#❉ Operette┋Memes

[nixniivalis]

❣️

Kisses! 

Send ❣️ for a kiss that conveys an emotion

|| @thefatalmarksman || 

Blood splattered the snow. Crimson droplets staining ivory landscape. Cold seeped into her boots and between her toes. A bone chill sinking into her marrow. The falling flakes muffled the sounds of her own breath and the echoes of wind. Spotted with snow, strangled trees and blackened mountains loomed over the horizon line. The beast loomed above her, horned, winged, toothed, scaled, horrendous and violent. If it spoke it did not choose her as a conversation partner. Wretched and wounded both, they struggled on exhausted muscles. It was unique, strange, wyvern like, beautiful in its own way but it was a predator and she was not prey. To its growling snarl, chocking on its own spittle and blood, Neraine barred her teeth right back. 

Across the distance Neraine eyes ran ‘till she found the dark silhouette of Luxu. Nocked away by a brutal attack, a little to far to count on him. (What else was new? Boys were so useless). Not when her own wounds ached and burned. Cuts through her sides and up her arms. Tearing the fabric of her dress and gloves. Neraine grinned, sharp and vicious, all hard edges, nothing soft or sweet about her. Chipped, cracked, brittle, and calloused from one too many hard knocks. Yet, there was elegance in the curvature of her wrist. She lifted her hand, foot sliding back through the ice and snow. Posture aligned, she scratched the surface--

Then crashed through the hard crack of ice. Into a frozen Earth and the frost that overlaid it. Intricate as lace, fleeting as spring, and unforgiving in its own burning touch. An ocean, turbulent with currents, chased and pulled by an azure moon. In the cold Neraine found solace, a harmony with her own cadence. An unanticipated repository of power, a confluence of the environment pushing into her. Blue light tangled with her finger tips. Her magic ignited, healed her wound and endowed her with power. 

The monster lunged, swinging wide with razor claws. Missed by inches as Neraine darted beneath. She hamstrung it with a slice of her blades and it howled. Ice cracked through the ground and impaled the creature, capturing it in frozen prison. Neraine leapt, jumped off the ice column and cut through its throat in a single stroke. It evaporated into dust. Nothing but shadows and malice, a conglomeration of darkness. Neraine landed on her feet. The ice her magic summoned burst into a crystal dust and mingled with the snow. With the shift in the air lifted the oppression of fear and rage. The storm broke and the clouds parted. Sunlight glimmered and burned her retinae, warm, and bright. Neraine’s leg buckled and sent her to one knee. 

Neraine panted, her breath swirling in clouds of condensation. Her blades dissipated from her hands and she blinked tears from her eyes. Her muscles ran taut. Cheeks pink with exertion and cold. With trembling fingers she unbound the ribbon from her hair and let the strands fall to frame her face. She shivered from the core. The crunch of snow heralded Luxu’s approach. He applauded her, congratulated her. Isn’t that a neat new trick ‘Raine, very nice. 

She lifted her gaze and caught his-- gold flecks, copper light, pure pyrite. Haloed by the new sunlight, he glowed and yet ladened in angular shadows. Snow on his cheekbones and flecking his hair. The pale swath of skin along his collarbones and the line of muscle through his throat. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a frightened dove. She was exhausted and invigorated at the same time. Elation snapped at her heels and ran in her veins, longing curled in her chest-- too many feelings to pinpoint one, besides too much. A couple strides and her fingers curled in the collar of his coat. She cinched-up the fabric. His skin was warm, he was warm, and his lips were red, like the blood on her teeth and staining her clothes. 

And something primal in her brain was working far faster than her prefrontal cortex. 

Neraine slid her hands up his chest and slung her arms around his neck. She pulled him down as she lifted on her toes, leaning against Luxu. She brushed her lips against his, eyes half-lidded. He tasted sweet like cherries and wine, pure intoxication. All she cared for was sharing her moment-- the crispness of the air, the vividness of the sky, and triumph of victory. Whatever the hell was crowding out her thoughts and clamoring for something. He was there. She dragged Luxu down for the kiss, deep and devouring, tasting of iron and him. Frost on her fingertips to nip at his throat. Crystal protrusions pierced the ground and expended her excess magic. ‘Till she parted from him, panting for breath, and falling back on her heels. 

Neraine ran her tongue over her mouth, teeth digging into her lip. Her hand pressed against his sternum and enforced the distance between them. She ran her hand over her jaw. A little too shell-shocked to yet process what she’d done. Neraine nodded to herself and stepped to turn back the way they came. 

“Lets get out of here.” 

[nixniivalis]

"What happens to anything beautiful?"

Deathless

|| @ghostlyanon||

Neraine knelt by the water. Her fingers skimmed the surface of a cold ripple. Beneath the distorted glass like reflection of the pool was silt, stones, sticks, and silver flanked fish. The foliage above them rustled, vibrant green with Spring and speckled with flowers. Pinks, golds, oranges, beckoning insects and bees to rest on the petals. Islands, dotted with towering trees dotted the vast lake before them. In the dirt and the roots ran an undercurrent of magic. Even someone as untalented as Neraine could sense it. It was as thought they’d stumbled on an ancient, forgotten sanctuary. They stood on the boundary of where they were not welcome. Neraine pressed to her feet. 

“It dies,” she answered. Her gaze searched the shadows on the far shores, between hanging boughs and the reeds. Something moved out there, slinking away before her eyes focused. “That’s the way it is, all things must die.”

From death comes new life. In the Summer, wildfires would burn away the undergrowth and from the ashes new seed would take root. In the Winter, the leaves would fall and the trees go dormant. With each passing season, the fauna, deers, rabbits, mice, wolves, badgers, and creature of the forest, would birth, raise their young, then die. The complex minerals and nutrients in their bodies fueled the next cycle. Their bones made the top soil and their hearts made trees. Repeating until the cycle broke, by intervention, time, or the extinction of the local star. Then, over millennia and in millions of years, that star would fall to its lowest state. A hard, rotting core of iron. The Death promised that entropy was the fate of all existence. It was beautiful but tragic like a melancholic ending to a bewitching play. 

Unless, there came renewal. The Big Bang kicked off the first universe like a domino tipping over. Ran the numbers and chances, until life flourished. Genesis, the High Priestess called it, the beginning, the start of the story. Fragmenting, falling down the river in uncountable variations. Until Death stepped in and took that wonderful creation. She broke it down to composite parts, atoms, time, magic, and gave it back to the creators. Again, and again, and again, so many times it made Neraine’s head spin. For now the vast universe grew, expanding into dark space, but one day-- Gelyan didn’t care, like he said, he never would live that long.

“It’s good for it though,” Neraine said. She glanced back at her companion, her voice softening. “If things didn’t die there could never be anything new. It gives a chance to do something great with the time we have left.”

Too busy living to worry about dying. Neraine clutched her fist. Subverting the apocalypse he claimed. No, prolonging the inevitable so he could have more fun. To hell with all those down the line. He should’ve known to do his chores before he played. Neraine wondered how she ever loved someone so childish. Her jaw set, looking back out over the water. Someone had to put this right, it would be wrong if all this beauty was just left to decay. 

[nixniivalis]

trail : my muse watches as your muse traces one of my muses scares, asking them about it.

One-Word Prompts

|| @thefatalmarksman​ ||

Neraine rapped her knuckles against the door. She stood out in the hallway under the soft glow of the chandelier lights. Little crystals that cast speckled shadows and geometric patterns on the herringbone wood walls. Luxu responded in a positive manner and she pushed open the door. She stepped into his room, hand on the knob, and then froze. Mouth, for a second, ajar before she smashed it shut. She refused to ask why he didn’t have a shirt on. The question was at the tip of her tongue but she swallowed it. It was not worth hearing the answer. She gritted teeth to disguise her knee-jerk reaction of shock. Neraine ducked her head, hand lifting to smooth over her mouth. She stood in the doorway of his room, wavering between forging on and cutting her loses. Instead of either she lingered in the doorway. Hand rested against the frame, wasting precious seconds wrapped-up in her own head. 

It was a brief stay with their benefactors, a night or two to rest. The deal was simple, fulfill a fetch quest and reap the monetary reward. Another step in the ongoing journey with the added bonus of a warm bed and a shower. The rooms were simple, furnished with bed, desk, bookshelf, and chair. Real books too, novels, histories, encyclopedias. For three hours Neraine rested on her own bed, in her room, perusing a history of the local region. Questions about tomorrow consumed her thoughts though. Both doubts and concerns, and she couldn’t lie that she wasn’t here to relieve the anxiety. Well, it worked, because she wasn’t thinking about any of it anymore.

He stood by the open window. Glass panes slid aside to reveal the night sky beyond and cool the warm room. There was a glowing city beyond the walled-away estate and the lush gardens. Brimming with life, bird song, and vegetation green with the spring. His book shelf had a set of framed, pressed flowers. Violets, cosmos, lilies, hibiscus, and roses, arranged amongst plays, romantic adventures, and fantasy. She answered her own question. His shirt was on the bed. Maybe it was another attempt at seduction but it didn’t feel that way. Luxu knew that she could see past his glamor. Past the handsome man he portrayed to the demonic being underneath. Golden eye, peering at her, and his skin marred by the thin, white, marks of his scars. Some faded and other still puckered, stark. Numerous, uncountable, across his abdomen, waist, arms. Some she’d seen before, some she hadn’t.

“Sorry, I just,” Neraine’s hand lifted to cover her eyes, head ducking into her palm. She massaged the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. Dislodging all the stuck and flurrying thoughts fluttering around up in there. “I don’t mean to... stare, I’m distracted, it’s been a long day.”

She flicked her wrist to dismiss the dust bunnies. Neraine crossed her arms,, clamping her hands beneath her biceps. She’d seen a naked man before. She’d seen Luxu naked before. This wasn’t an occasion for her to get flustered, even as she felt heat rise on her cheeks. A dark flush of color across her complexion. Neraine stepped into the room, committing to the conversation, the door snapped closed behind her. She swallowed, it wasn’t any different if they were alone. She had to get over herself, she was here for a reason. A very important one that she had not forgotten. It was right at the tip of her tongue.

“I was just thinking,” She began, she wandered closer-- to a distance they could have a conversation at. Neraine eyed the flowers on the shelves. Fascinating spots of color, soft and imprinted into the slight crinkles of the white paper. The dark lines of the veins still visible. “About the journey tomorrow, do you, I don’t--”

She glanced at him now. Somehow, she was now within arm’s reach. There was ‘close enough to talk’ and then there was this. Neraine swallowed, admitting to even herself that the logistics were shot. No longer important nor relevant. The truth was she wanted to talk and had made-up an excuse. An excuse to break her loneliness. Her shoulders sagged, her heartbeat sounds in her ears. Less with exhilaration but more with fear. Couldn’t begin to describe what terrified her so. Any number of his responses to her behavior. She was walking a cliff edge and he had all the power to push her off. And she was uncertain how to untangle herself from this precarious position without looking like a complete idiot. 

No, actually, they were well past that. 

“Did it hurt?” She asked, whispered. Aware that her hand, not some phantom limb, had reached for him. Her fingers brushed over his collarbones and the puckered skin. A single gold eye tracked her movements. The scar curved down over his chest and she traced its path. Then her palm flattened and through his ribs she felt the thrum of his heart. A gentle beat, in sharp contrast to her rocketing pulse. 

[nixniivalis]

♧ // shawn playing with neraine's hair even if they can't stop bickering

Acts of Intimacy 

♧ : Your muse playing with their hair

|| @mainevcnt​​ ||

The door slammed shut behind Neraine, a hard click of the latch. She blinked against the shine of fluorescent lights that burned her eyes. Down the hall a worker in khakis and a blue tie spoke into the open door way of an office. He read the tone of Neraine and Shawn’s arrival, then slipped inside. Shawn wheeled around, gum in his mouth and hands on his hips. Seething through her teeth, eyes squeezed shut, and chewing on her next words like they were knives. Neraine tapped the tip of her finger against his collarbones, so pissed she couldn’t even speak. Shawn grinned, crooked, smug, self-pleased, all pearly whites. 

“Damn you, Shawn, I have a job!” Neraine settled on, tone snapping. Her heel struck the carpeted floor with a muffled, unsatisfying thunk. “If you keep mouthing off while-- what the hell are you doing?”

Back and forth, back and forth they had gone all the way to this secluded spot. Bickering, testing the other’s limits, as if she had the time or patience for sarcasm. Instead of anymore words in self-defense or to rile her up however, his hands were in her hair. Fluffing-up the strands and intertwining with her bangs. Neraine’s eyebrows knit, lips parting in lost proclamation of confusion. This was not what they were talking about. Nothing comprehensible or useful came to Neraine’s mind, just a running dialogue on how obscenely weird Shawn was. What corner of the planet did he crawl out of that putting his hand in someone’s hair in the middle of a conversation was normal. 

He undid her ponytail, loosened the hair and combed out the tangles with his fingers. All the while he told her all his ‘sorry’s’ and ‘won’t happen again. Cross my heart and hope to die. He twisted her hair into a plait, hummed and hawed over it. Undid his work and then rolled it over into a bun. The rubber band slipped and her bangs fell into her eyes. Neraine placed her hands on her hips, lips pressed flat. She blew hair out of her face with a puff of air. Shawn twisted out the hairband, apologized when he pulled on her hair. Then, with care and practice he braided her hair. One strand over the other, careful all the ways to the end where he secured it off with the hair tie. Neraine reached back, feeling the bumps and curves of a smooth, clean braid. 

She couldn’t tell if this was an apology or another one of his quirks. 

“You owe me a drink.” 

[nixniivalis]

“They’ll name constellations after you one day.” (Excuse the old demon for feeling sentimental for a moment but don’t worry, he’s still a Bad Bitch.)

Late Night 

|| @thefatalmarksman ||

The mirror distorted beneath her touch. A ripple across silver and blue, a turbulent sea, thrashing, churning. Standing on the sea wall midst a storm the golden beach grey, the sky black, and the lightning, cutting the gloom. Her reflection twisted before her. An approximation of herself, the same eyes and a different face. A little girl knowing things will change, practice now and maybe later she won’t be lonely. Reality distorted beneath her fingertips. By thinking at it Neraine could change the world. A flick of her hand and the frost snapped. Time and space converged, the mirror bent, and they slipped from dreams. Same eyes, looking on someone new. The implications of prophecies and fates and all the shit she’d been running from her entire life. When did jumping the boundaries of the universe become normal? 

Her hand retracted, fingers curling close and into her palm. Neraine swallowed as she looked into her own reflection. Constellations he said, the night sky in her honor. Billions of years ago the first stars formed from dust and rock, concentrated, hot balls of hydrogen gas crushed under its own force of gravity. Nuclear fission, shaping iron, gold, copper, and silver. Arranged in a convenient pattern for humans to project their hopes and fear unto for thousands of years. By coincidence Orion shot his bow, by chance Sagittarius ran the abyss. The pillars of human story, the place setting of the gods and goddesses. Immortalized, for eternity, amongst the stars. It was a story belonging in a ballet or play, she could imagine the choreography now. Setting the heartbroken heroine into the sky, to piourette forever as a star. Normal people did not get constellations named after them. 

“Is that a promise or a threat?” Neraine asked, lifted her hand. It fell to her side, fingers digging into her skirt. Her voice was wry but her expression sober. She glanced back at Luxu behind her but didn’t find the amusement she expected. 

There was no pinning down the emotion in his eye. Her mind suggested some possibilities but with each floating thought, Neraine shot them down. Golden pyrite, and her gaze fell, to the lips she once kissed like he was the only thing that mattered. He had been warm, holding her in the snow. His hands on her waist, strong and calloused. A pained constriction in her chest, her heart against her ribcage. Neraine dug her teeth into her cheek. Her hand was reaching out, but she caught it, and it returned to her side. 

The stars, the light in the night, the patterns in the sky, worshiped and beloved--

-- And she didn’t feel alone. 

[nixniivalis]

💟

Kisses!

Send 💟 for a kiss on a wound

|| @thefatalmarksman ||

Blood spilled from Luxu’s sides. The hairline cuts along his ribs, arms, and chest stained his torn clothes. Left his hands black like he dipped them in ink. When he smiled at her, his teeth were all pearl and obsidian. Tangled and stray strands of hair fell over his eyes, framed his jaw. Neraine gripped his bicep, her own heart throbbing with the rush of battle. She blinked-out dust and the double vision from her eyes. Shoulders lifted to her ears, and Neraine heaved a sigh. 

Luxu was a mess. There was no leaving him like this-- for practical reasons, of course. Even if he was grinning at her and saying stupid things. She was exhausted and the High Priestess was out of the question. Neraine pressed her hand over his mouth. Her palm muffled his next few words. In one moment of ensuing silence she outlined a plan and made a few decisions. She stepped into Luxu and walked him backwards to an outcrop of rocks. The back of his thighs hit the stone and he sat right down. ‘Good boy,’ words she swallowed seconds before uttering. 

Wind, rushing off the mountains side, tugged at Neraine’s ponytail. The air cut, chill and laden with the remnants of her magic. The glimmer of crystal dust on the rock, grass, and scorched Earth. Below the hill was a valley, checkered in shadow and light as the clouds above shifted. Neraine smoothed her thumbs over Luxu’s cheekbones. Tucked his hair back behind his horns and ears. He smelled of blood, tacky and dark. Neraine laid her palm over his forehead. She gathered herself and her magic, the scraps leftover. This wasn’t a familiar spell but it was so exceedingly simple even she couldn’t screw it up. It had to be honest, a gift of-- damnit, Sisily why did she have to use that word?

Love.

Which of course meant absolutely nothing. Love was a lot of things. Familiar, friendly, romantic, platonic, sexual, the list went on and on. It just couldn’t be a selfish love. Even if Neraine loved the idea of Luxu not complaining in her ear for the next twenty-four hours. A sentiment of some sort, protection, adoration, joy, all sorts of emotions. In her inner monologue Neraine grumbled that she wasn’t that type. Wasn’t born that way, wasn’t raised that way. Neraine’s gaze darted down. The cuts earned in her fight, bleeding and painful. He wasn’t weak but he wasn’t untouchable. Gratitude. 

Neraine cupped either side of Luxu’s jaw. She leaned forward, eyes closing with softened sigh. She kissed his forehead with a gentle brush of lips. Blue magic bloomed from the point of contact, cold and yet enveloping. Seeping into Luxu’s body and bones. It healed his wounds, expending itself in the effort. A gift of her remaining power. Neraine’s released him and dropped her hands to her side as she straightened. She ran her palms down the side of her dress, eyes darting away. Then she crossed her arms. Lips pressed into flat line, she said:

“Don’t get used to that-- be more careful.”

[nixniivalis]

🥃 “Whatever happened with that Gelyan dude? You’ve mentioned his name briefly but you’ve, uh... never told me what his deal was.” (Let’s start off easy, shall we?)

Send me a  🥃 + a question for my muse to answer. If they refuse to answer, they have to take a shot.

Her finger slid along the crystal glass edge. A quarter inch of ember alcohol rippling inside. Neraine gripped the glass between thumb and forefinger. Eyes as green as the forest, self-confident, devilish, his hands on her waist-- Braced herself, and knocked the shot back. 

She choked on the burn running down her throat, eyes watering, “That’s awful, why would anyone drink this?” 

[nixniivalis]

😍

Kisses!

😍 for a kiss in greeting

|| @teardownheaven ||

The parking laid empty but for a couple cars. A faded sign espoused the name of the national park with an old map beside it. A portly man sat outside the office in a rocking chair. A black dog laid at his feet. The setting sun painted orange and golds over the tree tops. Neraine grabbed the book bag from her passenger seat and clambered out of the car. A heavy humidity laid in the air, the residual of an earlier rain. It was warm enough for shorts and a t-shirt though. The final break in Winter, about time. 

Neraine slung the book bag over her shoulders and headed down a Northern trail. She picked down the wooden steps leading into the holler. Light filtered between the trees, budding in vibrant greens. Twigs and leafs crunched beneath Neraine’s shoes. Neraine jumped over a creek, nimbly picking over the rocks. She walked about a mile down the hill to where the creek fed into a broad river. The water rushed and rolled over stones. She stood on the sand bank and shucked her bag off her shoulders. She glanced over the trees, eyes narrowed, and peering at the shadows. Damnit, he was late. 

“Aeleus,” Neraine called. “I’m not going to wait forever. If you want a ride home you better get your butt over here!”

The water burbled and a few birds chirped in the trees. That was fine, she had a left extra time-- it was good to practice. Neraine removed the bag from her shoulders and dropped it in the sand. She toed off her sneakers and socks. For a moment she looked down into the river, rolling and clear, swift but not deep. Her eyes lifted to the far side where the shallows drapped in shadows. She shook out her hands and legs. Broke the nerves running through her shoulders. Then she stepped-out. 

Crystal formed beneath her foot, cold but buoyant. She didn’t fall through.  Instead Neraine remained atop the water. The opposite side, nothing else mattered, the far bank-- reach there. Neraine pushed off her leading leg, a full stride into the sprint. Ice froze beneath each step, light as a feather, quicker than gravity could pull her down. Her arms swung, heart pumping, legs extended-- she felt the break in her balance seconds before she fell. Fifteen feet from the opposite side she faltered and tripped. Neraine plunged into the shallows. Face first, filling her eyes and ears with river water. She landed on bent elbows and knees in the sand. Choking and spluttering, she sat-up. Water dripped from her hairs and her clothes. She sighed, eyes squeezing shut.

“Didn’t quite make it, did we?” Neraine murmured to herself as she pushed to her feet. The trail of ice and crystal she formed in her sprint already broke away, washed away down stream. Neraine twisted water out of her shirt and hair. Flicked droplets from her finger tips. She turned back towards the shore. 

A twig snapped, and there was movement in the trees. Neraine’s eyes widened, lips parting in strangled gasp. There was no time to react as a blur of red and brown fur rushed from the shadows. It bowled into her and knocked her down. Neraine fell back into the water. Dinner plate sized paws planted on her shoulders. Neraine laid-out on her back, dazed. Then a large, pink tongue lapped-up the side of her face. His entire body wiggled, tail wagging, trapping her beneath him. Aeleus greeted her with eager kisses like he was a puppy and not a near one ton werewolf. 

“Argh, there you are-- I was, Aeleus! Quit! Yes, I’m happy to see you too-- Aeleus!” Neraine choked out between laughter and licks. His tongue just hooked behind her teeth and not in a fun way. She caught him around either side of his muzzle and pushed him back. She kicked at his flank to get him to sit off her and stop squishing her. “C’mon, I wanna go home and get dinner-- turn back. You are not getting in my car smelling like wet dog!”

Bone popped, the strange and sickening noise of joins realigning. Aeleus leaned back off her. His nose and face contorted, shifting from lupin to human. A nose, lips, cheekbones-- shoulders broadening and fingers shortening. Fur receded to reveal pale skin and freckles.  His breathed and panted hot against her collarbone as he fought through the transformation. Neraine reached-up and threaded her fingers in hair. She worked through the soft, red curls to untangle knots and rub soothing circles into his shoulders. A little magic to restore his energy, take the bite off the pain. He blinked, once, twice, blue eyes clearing into a a bright clarity that stole her breath. Aeleus braced his arms around either side of her head. Laid overtop her she could feel his full weight. She glanced over to the far shore where the book bag rested, dry-- his clothes were in that bag. 

She turned back in time as Aeleus, undeterred, leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. Neraine sighed, eyes fluttering closed, a whisper of a smile against his lips. His hands skirted down her ribs, rolled over her shoulders. Warmth radiated from his chest in contrast to the cool water rushing past them. Neraine parted from him and nuzzled at his throat. Then she tapped her finger against the back of his head. Aeleus grunted in acknowledgement as he continued to kiss her. After several days away, she was finding it hard to part too.

“Okay, okay, I missed you too,” Neraine murmured. She turned her head, laughed when he just put his mouth to her cheek, jaw, and throat instead. “Aeleus it’s cold.”

She flushed with the reverberation of his laughter. Aeleus hooked his arm around her waist and lifted her out of the water. The strike of air and wind on her soaked clothes sent a shiver down her spine. Neraine wrapped her arms around Aeleus’ neck. She buried her nose against his throat, soaking in his heat instead. Aeleus waded through the water to where she left the bag. He set her down in the sand to dry as he changed into fresh clothes. Neraine squeezed water out of her hair and updated him on what happened in the week while he was away. Nothing but pack gossip, news from work, an exciting audition she had. They walked back to the car shoulders brushing between strides. 

It was a long drive home. The heat dried them out in no-time flat. He told her about the woods, the deer he hunted, the little things he found. In quick glances from the corner of her eyes she saw the ways he looked lighter, freer, refreshed. She wasn’t sure what it was when Aeleus interlaced his fingers with hers, clutching her hand against her thigh. It was hard to hide her smile about it though. 

“I love you too.”

[nixniivalis]

“Tight fit if you know what I mean.” (The demon strikes again B3c )

The thin fabric of the shirt stretched taut over Xigbar’s chest. Two, three sizes too small it cinched around his shoulders, dug into his armpits. Revealed the finer details of his musculature. His stomach laid bare. Neraine froze in the aisle of the clothes store. It was a hideous pink with rainbow clouds. A woman rustled on the other side of the clothing wrack. Her head ducked she remained unaware of the scene unfolding. Neraine’s eyes narrowed, focusing in on Xigbar and his new chosen antic. A couple short strides carried Neraine closer to him.

She looked-up at him, matching his gaze. The shirt was exposing, revealing, and obscene in all manner-- made so by his commentary. By the sly smile and gleam in his golden eye. Another attempt to seduce and win her, flirting in his greasy way. This shirt was another trick, a new angle, more games. When she was looking for genuine, real, honest-- Neraine smiled, sweet and eyelashes fluttering before she hooked a finger beneath the collar. 

Then she twisted her fist into the delicate threads and wrenched. The shirt tore down the seams, giving under the pressure. The sudden ripping noise drew the attention of the women and other shoppers. Eyes falling on the half-naked man now standing in the middle of the store. Neraine lifted the tattered remains of the shirt and dropped them in Xigbar’s waiting hands. 

“Pay for this.” A command and order, non-negotiable. 

[nixniivalis]

🤝+30

Fifty Reasons to Touch Someone 

…as comfort.

||@teardownheaven​||

The door gave way and Neraine spilled into the apartment. Her gear bag slipped from her shoulders and dropped to the floor. A low groan sounded from her throat as she closed the door behind her. The apartment was dark and quiet. Tension evaporated from Neraine’s form as she slipped inside. The tight lines of her control gave way beneath the weight. Neraine marched to the sink in the kitchen, turned on the water, and shoved her face under. She rose-up, found the dish towel, and dried herself, gasping for breath.

Neraine had agreed to the project, a dance choreography for a movie director’s oscar bait. She auditioned and got the lead; Good money, better publicity. She had not agreed to verbal abuse. Of a short temper and a demanding personality, the director shouted-at, insulted, and harangued the dancers. Most too nervous for their careers to defend themselves. Neraine kept her tongue. Then he kept them long past time, hours beyond what was agreed. What got them out was Neraine’s temper. He yelled at her and Neraine yelled back. They took it into the office. He threatened her for twenty minutes, that she’d loose her job, her place in the company, whatever, and so on. Neraine, soloist and prodigy talent, threatened to walk-out. She dared him to call her bluff. He let everyone go, and by that point, that was all she cared about. 

The floor boards creaked. Damnit, she thought Lex was out. Neraine straightened and turned to lean back against the counter. A clever move to hide her face. She tossed the dish towel aside. Her eyes traced the tile pattern, chin bowed to her chest. Her attention was on Lex though as he moved to stand before her. She searched for an excuse, for an explanation, and fell-short. Neraine wiped at her eyes and sniffed. Lex reached for her and despite herself, she leaned in. He looped his arm around her shoulders and drew her to his chest. A gentle tug on her ribbon freed her hair from the oppression of her bun. Strokes of his fingers smoothed the stray strands. 

A child was brittle and fragile, breakable even. Neraine was an adult, strong, resilient. She almost demanded Lex leave her alone. So she could learn the lesson of her mistakes. She thought she was beyond the instinctive, primal terror of her childhood. Shouting men shouldn’t scare her, not their threats or their insults. But she was tired and frustrated, and scared for her job. Dance was her one refuge but it didn’t feel like one today. It was inevitable that the facade would crack, and Neraine would break. She just hated that he was here to see it. 

Neraine gasped through a weak sob. She buried her face into Lex’s shirt, grasped at the fabric. As the cries racked her frame, Lex petted her hair and rubbed soothing circles over her shoulders. She stayed there till she was left raw and trembling. Her arms circled his waist, weight resting against him. It was too long, how long she clung to him. Beyond tears or the crying, till she was quiet and breathing soft again, cheek pressed to hear the echo of his heart. And yet, it was she who broke the embrace.

She murmured an incomprehensible excuse and escaped the kitchen. The shower she took was cold and long, and left her shivering. It was a slap enough in the face to remind her of her shame and pride. Yet, despite how she cursed her weakness, when she was alone in bed and failing to sleep, her mind drifted to him. 

[nixniivalis]

“Did you mean what you said?”

“I have been alive for over two decades,” Neraine said, “and consistently--” 

Not much of a boast, but life spun on like a river. An ongoing tail woven of the million threads of human experience. In this moment Neraine had a tapestry, a counterpane, showing a long path from there to here. She didn’t make it by being sweet, or kind. She was never soft. She learned young and she learned it hard, no one would advocate for her. If she did not speak for herself, her voice would fall silent. 

And the silent are invisible. 

“I say what I mean and I mean what I say, So, if I call that guy a two-faced liar who can die in a dumpster-- Yeah, I mean it.”

[nixniivalis]

“You need to eat something, you’ve been through a lot today.”

Injuries || Accepting

|| @teardownheaven ||

Neraine leaned back against the kitchen wall. She sat perched on the countertop, leg tucked beneath her. The black night draped the windows and the low light put a sharp gaunt to her cheeks. Sweat soaked Neraine’s shoulders and struck her face pale. Her hand crept over her stomach, fingers playing the line of sutures along her abdomen. A churning nausea overtook her.  It’d be hours before her magic replenished. Then it was an argument between conservation and the pain. Neraine laughed, eyes fluttering close as a low, painful chuckle racked her shoulders. She coughed and groaned when it stressed her wound.

It was so like her to start a fight she couldn’t win. Then win that fight by the hair’s breadth. Then show-up on his doorstep a bloody mess with a pitiful plea like, “I didn’t know where else to go.” And a half-assed apology to top it off. No cognition of Neraine’s was clear at the moment, her memory did not serve her. He tried to kill her at one point. Now he patched her wounds. If she could spare the energy she could write volumes on the irony. Now, here she was, pliant, wounded, and exhausted; Here was his chance!

Neraine opened her eyes. A cut had opened the brow on the left side and even regarding Aeleus was a painful struggle of itself. He packed-up the suture kit and first aid box. Put it back under the sink. Neraine reached for her shirt and shrugged it on, cussing the pain beneath her breath. 

“I have an extra hole in my abdomen right now,” Neraine grunted, her cheek turned against her shoulder., Another chuckle upturned her words. “I don’t think I have much of an appetite.”

Neraine choked down a joke that she was on a diet. She already lost a couple pints of blood, imagine how many pounds that was! Couldn’t ruin a good thing-- He probably wouldn’t appreciate it. 

“Do you usually feed the vagabonds you find bleeding-out on your doorstep, or am I just special?”

[nixniivalis]

"Well, is that everything you hoped for?"

The Last of Us || Accepting

|| @ghostlyanon||

Neraine had a career she bragged; Is that it, Annie replied. Neraine laughed, a harsh and forced sound. They took a brief respite on a park bench, waiting to see how the city burst alive. Neraine shook her head, leaning to brace her elbows against her knees. The sun sunk to the horizon. Soft shadow bathed the streets and the sky cooled to a deep purple. Street lights and shop front lit-up in golden glows. A cool breeze brushed Neraine’s hair line. Her right hand palmed over her knuckles, then over the steel ring on her left ring finger. She scoffed.

Hope was a fickle thing. Humans could not live without it and yet, it was the most fragile concept to exist. In seconds it could shatter. Leaving survivors with but shards and fragments to glue back together. In a single night, fifteen years of training fell to a moot point. Neraine couldn’t begin to list all the people she estranged or ignored in the name of her career. Blood, sweat, and tears, loans of time and pain that cut scars into Neraine, defaulted on by an uncaring universe.

The dream is this: principle ballerina of a famous, prestigious company; Solo concert pianist and affluent actress. The Neraine Koh, the musically gifted diva know for an arrogant attitude. People didn’t need to like her if they respected her. And she’d been just alone then as now. The only difference was when she learned it. Loneliness was as cruel as hope-- both would eat a woman alive. 

“No,” Neraine admitted. “If I had my way I would’ve danced myself dead.”

[nixniivalis]

👫!!

Send 👫 for Four Headcanons About Our Muses

| @valorxdrive​|

1. The Power of Waking and Dream Walking are the same niche of abilities. 

Neraine’s universe was one world composed of many timelines; Whereas Sora’s is one timeline composed of many worlds. In Neraine’s universe, individuals with a strong mind could cross the boundaries of the timelines. The Power of Waking on the other hand is an ability meant to, “traverse hearts to reach worlds.” So, we have two separate abilities that can enable travel between vast reaches of space-time via the heart or mind, related to sleep. Neraine’s ability is rooted in her subconscious which makes it absurdly difficult to control and why it manifests during sleep. 

Before Neraine can hope for a stable life, she must master Dream Walking. She could have everything she ever wanted and it’d be nothing if she teleports away every night. The good news is that it’s tied to her subconscious. What she thinks about, what she worries about, and maybe even, who, will influence her dreams. Except, right now, the person Neraine knows the least is herself. This is where Sora’s mastery of the Power of Waking can help. Someone with a similar ability that can emphasis to Neraine how relationships can be a powerful tool and weapon. What Neraine desperately needs is not just a teacher but someone to compare notes with. 

2. Since no one else is going to do it then Neraine’ll have to watch over Sora. 

The moment Neraine hears that Sora is sixteen years old and a baby, she is going to be horrified. In Kingdom Hearts everyone seems casually accepting of child soldiers fighting to save the universe. Meanwhile, Neraine and both her friends were adults when they fought to save their universe.  It is not okay to have Sora fighting lunatics and monsters under absurd pressure, at the actual infant age of fourteen. Neraine never had a childhood and Sora had his taken away from him. Since, all the adults in his life are apparently insane idiots, she’ll just have to be the responsible one here. 

Neraine, despite a prickly exterior, is a loyal and protective person. She is more than willing to take the burden from others, to carry more than her fair share. There is very little she wouldn’t do for someone she cares about. Neraine already likes Sora, she has this sense that he’s genuine and honest in a way that most are not. Anyway, I am 100% here for cool big sis Neraine if you are. 

3. Sora is the breaking point for Neraine to move on from her past. 

I have a rough timeline for the Post-KH3 stuff for Neraine and I can confidently say that our thread with Sora is at the far chronological end of it. There’s a point where she doesn’t know about keyblades and then a point when she does. When you consider that a keyblade is a master key to Infinity Space, her biggest logistical problem, you can see why. Sora is the break for that. Because as much as she wants to, going ‘home’ isn’t what Neraine needs. Neraine never had a home. Home is a thing, a dream, a possibility that one day she will be safe and happy.. That dream is a childish, hallow, crap shoot-- She has no friends or family. She’ll return ‘home’ and realize no one misses her. All that time Neraine invested in dance and music, worthless.

This is a cleansing moment. When she can shed all the bullshit and her hang-ups, and her conceptions of what is right or good, and start over. Stop hiding herself and compartmentalizing, and trying to go it alone. Instead she can accept Sora’s help by agreeing to help him. No one ever taught Neraine how to relate to people but if Sora is good at anything, then it is exactly that. Giving-up on the incorrect definition of ‘home’ is the only way Neraine can begin to sculpt a real one for herself. 

4. Neraine and Sora are both Protagonists That Attract Trouble, and that alone is a recipe for utter chaos. 

So in his game, Sora is the protagonist, and in her game, Neraine is the protagonist. Sora and Neraine both fight wack jobs that want to destroy the universe. They also both have a startling ability to find trouble and get into fights. Nothing could possibly go wrong by putting them in the same room. To be fair, Neraine has never --on purpose-- started a fight. In the early days her naturally aggressive behavior put her in hot water, but maturity has restrained her tongue. Sora has similar issues it seems. Not only will the craziest crap happen to them, they both lack the negotiation ability to get out of it. 

So, can you imagine, for a second, these two left alone in the vast universe to their own devices? I imagine being in such close proximity increases the ‘Trouble Magnet’ to overdrive. Yeah, Neraine acts responsible, but let’s be real, she’s not-- and Sora has little to no compunctions of diving head first into the unknown. He lacks self-restraint and she has no chill. Any reasonable person within twenty feet of them should watch their blood pressure. 

[nixniivalis]

👫

Send 👫 for Four Headcanons About Our Muses

| @teardownheaven​|

1. Neraine ends-up living with Aeleus and finding work in Radiant Gardens. 

So, Neraine, lands in Radiant Gardens and gets dragged to Aeleus by the guards, who are all like, ‘who the heck is this?!’ Aeleus and Neraine have their obvious, ‘YOU!?’ moment, and then, well, Neraine is still stuck in Radiant Gardens for the foreseeable future till she finds her key. And are we both going to act as if, Aeleus-My-Door-Is-Always-Open, will not put her-up. I’m not that deluded, personally. Of course, Neraine will have her pithy excuses but honestly she can’t say no to a shower-- Because, oh boy, she misses taking showers. 

Sometimes Neraine can find a key in a matter of hours and sometimes it takes a while. The Radiant Garden key turns out stubborn and she doesn’t have the personality type that imposes. Neraine, I think, could easily find work as a pianist for some lounge or bar, she’s a little rusty, but it’d pay and she finally gets to play music. Honestly, living with Aeleus would be a taste of domesticity she’s never had before. It’s quiet and simple, but it’s a life with a pattern and one she’s missed for a long time. It would be hard for her to leave.

2. Neraine and Aeleus sparring.

Neraine isn’t a fighter by nature, if she had to pick between not getting into a fight and getting into a fight-- she would pick ‘no, thank you,’ every-time. Unfortunately, for some reason, she is very good at getting into fights and since she’s still alive, it’s obvious that she’s also good at winning them. Neraine, with her magic has the power to stop Laxaeus and I would measure them as equals. They have similar styles with a different emphasis; Fighting Lex wasn’t fun, but sparring, Aeleus? Now that would be enjoyable. 

Neraine’s training starts and ends with what the High Priestess taught her, then what she learned on the road. So, Aeleus would have plenty of places to correct technique and teach her stances, and new stuff. The similarities of their magics means that it’d be a good place to compare notes and skills. Neraine would just be a fun challenge in general. Forget weapons, a good hand-to-hand round or two would sharpen them both. 

3. Neraine and Aeleus but dancing. 

It’s hard not to write a dancing headcanon for everyone Neraine interacts with, given that she judges people on the simple criteria: Can they dance? Yes/ No. Aeleus checks the ‘yes’ box and honestly, that’s goes a long way into getting him into her good graces. She figures it out when there’s music playing in the living room and she presumes she has to teach him, but he goes, ‘nope, I know how.’

And then she grins. 

Anyway, he’s a large, stable, partner, who probably wouldn’t mind letting Neraine have fun. The height difference would require a bit of negotiation, but if she takes big steps and he takes small steps they’d manage a fine waltz.  Neraine would look at Aeleus and wish she could get him into ballet, to be honest. He has perfect balance and he’s coordinated. Someone snotty might look at his height and have a problem; But honestly, he’d make lifts look effortless. How much he lets her get away with is honestly how willing he is to suffer Neraine teaching him fancy dance moves.

4. Aeleus is the most steady person that Neraine has ever met, it honestly baffles her. 

Neraine has lived a hard life, there’s been a lot of good in it, but she has had to struggle everyday of it nonetheless. Nothing has ever been given to Neraine, to her stability and rest is a foreign concept that other people enjoy. People, places, and things, they’re all transient and it’s a fool’s errand to get attached. Meanwhile, if Aeleus is anything then he is consistent. He has been through hell but he is tenacious and strong, and despite going through so much he came-out on the other side kind. Neraine understands the first part of that, but she admires the rest. 

Because Neraine has gone through hell and she came out bitter, mean, and cold. Neraine is proud because she has to be, it’s the only way she can protect what shambles of an ego she has left. So, yes, she is beautiful, talented, skilled, powerful; But she has no redeeming characteristics, the core of her is rotten. Dig beneath all that sarcasm and you’ll find nothing but a hallow girl still impaled on her hang-ups. So she doesn’t need other people to validate her, or you know, people in general. Yet, at the same time she looks at Aeleus who quietly bypasses her bullshit with genuine patience, and she starts to question what she believes. 

[nixniivalis]

‘ You look beautiful like this. ’

Sentence Starters || Accepting

@verumace ♧

Trapped in what felt like ten miles of fabric and at least threepetticoats, Neraine sweated like a pig. She’d worn her share ofcorsets and stays but the pleasant lady who laced her-up forgotNeraine possessed ribs. All in an attempt to create cleavageshe just did not have. An unpleasant dull pain spread through herlower back. With her too broad, muscular shoulders, Neraine lookedlike a scrawny boy tied into a  pastel balloon. The gown itself waslovely. Egg blue, embroidered, and embellished with pearl and lace,but it did nothing for her. Purple hair was not in fashion so herribbon remained tied about her wrist, exposing her natural color forthe appreciation of the party. She still simmered over that argument.Oh, and her feet hurt from these tiny, pointy high heel shoes shecrammed them in.

The best she was getting out of this experience was the hot bathand full meal. It wasn’t as though Neraine grew-up in the lap ofluxury but for the past three years soap and hot water had been ararity. She didn’t appreciate them until they were gone. Meanwhile, Rould hadgone off some hours earlier for business negotiations with the ownerof this manor and the host of the party. Neraine refused to join ongrounds of disinterest but agreed to the festivities in the hopes ofdance and music. Yet, as the night stretched-on, there Neraine stood,bored out of her skull.

Of all the dances where Neraine had to deal with a partner, thewaltz was her favorite. Apparently, it became popular amongst the upper crustsometime in the 19th century and back then it was scandalous. Aman holds a woman close to his chest, (in public!) in a swirling,intimate fashion. It also broke traditional line and group dancingarrangement, which was another dissolution of social order. If theythought that was horrid and pornographic, they definitely wouldn’tappreciate twerking. Either way, the waltz wasn’t recorded until atleast the 1750′s, so if Neraine wanted to dance inthree-four tonight then she was forty years too early.

Perhaps she should’ve considered that before she agreed to thisplan.

Neraine slumped against a column, all attempts at posture orblending-in thrown to the wind as her arms crossed tight over herchest. She watched the guests mill about. They drank wine and aterefreshments, and talked in heavily accented English with slang shedidn’t understand. They danced a boring dance with steps Nerainedidn’t know or care to learn. But music was music at this point inher life and she’d gladly spend the evening staring enviously atthe violinist even if it meant suffering the gown. Across the room ayoung boy lingered, eyes trailing over her. Neraine met his gaze deadon and held it till he wilted like a pansy. He slinked away, tailtucked between his legs. Neraine smirked, pleased with her effort.

A trill of high-pitched giggles drew her attention. Across theroom Rould had appeared and had already turned a patch of ladies beetred. Neraine rolled her eyes, wondering why she had even bothered tolook. He deaprted from them and Neraine tracked his blond head as hemade a solid attempt to great every guest in the room. She waited inanticipation, finger tapping against bicep, hopes soaring with adream of escape. She debated claiming illness to persuade him to letthem leave. No, Neraine’d tell him straight that she was done. If heany objections he could stick them where the sun didn’t shine. Shewas the one who’d been trapped in a stiff dress with a room she hadnothing in common with– There were just too many people here,too many elbows to jostle.

Neraine’s arms tightened over her chest, lips flattened intodispleased and silent sulk as he came to her side. She glanced hisway for a second, eyes dark. He was dressed like a proper ponce informal wear, the top button of his shirt left suspiciously undone.His gaze lingered on the dress, trailing-up from skirt edge to searchher face. Her own eyes slipped up and away, jaw tightened.

“You look beautiful like this.”

Sharp intake ofbreath, resolve and facade cracked for a brief expansion of lungs,before returned to a cold, marble carved, expression of annoyance.Neraine’s gaze snapped back tohis face and that damn smirk she resisted smacking off it. Theroom was too warm, she was going to spontaneously combust at anysecond. With all this cotton and silk Neraine’d go-up like a torch.Her features remained contorted, with lip pulled back from teeth. Some muscle in her chest tightened. Squeezingaround her heart till it threatened to burst. Then Neraine scoffedand released the tension.

“Doesthat line usually work?” Neraine quipped.

Maybehe expected those blasted girls over there who still eyed him andher. His attentionswould be far better spent on them. Neraine was a dead end, he’dfind nothing worth his time in her. Unlike those girls over there Neraine didn’t need a man to tell her shelooked pretty. No, Neraine was already assured of her looks. Rouldhadn’t even seen her at her best. She could almost feel theback-handed insult. She must be soundesirable in plain clothes, hair coarse and dry from the seabreeze, working amongst his sailors. But it didn’t matter. Anyonecould be pretty. Perhaps he’dbe more impressed by her grand jete, andcome to appreciate her skill instead of her appearance. Not thatshe’d ever accept any of his flattery. Neraine was no fool.

Still,he hooked his arm with hers as they left. It was a meandering escape,he spoke with everyone on the way out too.Neraine tried to not look toosour, hanging off his arm. Sheconcealed any amusement at jokes and conversation with flattenedlips. He however, failed to hide his own at her causticcomment at an older gentleman’s expense. Until they were out of theroom in dark corridors, broader, more open, and for the first time inhours she breathed, a full inhalation of oxygen. At the arch of abalcony overlooking the turmoiled, black ocean she gripped his hand, demanding.

Heindulged her a silent dance. Her hand rested in his palm and his armhooked about her waist. It was a brief, shuffling step, a mockery ofa waltz with no music to provide rhythm or cue. Neraine’s eyes neverdrifted above the line of his collar bones. The rush of the oceanrolled languid in contrast to the staccato of her heartbeat. Andstill, she was not relaxed, till she was back aboard theship, free of gown and stays, with a proper breeze in her hair.