.

Grandma is waiting for her home, with magnificent red dress. It is woolen, and bright, and beautifully embroidered. Grandma cannot stop talking about it.

‘‘-and then I said, of course I can’t take it Martha, it is too good for us, I cannot believe ho well you sew, and that color is so vibrant, but she said nonsense after all times she spent in my house she is like my own daughter, and she needs some reward for all her hard work, and she and Kai were always such good friends with Brigitta, she was one who embroidered those stars, said she can’t wait to reconnect, and I said oh really, thank you so much Martha, these new shops are run by idiots who refuse to make more than five dresses for girls that aren’t thin like sprigs, but don’t think you won’t be getting three new shawls and-’‘ Grandma stops, looking at Gerda’s lost, stricken face.

‘‘Gerda, sweetie, what happened? Are you sick? Was there problem at work? Do you-’‘

‘‘Grandma,’‘ Gerda says, voice shaking ‘’ those people-Martha, Brigitte, I...I don’t remember who they are.’‘

‘‘Oh.’‘ Grandma says, patting Gerda’s hair as woman collapses in her arms, sobbing.

She always goes to church now. She did before too, but she now refuses to miss a single gathering. When she comes down with flu, grandmothers have to restrain her from getting up.

They don’t understand. She saw God answer her prayer, saw her breath form in army of angels, bright guardians with wings of flame and bodies of jewels and too many eyes of thunder, saw them fight demonic forces that kept her from Kai.

God has shown her mercy. Answered her prayer out of so many. Absolute loyalty is least she owes Him. He created her, Kai, her world and everything she holds dear. He sent His son to die for their sins, and He gave Heaven to virtuous.

And she needs to pay her sins. She hears voices of beasts, can command them, birds and bugs and cat and dogs, and she knows that is magic, and she saw witches and demons, was bewitched herself and escaped, saved her enthralled friend with His aid.

Magic is work of devil, and devil tempts and tricks, clothed in bright golden light, and his gifts lie and beguil, masked as blessing, and like gambling and wine magic is addictive and ruins people and...

She doesn’t want to be witch. She doesn’t want to be evil. She doesn’t want to harm people. To go to Hell. To become wicked and cruel like Snow Queen. To betray Him.

She cries and prays.

‘‘I don’t think she was a demon. Or witch. Or anything like that.’‘ Kai admits once. It is beginning of autumn, but night cold and yet Kai isn’t.

(It is not quite the truth, but he doesn’t want Gerda to worry, not after everything she has done for him, not after what bastard he had been. Better to say, he is always cold, but it doesn’t grieve him. He’s got the winter in his bones, and he will live with that for rest of his days, and honestly, he likes it).

Gerda looks at him, shocked and alarmed and bundled in jackets, and she doesn’t know what to say because Kai never confided in her what his time at palace was like but now he says this and she fears he is tempted again and she wants them all to heal, and you must talk if you want to achieve that, but she wants to forget and leave everything behind.

But Kai can’t. He wants to heal too, but he doesn’t know where to start, and sometimes he thinks healing requires thinking and accepting and letting what happened become part of their lives forever, and sometimes he isn’t sure if he wants to forget, but he knows that he can’t, for he went with Snow Queen and she kissed him and he lived in her realm growing without need to eat or sleep or drink and now there is winter in his bones, cold in his blood and frost under his skin, and he knows piece of her rests within him and he knows that wherever he goes he will carry snow within himself and he can’t pretend so long.

‘‘Kai...’‘ Gerda begins ‘‘She.... did something happen, Did you... Did she return?’‘‘

‘‘I saw nothing of her this day, or yesterday, or any other day since you saved me.’‘ He says gently. He doesn’t say that he didn’t need to see her-wherever there is cold she has reach, even at height of summer, and her power flows through universe itself, and she rests within him, bound together by winter as mother and son are by blood, or bond even stronger than that.

‘‘I just... I was thinking about what you said. I think angels came because of you, not her. Your prayer and your heart, that is your strength, like Bae said. he gave it to you, because you got it.’‘ Kai smiles, slow and sweet, and Gerda doesn’t look at his teeth, white and shining like fresh snow on morning sun ‘‘ I don’t make sense do I? I think... He helped you because you helped yourself first.’

But that doesn’t really have much to do with her, you know? I don’t think she serves God, but I don’t think she is against him. She is out of it all, like wind or snow. I asked her once, you know, how can you tell between good and evil.’’

‘‘And what did she say?’‘ Gerda doesn’t know what to expect. Demon would likely give some answer that seemed innocent but advised human to be selfish.

‘‘She looked at me, puzzled-I think that was only time I saw her confused, maybe first time she was ever confused- and asked me what those words mean. I don’t remember what I said, but she didn’t understand.

And once she talked to me about angels and demons, said that they are God’s servants, extensions of his will. But demons wanted to control world, to enslave other creatures and take what was not theirs and rebelled against him. She said that like all people and beings that are his they have soul. And...’‘

‘‘I know that Kai. Did she tell anything more.’‘ She didn’t want to believe that, but demon wouldn’t have admitted they were evil. But neither were humans demons and there were many evil ones.

‘‘She told me once that she doesn’t have one. Soul that is. And she doesn’t lie Gerda Believe me, I know she can’t, just as I know to calculate or to breathe. She isn’t human, but she isn’t demon either.’‘

‘‘But what could she be otherwise?’‘ Kai looks through window into deep blackness between stars, there where cold is strongest. he thinks he can imagine cold, sharp yet soft hand stroking his back, fondling his hair, can imagine laugh and wail in hush of wind.

‘‘She is... she is old, and cold and alone, and that is all.’‘

They say that women who talk with animals are witches, that beasts are demons in disguise and their familiars, and perhaps Gerda should stop feeding birds but every animal she encounters and unlike some cynics she isn’t quite so ready to believe that world is full of demons.

Kai’s words were strange, but she trusts him like brother, and chooses to believe. Because at end of day, faith is what she must have, and she is sure God would have given her sign otherwise.

Besides, most beasts are quite dumb, even pretty white doves she fattens, thinking only of food and mates. Not like Bae, or Mr. and Mrs. Raven.

And such thinking is insulting to them, she considers. If normal animals are demons because she can understand them, then what of ones that speak and think like humans? What of princess, whose dreams dance? Or of two wise women who helped her, kind leaders of their villages? Would somebody name her friends, who helped her so much demons or witches for that?

Perhaps it is not magic at all, but simply gift to understand others-she understood different tongues as if they were her own, now that she thinks of it. Perhaps she just listens better than most people. And she doubts that demons would give her such gift, or that angels would fight for sake of wicked creature (they were angels, she knows, true and through, she could feel their holiness, their goodness in depths of her soul, and it was greatest thing she ever felt, no demon could fake that).

So with smile, she resumes feeding her white doves.

There are many distasteful men in world, Gerda is aware. Men with no manners nor respect, who, utterly entitled, treat women and children as things. She would have to be raised under the rock, or in that land of Greek women warriors Kai told her about, not to know about them. Single reason why she is surprised when older customer gropes her is that shop is full of people.

He is surprised when she slaps him, so she can forgive herself for that. He shouts, more from surprise than pain-she didn’t smack him as hard as she could or should, have had- for he is too much used for this. Too many girls are afraid, knowing that few will help them, and those men take silence for yes.

‘‘Dear God, what has gotten in you, lass?’‘

‘‘What has gotten in me? How dare you?’‘ Grandma always said that Gerda had more bravery than self-preservation, but Gerda reckons if she could go over half world as child then she can shout at this man when she is a woman .’‘ You, sir, have honor of being most rude and shameful customer I had displeasure of serving. How dare you act so toward young woman, nay any woman at all! I hope you haven’t been bothering any other girl here other wise..’‘

He is angry, and red, and raises his hand. Several customers ran to Gerda’s side, fastest being sixty year old widow with steely hair buying flowers for cheap funeral and fourteen year old boy taking single flower for each of his eight siblings. man’s hand falls down.

But window is thrown open, and golden October sunlight pours inside as half dozen white doves descend, pecking at his bald head. Man lets her go as he tries to fend them off. Gerda stares in awe, then rises cross around her neck and whispers her thanks.

‘‘Miss Gerda, are you alright?’‘ The boy asks, having run to her side. Widow watches with stern, steely gaze, her angry eyes like embers as she shouts to two strong men standing near her to take ‘‘gentleman’‘ outside, using names and words that would make sailors red as strawberries. Two men comply, their necks as flushed as Gerda at widow’s words.

‘‘I am well, thank you.’‘ She says to everybody inside.’‘ Promise me you will never be like that man when you grow up.’‘ She whispers to him, and he nods, face determined and hard. She doesn’t doubt it. His mother is honest woman of strong hand, if little easy to set off, and his father is nice man who is always kind to all even if they don’t have much. And boy himself is, as far as she knows from seeing him around neighbor, just as kind and honest.

‘‘ I will keep flowers, mister, but you can have your money back once you learn to behave properly.’‘ She says and takes three coins off counter, giving them to boy and widow as shop laughs.

‘‘Thank you.’‘ She whispers to doves. they stare at her with their red eyes before cooing back.

‘‘Feed us. Nice girl. All people love you. Man bad, man harm. Cannot allow that.’‘ Gerda laughs and thanks again. Amount of birdseed increases, and so does amount of feathery flyers keeping watch over her.

She doesn’t have such incidents ever regain.

In November, they attend her friend’s coronation. She gets invitation, personally signed by future Queen herself. She is allowed to bring guests. Nobody from house says anything, but news spread and soon Gerda is given as much as attention as mayor himself. Still nobody is surprised when she brings grandmothers and Kai.

They are given great chambers, and coronation is magnificent, her wise friend ascending to her rightful throne, dressed in royal regalia. They dance (Gerda is astonished to see grandmas pick up fast, complicated dance with each other) and laugh and eat and everything is beautiful. And then Kai and prince meet.

There is no fight, no problem at all. Not even teasing or bantering. But once they meet Gerda realizes how much things have changed.

She once confused him for Kai. It was easy to mistake them in dark for each other while prince was sleeping-but once his face was revealed she saw her mistake immediately. Head was right size, neck long enough and forehead just as wide, with thin eyebrow and right jaw and pointy chin. But his eyes were bigger than Kai’s, his ears shorter and rounder, nose not as prominent and lips much plumper, teeth not as small and cheekbones not as sharp.

Still, they could have been cousins. Or even brothers. Both knew nothing of their parents, and were right age to maybe be fraternal twins- prince grew up in orphanage and Kai was found abandoned on street by his grandmother (in the snow, but this she never told anybody). Only problem was that they grew up in towns on opposite sides of country. Still she joked about confusing them again once they met each other.

And they did, and Gerda could no longer deny how much Kai changed. Both were tall and strong and slim, but Kai seemed tall and robust and thin like frozen mountain, or frost covered pine tree.

Their skin was dark as earth, but Kai’s was harsh and frigid like dead, frozen taiga where nothing could grow. Prince’s hair was just as long and fair as her friend’s once was, but now it was pale and white like pure snow and bleached bones.

Their teeth were healthy and clean, but Kai’s were blinding white and seemed pointy at times. Prince’s hands were warm, while Kai’s felt like sticking hand in mountain river. Prince’s eyes were sparkling, so were Kai’s, but whereas eyes of prince shone with joy and mischief, Kai’s reflected still light of aurora.

And only there, in room full of people, hundreds of them, instead of apartment filled with four, did she notice how off Kai felt. How hairs on her neck rose, as something deep in her bones remembered and said:old, inhuman,wrong,eldritch,other, run,beware, don’t trust,hide, too powerful.

But she ignored it. Kai was her friend, and some stupid voice in her head didn’t know him better than she.

Only when they went to coronation, did he truly notice how small and weak and not right everything looks.

He sees castle, gold and marble and brilliant, and thinks of palace rising from ground unto sky, made of snow that will never melt and with doors of wind that will never stop. And he knows how fast and how easily this so called castle will crumble.

He walks halls, small finite halls in which people are pushing and hitting each other and having problem keeping distance and thinks of endless labyrinths that could contain whole world and still not lose one percent of space yet were always empty.

Decorations are wrought, and ugly, imperfect things not wrought by will. They cannot change shape or rise to defend castle and he knows that if he compared candles and statues he would find that they aren’t perfectly same. He sees candles and thinks of pale northern lights adorning walls and roof, part of castle, contained in floor and pillars and freely travelling through air.

He sees throne, ugly, red and gold thing, and thinks of pale mirror, frozen bottomless lake of reason containing world and answers to all questions and then some, watches tables and portraits and thinks of ice pieces that made such perfect puzzles.

And he sees Gerda’s friend the queen, and his very mind screams and recoils upon thinking of calling her so. He almost cries when he says ‘’glory to queen’’, his bones breaking.

For in place of this mortal creature, being of flesh and blood and bone, being that can be killed and thorn apart and shattered and rebelled against by any he sees a goddess, gigantic and beyond measure and of power deep beyond comprehension, woman with body of glaciers and restless soulless eyes of stars and hair of northern light and clothes of snow and voice of sharp winter wind, being that stands against vulcanoes and turns magma to stone, who can take away life with touch and turn land harsh and barren, woman older than very time, who rules vast expanses of empty space and brought winter in existence and who will one day bury entire universe in cold and ice when time is right for her to do so (she doesn’t hate other elements and seasons, no matter what anybody says. World has time and place for all, and when it is time for fire and heat to devour all she will accept and burn and wait for flames to die out just as they will wait for her hold to shatter, and so on and on).

He doesn’t hate Gerda’s friend-could never hate her, nor her husband, she is so wise and smart and ambitious and cunning and caring and will make great leader, but part of his very soul shivers and shrivels and dies whenever he thinks of her as a queen- none of them humans realize, he understands, what true monarch says.

‘‘Isn’t she true queen?’‘ Gerda asks, smile as bright as Sun, and for her sake he will lie even as his tongue blackens and rots.

‘‘Yes, she is.’‘ He says and quickly coughs up blood that spills from his mouth.

Fate snatched them, and changed what they were in something else, but just because they are something else now doesn’t they will stop being friends.

They will endure, that is what they do.

#snow queen #kai #gerda #SQ Princess

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fatcdxend · 3 years ago

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Headcanons - Lan Huizhong ( AKA Qingheng-Jun )

♢ Little does his sons know but he and his own brother were the original twin jades, he’s embarrassed of the title so he just waves it off and thankfully Qiren feels the same.

♢ Of the two OG Lan Brothers, Huizhong is actually more sentimental of the two. He tries to be fair and just towards everyone. Help those in need and see the good in everyone, (like a certain Lan bro we all love), but when those he cares for are in trouble he would stand up and defend them. Honestly, his sons are a spitting image of him (well personality wise).

♢ Let it be known that when they were younger and students, Huizhong was a charmer and a person everyone loved to be around. Unlike his younger brother who was buried in books and training from dusk to dawn. Once he would tease his brother if he doesn’t find a suitable person to settle down with that Qiren will grow old with an ugly goatee, before laughing and leaving his brother alone.

♢ He knows he isn’t the greatest father around, it wasn’t how he wanted his family to go through but for defending his wife and accepting her punishment of 50 lashes (which no one knows btw it was done in secret with just the elders around) he went into seclusion.

♢ In the Alt world where everything is fine and dandy and the Lan family deserves all the fluff. He still holds onto his guilt but he gets to spend his days as a sect leader, a father and a husband. it’s a journey but there’s more good days than bad.

#✦ Frozen lilies in the winter night | Musing #c. A father’s turmoil and a will of Iron | Qingheng-Jun

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sole-lily · 6 years ago

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Sole Survivor Fanfiction #4 - Return to the Vault

It had been what felt like nearly a lifetime since Lily stepped out of Vault 111. So much had changed since then... Lily had hardened, had played a hero, began fixing everyone's problems... And all the while, she still worked to get into the Institute. She still worked to rescue her child. Something she had yet to accomplish, but she was well on her way. Her determination hadn't failed her, yet. Sanctuary had become a very stable and lively community. Everyone had secure concrete houses, protected by turretts. They slept in comfortable beds, under solid roofing that didn't threaten to allow rain to slip in. They were able to obtain luxaries and pre-war artifacts that helped make everything feel a little more human, a little more like home. Everyone had electricity for light, music, and televisions. Lily's holotape collection became a benefit, as there were a fair few salvagable cartoons to be found in the Commonwealth. And if anyone was to get their hands on them, it would of course be her. Occasionally, when there wasn't much work to be done around the settlement, everyone gathered in the main house when it got dark, and put on some cartoons. That, with some Nuka Cola and Sugar Bombs or Fancy Lad Snack Cakes, became a regular way to difuse amidst the tensions. This particular night, however, while everyone was gathered and enjoying sugar and cartoonic misadventures, Lily had locked herself in her room and fell into a quiet contemplation. Her armor hung on the mannequin in the corner of the room, amidst her Silver Shroud posters. Purely for comfort, she donned a Grognac the Barbarian t-shirt she had snagged from Hubris Comics, and some baggy camoflauge pants. She sat on her bed, with several burned (but still useable) journals spread in front of her. A pen that had nearly run out of ink was clutched in her hand. Writing helped her think, helped her piece things together and organize the mess in her mind. Nick sat in a chair near her, a cigarette between his lips and a file in his hands. The only sound to be heard was the buzzing of turretts and generators, and occasionally, faint boisterous laughter from the house next door. Long after the laughter had stopped, presumably because everyone had gone to bed, Lily let out an annoyed sigh. It disturbed the peaceful hum that had filled the room for so long, making it seem a much louder gesture than it really was. "What? What is it?" Nick asked, as he looked up from the file he had been working on. "Pen's almost out of ink, and it's my last one. Gonna have to go scavenge to find another... Unless..." Her words drifted off, as a dazed look overcame her tired features. "Unless what?" "Well... all those scientists in the vault... there were boxes of pens and papers that are in perfect condition. It'd be easy to get them..." Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth. "Ah... I see..." Murmured Nick, who was starting to understand the conundrum. "Have you not... gone back, since...?" "No." Lily answered, rather abruptly. "But... I should." She decided. She swung her legs over her bed and moved to her weapon stash which sat next to her armor. From it, she plucked her 10mm. The weapon she had escaped the vault with. "It's just a short walk up the hill. Wouldn't take more than ten minutes." She explained. Nick nodded his head. He closed his file, put out his cigarette, and stood up to follow her. Dogmeat, sensing that they were going somewhere, got to his feet, too. - One downfall to the concrete houses was that there was no windows, and without a working clock, you'd have to go outside to tell what time it was. So, when the trio stepped out of Lily's room, they found that hints of the sun were showing in a purple night sky, which was becoming more pale with each second that passed They had worked through nearly the entire night. It had to be around five in the morning. Of course Nick hadn't noticed, seeing as he didn't need sleep, and Lily's lacking desire for sleep was likely to blame for her own lapse in judgement of time. The air was cool, and oddly dewy, and the stars glittered behind a bleary sky. Lily stopped only to grab a can of water from their stock, and sipped on it as they walked between the houses. Her other hand held her 10mm with a loose grip. She felt oddly at ease. Dogmeat trotted at her heel, constantly vigilant, and Nick walked at her side with a relaxed stride. They climbed the hill, passing skeletons dressed in the rags of pre-war clothing along the way. Some in what were once dresses and suits, next to burnt up shells of suitcases. Others were dressed in military fatigues, alongside empty ammo cartitiges. Metal scrappings were scattered along the path. By the time they had crossed through the gate, Lily had finished off her water and tossed the can to the side. She then approached the control panel with far more certainty than she thought she would have, and firmly pressed the red button. A light began to spin on the vault door. The alarm went off, echoing loudly from where they stood, though Lily had doubt that the sound would reach the sleeping settlers down below. Then, with a confidence that she thought could only be false, she stood in the circle as she once had over two-hundred years ago. "Wow, you can really see all of Sanctuary from up here..." Nick mused, as he stood at her side. And it was a true statement. Lily could clearly see even the furthest house's turrets, from where she was. She remained silent, however. Something completely uncharactaristic. It unnerved Nick. The plate they stood upon gave a lurch, and with the sound of metal scraping on metal, they were lowered into the depths of Vault 111. Once they plate lowered all the way, and the gate lifted, Lily and Nick climbed the stairs. Immediately, they were greeted by skeletons donned in lab coats, and the carcasses of radroaches Lily had killed when she escaped. "Oh, look, there's some pens - and a box of paper right there. What's say we just grab these, and... Lily?" Nick asked, as he saw her form move for an open door that lead even further into the vault. It was almost as if he wasn't there, and Lily was pulled through those halls as though she were tethered to an anchor in the depths. Her movements were automatic, and robotic, as though she had only one goal in mind. Which, she did. Everything else about her surroundings simply didn't exist. The further they moved into the vault, the more they could hear the sound of dripping water, and feel the chill that radiated from the cryogenic pods. It wasn't long before they came to a row of them. A row with only one pod open - the very pod that Lily had been 'stored' in. Her pale, grey eyes were glassy. "Oh... god... There are people still in there..." Nick breathed, as he walked behind her. Behind each glass was a perfectly preserved, pre-war body. Lily's movements became determined, now. "Are they... still alive?" Nick asked. He didn't know yet, that every single one of them had aesphixiated from Kellogg's termination of the life support system. Lily didn't know, either. She had been too pre-occupied with escaping to check the terminals. Nick, having spotted one, moved to boot it up and read the logs. Lily hardly noticed Nick's snooping. She moved down the rows of frozen pods until she came to the one that called to her. Behind the glass, Nate's body sat, slumped forward. The bullet wound that had gone right through his heart looked clean, thanks to the frozen atmosphere he was stored in. She pulled on the lever to open the door, which attracted the attention of the detective. The door lifted, until Lily was gazing up at the full form of her dead husband's body. When everything had happened, when she had watched him die... Both her survival and her maternal instincts had kicked in at that time. She was driven by rage, and the desire to find her child. Bar her breakdown at the Red Rocket Truck Stop, she hadn't stopped to allow herself to properly grieve, to process the shock of seeing Nate killed before her very eyes. Her face was oddly expressionless. Nick saw this, when he moved to return to her. "Now that's not... Oh... Oh, I'm so sorry." He whispered, his voice breathless and empathetic. Lily knew that he understood her sorrow. She had learned that, on their hunt for Eddie Winter. Lily didn't break from her emotionless haze until these words hit her ears. Then, it seemed as though the reality of it all hit her at once. Her large, owlish eyes became bloodshot, and flooded with tears. The stoney, statuesque look she had been wearing shattered, and her chin quivered. She had entered this vault with the look of a hardened shoulder, but now appeared to be little more than a child. Without a word, she spun on her heel, and into Nick, her arms wrapping around his neck. He was shocked at the notion, but wordlessly wrapped his arms around her. For a long while they stood there, surrounded by the corpses of the past, as Lily sobbed into his trenchcoat. - By the time they exited the vault to return to Sanctuary, arms full of boxes of writing supplies and a few other pre-war goodies, the sun was cresting over the torn city in the distance. The stars were barely visible. Lily had cried until her throat was sore and her face red. At one point, she had expressed guilt over having gotten her tears and possibly snot on Nick's trenchcoat, but he brushed this to the side with, "It's had a lot worse done to it." The trio walked back to Lily's room. Exhaustion hit her with full force, when she sat upon her bed. She laid back, and rested her arms on her stomach. Nick sat on the edge of the bed, near her, and looked down at her. "You gonna be okay, doll?" He asked. Aside from Lily's admission of guilt, she hadn't said much else when they left the vault. Now that they were free from the heaviness of being deep in the underground, however, Lily felt the tension that squeezed at her heart, loosen. "Yeah, I'll be okay." She responded earnestly, her voice rough. A moment of silence passed between the two of them before she spoke again. "I thought of properly burying him, you know? Giving him a grave..." "So why don't you?" "It seems... better to leave him where he can remain untouched by the irradiated world. He isn't lost in time, like I am. He's right where he's supposed to be." Silence fell once more. Nick was unsure of how to respond to this. He knew it was a heavy burden to carry. "Hey Nick?" "Yeah?" "Thank you..." "Anytime."

#fallout #nick valentine #fanfiction #fallout 4 #vault 111 #vault #vault dweller #dogmeat

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