#* MOON DUST IN YOUR LUNGS / STARS IN YOUR EYES 「MIRROR」

[marsi-is-depressed]

Fainting spell

Summary:

11th doctor x time lord wife reader, y/n has known the doctor since childhood and have been married for centuries, during her husbands speech to Akhaten, y/n goes unconscious due to the amount of energy. This fic feautures amy and rory instead of clara.

Eleventh Doctor x Time Lord Wife!Reader | Set during "The Rings of Akhaten"

The stars of Akhaten gleamed like shards of memory, suspended in the velvet canopy of space. The wind carried songs of the past—notes strung together by sacrifice and belief—and somewhere, at the heart of it all, stood a man with an ancient soul and wild eyes.

The Doctor.

And not far behind him, wrapped in soft cerulean robes that shimmered faintly with stardust, stood you—his wife, his oldest companion. Y/N, the Time Lady who had once raced him through the copper hills of Gallifrey, who had flown beside him when the sky burned red with war, and who had married him beneath the twin moons of Castallan IV in a ceremony only the stars could understand.

The bond you shared was unshakable. A union of minds, hearts, timelines. Centuries together, through regeneration and ruin. And still, even after all this time, he looked at you like you were new.

But today… today felt different.

You stood near the back of the amphitheatre as the Doctor stepped forward, his long coat trailing like the cloak of a hero worn from battle. Beside you, Amy and Rory exchanged a glance, sensing the swell of something great and terrible rising from the ancient god that slept at the center of this system.

The Old God. The parasite that fed on stories, on devotion. On souls.

And the Doctor… he was about to give it everything.

You knew what he was doing before the words left his mouth. You could feel the energy in the air shift. Something stirred in your chest, something raw and tangled in golden timelines. A thrum of the vortex itself.

"He’s going to offer it his memories," you whispered, staggering slightly.

Amy reached out, steadying you with a worried frown. "Y/N?"

You blinked, feeling the weight of time pressing down on your bones. It wasn’t just his memories. It was yours, too. Bound together in time, in soul, you were a mirror to his past—and when he offered himself, when he opened up his heart and mind to feed the Old God…

You felt it.

“Come on, then! Take it! Take it all, baby!”

The words rang out, furious and defiant, echoing off the ancient stones.

You gasped.

It felt like the air had been ripped from your lungs, like someone had cracked your chest open and poured molten starlight into your veins. Memories flashed through your mind too fast to hold—your wedding, Gallifrey's fall, your husband's laughter, the birth of time itself—rushing through you with a force no mortal could endure.

Your knees gave out.

Amy lunged forward with Rory right behind her. Together, they caught you before your head could hit the stone. Your eyes rolled back, lips parted in a silent cry.

“Y/N!” Amy shouted, gently cradling your head.

“She’s burning up,” Rory muttered, feeling your pulse racing like a warp drive at full throttle. “What’s happening to her?”

“She’s—she’s connected to him,” Amy realized. “He’s giving everything to that thing—and she’s feeling all of it!”

Back at the altar, the Doctor had no idea.

“I’ve seen whole worlds end. I’ve watched universes burn like paper. And I carried them all with me. Every moment…”

His voice cracked.

“Every second…”

Your fingers twitched weakly in Amy’s grip. You whispered something, barely audible.

“Stop… he has to stop… it’ll take too much…”

“I remember it all.”

A wave of psychic energy blasted through the amphitheater, knocking dust and debris into the air. Amy shielded your body with her own, Rory leaning in close to keep you from convulsing.

Then silence.

A soft, hollow silence.

The Doctor stood trembling, sweat on his brow, eyes wide and glassy.

“Did it work?” Amy called out, voice breaking.

The Doctor turned slowly.

And then he saw you.

Limp.

Unmoving.

Cradled in Amy’s arms like a fallen star.

His hearts stopped.

“No—no, no, no, no…” His feet moved before his mind caught up, tearing across the stone steps, leaping over ancient carvings. His hands found your face before he’d even dropped to his knees.

“Y/N,” he breathed, “no, please…”

You weren’t unconscious—you were deeper than that. Lost in the echoes. You had shared his burden for centuries, linked by time and love, but this…

This had broken through even your formidable walls.

“Wake up,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “Come back. Don’t you dare leave me.”

Amy looked away, tears in her eyes. Rory’s jaw tightened.

“I felt her break,” the Doctor said, his voice shaking. “The second I gave it to Akhaten… she took the hit, too. I didn’t think—I should’ve—”

“She’ll be okay, right?” Amy asked, almost afraid of the answer.

The Doctor didn’t reply.

He just took your hand.

Held it against his twin hearts.

And did what he always did when he thought he might lose you: he told a story.

“Do you remember the Temple of Stillwinds?” he whispered. “You were so cross with me. Said I was flirting with the High Priestess just to get the last key. You hit me with a vase, and I regenerated two hours later. Thought I was being dramatic, but I really liked that face.”

A flicker of breath passed your lips.

He smiled faintly.

“We built a treehouse in the upper boughs of the Singing Forest, just to hear the lullabies at night. You said that was the closest thing to peace you’d ever felt. Even the TARDIS liked it. She still hums the tune sometimes when she thinks I’m not listening.”

Amy and Rory exchanged a glance, feeling the weight of his grief hang in the air like mist.

“Come back to me, Y/N,” he whispered, closing his eyes tightly. “Please. I don’t know how to be without you. I’ve forgotten so much—but I could never forget you. You’re the reason I kept going. You’re my constant.”

And then—

You stirred.

It was faint. A twitch in your fingers, a flicker of golden light beneath your skin. Your eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.

“…Doctor?”

He let out a shaky laugh that cracked halfway through.

“I’m here. I’m right here.”

You tried to sit up, and he helped you, one arm supporting your back, the other cradling your hand as if afraid you might vanish again.

“I felt everything,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “All of it. You gave too much…”

“I had to,” he murmured. “It was the only way to save the girl. To save the world.”

“You should’ve let me share it properly,” you chastised gently. “Next time, don’t block me out.”

“You nearly died.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder.

“I’m a Time Lord, love. It takes a lot more than an angry god and a few million memories to take me down.”

He chuckled softly.

“Still… don’t scare me like that.”

Amy cleared her throat, stepping back as Rory helped her. “We’ll, uh… give you two a moment.”

As they left, the Doctor pulled you fully into his arms, burying his face in your hair.

The two of you sat like that for a long while, wrapped in silence, surrounded by the ashes of belief and the weight of eternity. It didn’t matter how long you’d lived, how many times you’d been broken and rebuilt. In that moment, the only truth was love.

“I never want to see you fall like that again,” he said, voice barely a whisper.

You turned your face toward his, brushing your nose against his. “Then don’t give yourself away without me next time.”

He nodded, lips ghosting over your brow.

“Deal.”

A pause.

Then he smiled.

“I did a pretty good job back there though, didn’t I? With the whole shouting at the god thing?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You scared the entire system into submission.”

He grinned. “Just another Tuesday, then.”

And together, beneath the light of a dying god and a reborn star, the Doctor and his wife rose slowly, hand in hand, two eternal souls forged in time, memory, and love.

Even gods could not consume them.

The air in the amphitheater had grown quiet. The songs had faded, the Old God silenced, and the golden glow of the Akhaten system was soft again—calm after the storm. The Doctor helped you to your feet, his arm firm around your waist as he kept you close.

“Let’s get you back to the TARDIS,” he said gently, still watching you with that same wide-eyed worry he always had when you were hurt. “You need rest. Proper rest. Time Lord or not, you were almost—”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in softly, your voice rasping with fatigue.

He nodded, lips pressing together.

Amy and Rory followed behind silently, casting glances at you every few steps, still shaken by how close you’d come to falling into the void for good.

But you were alive.

You were always strong—but this had pushed you to the edge.

Back aboard the TARDIS, the Doctor led you to the console room, settling you gently on the jump seat. The TARDIS dimmed the lights instinctively, the soft hum of her engines lowering to a lullaby as if she too understood the fragility of this moment.

He knelt before you, hands on your knees, eyes scanning you for anything—anything at all—that seemed wrong.

“Pulse?” he murmured, tapping two fingers to your wrist.

“Still there,” you mumbled.

“Eyes?”

“Both present and accounted for.”

“Memory?”

You blinked slowly. “You once shaved your eyebrows off in your fourth incarnation just to see if it improved aerodynamics in high-speed chases.”

He smirked. “Yep. You’re all there.”

But as he started to stand, you swayed.

The jump seat seemed to tilt sideways and lurch beneath you. Your vision shimmered with threads of gold, fractured memories flying past your consciousness in a rush—visions not just of Akhaten, but of Gallifrey, of the Death Zone, of Earth’s future. Too much.

Too fast.

And then—

Darkness again.

This time, the fall was gentler, but no less frightening.

The Doctor caught you mid-collapse, sliding to the floor with you cradled in his arms. “No, no, no, come on—Y/N…”

Amy shouted from the corridor, “Doctor? Did something happen?”

“Stay there!” he called back, urgency threading through his voice.

He lowered your head into his lap, brushing your hair from your forehead as golden pulses of memory visibly flickered beneath your skin. The threads of time itself were swirling too fast inside you.

You were unraveling under the weight of it.

He laid both hands on your temples and closed his eyes.

“Shhh. Slow down, love. You don’t have to carry it all at once. Breathe with me. Anchor with me…”

His voice was soft, gentle, the rhythm of it syncing with your own scattered thoughts. Gradually, the storm in your mind began to settle. You weren't alone in the timeline—you never had been.

You had him.

When your eyes fluttered open, the Doctor was still beside you, seated on the floor of the console room with your head resting against his chest. His hearts beat steadily beneath your cheek.

“…Doctor?” you whispered.

His head jerked down in relief. “Y/N. Oh, thank Rassilon.”

You looked up at him, your body still trembling slightly from the overload. “I didn’t mean to scare you again.”

“You’re lucky I don’t regenerate from sheer stress,” he said, stroking your cheek. “What happened?”

You blinked, swallowing hard. “The memories… they came too fast. Not from now—but from before. I think Akhaten’s energy pulled something loose. Maybe your speech... the force of it knocked the vaults open.”

He nodded. “We’ve lived too long. Sometimes the mind forgets how to sort it all.”

You touched your temple gently. “I saw Gallifrey. I saw us as children. I saw you wearing your Academy robes backwards just to make a statement.”

He chuckled. “I was a statement.”

“And… I saw Akhaten. Again.” Your voice trembled slightly. “But not from my eyes.”

He paused.

You sat up slowly, still held in his arms. “I saw you. Standing there. Alone. All that pain in your voice… and then I saw you cry.”

The Doctor inhaled sharply.

“You never cry,” you said gently, fingers trailing up to his face. “But you did then.”

He looked away.

“I wanted to go to you,” you continued, reaching to cradle his face and guide his eyes back to yours. “The moment I saw that first tear, I tried to reach for you. But the energy hit me too fast, and I couldn’t…”

Your thumb brushed along his cheekbone. “You gave so much. Too much.”

He swallowed thickly. “It was the only way.”

“You never should have had to stand there alone.”

“I wasn’t,” he whispered, his hands tightening around yours. “You were there. Even if you fell, even if you couldn't reach me—you were still there. And somehow, that made it bearable.”

You leaned forward slowly, gently pressing your forehead against his. “We’ve carried the weight of time for so long. But you don’t always have to be the one to bleed first.”

He closed his eyes, letting himself fall into your embrace.

“You saw me cry,” he whispered, almost ashamed.

“I did,” you said softly. “And it broke my heart. Not because you cried—but because you tried to hide it. From me.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”

“Doctor,” you breathed, taking his face in your hands, “that was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen you do. You gave every part of yourself to protect a little girl, to protect a planet. That isn’t weakness. That’s who you are.”

A long pause stretched between you.

Then you gently tilted his head so you could press a kiss to his forehead.

He shivered at the contact.

Your hands moved slowly across his face—fingers ghosting over his brow, tracing his jaw, thumb brushing his lips. Each movement was soft, grounding.

“I remember our first century together,” you murmured, “when you still hadn’t stopped grieving for Gallifrey. You used to wake up screaming, saying you didn’t deserve peace.”

“I still don’t,” he murmured.

“You do. And you always did.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes now, and this time, it was you who let them fall freely.

“You are the most extraordinary being in this universe, Doctor. Not because of the battles you’ve won or the legends they sing—but because of your heart. And I’ve loved it across every incarnation. Every wound. Every tear.”

He looked at you as if seeing you for the first time.

And for the thousandth time all at once.

“Come here,” he whispered, pulling you fully into his arms again.

You curled into him, resting your head beneath his chin, your arms around his waist. His fingers wove into your hair, and yours into the lapels of his coat.

Time bent gently around you.

Even the TARDIS was still.

Hours passed like moments.

Amy poked her head in once, saw the two of you curled together on the floor, and silently backed away with Rory in tow, offering you peace.

In the quiet afterward, you pulled back slightly to look into his eyes again.

“No more giving everything unless we both agree on it,” you said firmly.

He gave a wry grin. “Agreed.”

“And next time you cry, don’t hide it. I want to be the one who holds you.”

He nodded slowly. “You always were.”

You smiled faintly, then rested your forehead against his again.

“And next time I fall over from a memory overload, you are not allowed to blame yourself.”

He snorted. “Can’t make that promise. But I’ll try.”

You cupped his cheek again, gazing into his eyes. “We’ve lived through the worst things time has to offer. But we’re still here.”

“We’re still here,” he echoed.

And in the center of that console room, surrounded by the stars and the song of a healed system, the two of you held each other—not just as lovers or Time Lords, but as the only two people who could ever truly understand what it meant to live forever.

And still choose love.

[ruru195]

Lessons From the Wildcat

Felix was know as the untouchable, a wild youth. He had lived. He had lost. And now, he taught, not just to sharpen fists or polish magic, but to strengthen the reason why one fights at all.

Each student trained alone, in places that mirrored their deepest weaknesses.

☀️ MORNING – BENDY – The River’s Edge

The river flowed fast, silver foam breaking against black rocks. Bendy sat cross-legged on the cold stone while Felix stood with arms crossed, eyes narrow and quiet.

“Again,” Felix said.

“I’m trying,” Bendy hissed, hands trembling as shadows curled around him like smoke.

Felix stepped forward, knelt down, and touched Bendy’s forehead. “You're not trying to control your powers. You’re trying to suppress your feelings. Stop that. You feel everything, Bendy. That’s what makes you strong.”

Bendy’s breath caught.

“You’ve been through hell. You’ve suffered. And that fear? That rage? You can’t bottle it. You shape it. That’s your art. Let it speak, but don’t let it scream over you.”

“…What if I lose it?”

“You won’t. Because you have something to fight for now, don’t you?”

“…My family. Cup”

Felix nodded. “Then keep fighting for them. Even if it breaks you, you stand up again.”

🌤️ AFTERNOON – CUPHEAD – The Rocky Fields

Open fields stretched around them, cracked earth, scattered boulders, blistering sun.

Felix had Cuphead in a tight headlock, one leg pinning his opponent mid-air.

“LET. ME. GO,” Cuphead groaned.

“Make me,” Felix smirked.

“I’ll blast you into next week!”

“Go ahead. Try. But what if your magic fails?” Felix let go and Cuphead dropped, panting.

“You rely too much on your power. Your strength. But one day it won’t be enough.”

Cuphead frowned, dusting himself off. “What’s your point?”

Felix pointed to his chest. “You fight with this. Your brain. Your heart. Your purpose. Not your fists.”

Cuphead looked down, quiet.

“You’re reckless because you think you’re invincible. But you’re not. So… tell me.”

“…What?”

“Who are you fighting for?”

Cuphead swallowed hard. “…Bendy. My family.”

Felix stepped forward, eyes serious. “Then fight smart. Make it count.”

🌒 DUSK – MUGMAN – The Forest’s Depths

The trees cast long shadows, wind howling softly through the dense cave entrance. Felix tossed Mugman a stick.

“No magic,” he said.

“But I suck at hand-to-hand—”

“You won’t after this.”

Mugman hesitated, then lunged. Felix easily flipped him on his back.

“Ow…”

“Your aim is flawless, Mugman. But life won’t always let you keep your distance.”

Mugman groaned, sitting up.

“You’re afraid,” Felix added. “That’s okay. Fear means you care. Use it.”

Mugman’s lips parted. “How?”

“Make fear your fuel. Make every punch mean something. Because your goal deserves it.”

“…Even if I’m scared the whole time?”

Felix offered a hand. “Especially then.”

🌌 NIGHT – BORIS – The Empty Path

The moon lit an abandoned road, dirt crunching under Felix’s boots as he walked beside Boris in silence.

“You act on instinct,” Felix finally said. “You jump in first, ask questions never.”

Boris shrugged. “That’s bad?”

“It’s not wrong. But instincts don’t always save the ones you love.”

Boris looked down.

“When you’re under pressure, your heart’s loud. But your head needs to be louder.”

They stopped walking.

“What happens when someone’s life depends on you thinking clearly?”

Boris took a breath, ears drooping. “I don’t know…”

Felix placed a hand on his shoulder. “Then we’ll practice. And we’ll keep practicing until you do.”

🌠 ONE FINAL LESSON – TOGETHER

Later, the four of them sat together near a crackling fire. Felix stood before them, silhouetted against the stars.

“None of you fight just to win,” he said. “You fight because you believe in something. In someone. Your strength is not your magic, or your fists. It’s your heart. And every scar you carry.”

They listened. Quiet. Moved.

“You’ll fall. You’ll doubt. You’ll even fail. But if you get up… every single time… then no one can truly beat you.”

Bendy reached over and grabbed Cuphead’s hand.

Mugman leaned into Boris.

Felix looked at them, and for a moment, he saw warriors, not kids. Fighters not just for battle… but for love, hope, and each other.

[valentinahogdahlholm]

The violent breaths of a profane soul//En profan själs våldsamma andetag:

I was too good to be true until I became true, Too perfect until I became human. And the light of holiness becomes profane, Scrubbed knees and vertebrae of steel. How should I say it another way? When the light of holiness goes out, what am I then? If only human? Promised paradise, the entire sky of stars,

A lie melting steel, Back, voice, words. Muse risen form the stanzas of poets and Appollo's hands, These words to make sense of it.

Lost in silenced prayers and ending psalms. Worshipped voice whose words fall on deaf ears, Fall from god's grace, Icon to golden calf. Mirrored in cracked stone tablets.

Because you cannot believe in burning blood, warm skin, beating hearts. Only worshipped fiction mirroring you in the metal of the halo, But underneath it all I was human. Liberated by salt tears, Lost promises of the crown of heaven. Freed air you tried to drink,

To call poisoned when the holy oxygen met the spring air. Instead of blessing lungs with prayers you spoke on my lips to dring, Gold of your lungs, Worship their purity. Which I banished with a violent breath collected underneath golden skin, Liberated by tears and the path of blood. Mixed with floods, Lakes free from guardian dogs and the eyes of doe.

Kissed feet echo further and further away, Kissed forehead turns upward And worshipped eyes fall on red roses and the path of the moon across the nigh sky.

Holy breathing declares false prophet of young blonde god, Whose voice, damned and echoing through the church, Torn down monuments, altars and icons. But still worshipping the angel, saint, godess they portray. Without seeing the scarred forehead. Only the muse risen from Apollo's fingers' dance over the lyre, Song from his lips. Oracle declaring the fate of our hero, Martyr to Messiah in a golden crown, Golden halo alone on her forehead, Blind for blood and pain, Eyes fixed on the holy light, open arms, blue shroud which will soon turn red from her bleeding humanity. And the name is erased from holy writings, Paintings covered in white sheets. Images covered with paint on churches' walls,

Thickening with layers and soon thicker again, When the halo crowns blonde curls once again, Making gold of your image in the mirror, Hers you swear. While lungs are filled by your prayers, To become madonna, angel, godess.

While I am condemned to rot, Not a single rose on my grave. As empty handed as before promises of celestial beauty in my hands, Condemned greed.

You sought holy blue light, And found the red dust of humanity, You sought a holy mythological image And found the profane existence of the soul. You sought a saint, a godess, an angel And found a human. You are dissapointed.

//

Jag var för bra för att vara sann tills jag blev verklig,

För perfekt tills jag blev mänsklig

Och helighetens ljus byttes mot profanitet,

Skrubbade knän och kotor av stål.

Hur ska jag uttrycka det på annat sätt än dessa ord? När det heliga ljuset släcks, och vad är jag då.

Om bara mänsklig? Lovad paradiset, natthimmelens alla stjärnor,

En lögn som smälter stål,

Rygg, stämma, ord.

Musa frammanad av poetens strofer och Apollos händer,

Dessa ord för att begripliggöra det.

Förlorad i tystade böner och utklingade psalmer.

Dyrkad stämma vars ord faller på döva öron,

Syndafall,

Ikon till gyllene kalv

Speglad i spräckta stentavlor.

För du kan inte tro på brinnande blod, varm hud, slående hjärtan,

Utan endast helgade fiktioner som speglar dig i glorians metall,

Men jag förblev människa när huden förgylldes.

Frigjord av salta tårar,

Förlorade löften om himmelrikets krona.

Frigjord luft du sökte supa,

För att kalla förgiftad när det heliga syret blandades ut med vårluften.

Istället för att välsigna dina lungor med bönerna du talat mot mina läppar för att supa in,

Förgylla dina lungor,

Dyrka dess renlärighet

Den jag förkastade med ett våldsamt andetag som samlats under den förgyllda huden,

Frigjordes med tårarnas och blodets bana ned,

Blandas med floder,

Källor fria från vaktande hundar och hjortars blängande ögon.

Kyssta fötter ekar längre och längre bort,

Kysst panna vänder sig uppåt

Och dyrkade ögon fäster sig på röda rosor och månens bana över natthimlen.

Helgade andetag förklarar falsk profet av ung blond gud,

Vars stämma, förkastanden, ekar genom kyrksalen,

River monument, altare och ikonbilder.

Men dyrkar ännu ängeln, helgonet, gudinnan de föreställer.

Utan att se den medföljande ärrade pannan,

Endast musan sprungen ur Apollos fingrars dans över lyran,

Sången från hans läppar.

Orakel som förtäljer vår hjältes öde,

Från martyr till Messias,

Iklädd guldbelagd törnekrona,

Endast krönt med gyllene gloria,

Blind för blodet och smärtan i blicken,

Ögonen fästa på det heliga skenet, öppna händer, blå skrud som snart blir röd av hennes blödande, flödande mänsklighet.

Och namnet suddas från heliga skrifter,

Målningar täckta med vita lakan,

Bilder täckta med spackel på kyrkoväggar,

Som tjocknar med lagren, och snart blir tjockare igen,

När glorian kröner blonda lockar åter en gång,

Förgyller din spegelbild.

Hennes spegelbild lovar du.

Medan hennes lungor fylls av dina böner,

För att bli madonna, ängel, gudinna.

Medan jag är fördömd att ruttna,

Inte ens en ros på min grav.

Lika tomhänt som innan löften om himlavalvets skönhet i mina händer.

Förbannade girighet.

Du sökte heligt blått sken,

Och fann mänsklighetens röda damm,

Du sökte helgad mytologisk bild

Och fann den profana själens existens,

Du sökte ett helgon, en gudinna, en ängel

Och fann en människa.

Du är besviken.

[hybridtemporis]

tag drop!

* HEY THERE DEMONS! IT’S ME; YA BOI      「OOC」

* CALL TO THE STARS      「MEMES」

* COME GET Y'ALL JUICE      「STARTER CALL」

* IT’S LIKE CHRISTMAS!      「MEME CALL」

* AS OFTEN AS POSSIBLE BE GENTLE AND KIND   「ISMS」

* THE UNIVERSE SANG AND YOU ARE IT’S SONG     「IC」

* MOON DUST IN YOUR LUNGS / STARS IN YOUR EYES     「MIRROR」

* TO LIVE FOR THE HOPE OF IT ALL   「STUDY」

* YOUR POTENTIAL IS ENDLESS      「HC」  

[jadescornerofinternetinsanity]

Its cold and its dark and im thinking about fathers and what it means to love. Because the first person who taught me the shape of love crushed me in his fist and now im scared that every one i fall for will die with claw marks in their chest. Im worried that i don’t know what it means to love without destruction.

I will cling and i will claw my chest open and ask if you think my lungs are beautiful. I will lie on a concrete floor and bleed and hope it’s pretty. Suffering is like art if you do it right. 

Tell me who left first, because in the haze i cant quite remember. If it was you, i forgive you. If it was me, i hope you hate me for it forever. 

I’ve spent more years trying to reach into the mirror and reshape my skin even if the broken glass cuts me than i ever did finding it beautiful. And sometimes i look at the blue in my eyes and the scars on my stomach and think “someone could love this” and sometimes i think i’ll only find peace beneath a gravestone. 

And if i did, would you write my epitaph? Would it be kind? Would you claw into the stone with your nails and tell the world i lived and someone loved me for it? 

Would you forgive me for leaving? It would be easier than forgiving me for what i did to stay. 

The strings tying me to life are tangled these days, they fray and twist and tighten around my wrists like restraints. 

Sometimes i scream at the sky like it’s my fathers ghost and i ask who was I supposed to be? I ask where are you? Why aren’t you here? 

I hate flying. I hate getting too close to the stars. 

There are a million poems about people being made out of stardust. Hell hath no fury like a poet with a science metaphor. We love to strip the world bare and claw through the dirt looking for something beautiful. How long have humans stared at the sky and found home? How long have we buried our friends in the dirt. How long have we looked up and down and found more? How long have we traced shapes into the stars and told their stories? When does it end? 

Should it? 

We climbed our way to the moon and never went back. A checkmark on a list to prove something to a god that doesn’t exist. A challenge. How dare he think anything is out of reach. 

The universe is expanding, did you know that? Did you know that every second the edge of life gets further away? There will always be something we can't see. There will always be places we can’t go. There will always be rocks we can’t claim, stick our flag into, and pretend to own. 

One day the sun is going to collapse in on itself. Did you know how fragile life is? Did you know we live every day on the precipice of destruction? This is not poetry. There is nothing beautiful about mortality. There is nothing pretty about death. One day the sun will cave in on itself and burn everything we’ve built, one day ozymandias crumbles to dust. Atlantis sinks. The stars burn out. Checkmate. 

We claw life out from the jaws of death and think we’ve won something. We haven’t. 

To live is to suffer, did you know that? 

I don’t know who im talking to. The sky doesn’t answer your questions. It doesn’t matter how many telescopes you send to ask the stars why we’re here. Sound doesn’t travel in space.

Do you know how much we made out of nothing? How much of our history is purely a riot against insignificance? How much blood spilled, temples built, statues carved, wars fought and lost and won and bones buried to prove we were here? How much of the past is just a teenaged nobody screaming that something happened here, something mattered here. How much time do we spend begging our descendants to listen to us? 

There is something violent about fading out of existence. There is peace in it too. Aristotle will never rest, and Shakespeare will be studied by people he never knew until the world ends. 

What is more cruel? To be forgotten or remembered? 

I don’t know who i’m talking to. 

One day the sun will cave in on itself. One day we will fall through a crease in the center of the galaxy. Nothing is immortal. Why do we beg for it to be? 

I don’t know who I’m talking to. None of us do. We talk anyway.

[sitting-around-and-fantasizing]

Does reality ever hit y’all like a sledgehammer.

You can see the dust motes in the light. You can reach out and touch your reflection in the mirror. The toy box serial torturer existed. The moon is pale white and drifts ever so close. The earth pulls us down, pulls us in. The dinosaurs once existed, once lived in a state of wonder as we do now. The world is choking on the smog of the Industrial Age. There’s a million stars in the sky. When you look into your own eyes, the pupils seem bottomless. Everyone is held to an unrealistic standard due to media. Our ancestors feed the very trees we need to breathe. You are covered in soft fabrics and furs. The ridges on your fingertips are yours and yours alone. We have images of a black hole. The air is crisp as you draw it into your lungs.

We’re alive. I’m alive.

Remember to have faith in the little things, rather then fixating on the tragedies

[emilia3546]

Shadowsinger Part 3 - Gwynriel

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter

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Part 1

Part 2

*****

The library didn't feel safe anymore. From the people who had hurt her, yes, but not from whatever it was that had attacked her last night. Gwyn closed the book she had been reading, placing it back on the pile to return and glanced at the candle beside her, it had almost burned down, she had maybe half an hour before sunset, and she didn't want to be here then. She made her way up to the library's entrance, waiting just inside, still scared to step properly outside on her own, especially when people were milling around the streets, males she didn't know. She would wait here.

She was only waiting a few moments before wingbeats sounded and Azriel landed on the street outside, and pushed the door open,

"Are you sure you want to come?"

"Yes. I," she paused, glancing back for a moment, "I don't feel safe here. I do with you." He nodded, glancing back outside, but Gwyn caught a glimpse of his smile, the tears in his eyes, but when he turned back to her, all sign of them was gone. He offered her his hand,

"I'll have to carry you," he started, and paused, seemingly lost for words,

"I trust you." Gwyn took his hand and stepped outside, immediately backing into him, the solid mass of him behind her reassuring her, she smiled as he curved a wing around her almost instinctively, making to draw it back when he realized, "No. Leave it." He let it curl back around her, and she pressed into his side, she could do this, she could walk through a crowded street, she wasn't alone anymore, she could do it.

Azriel squeezed her shoulder gently, and dropped his hand to her side, cautious of spooking her, but she grabbed his hand, holding on as he started, surprise glimmering in his eyes,

"You're not going to scare me off, Az." She followed his gaze to where their hands joined, the sadness, almost horror in his gaze, "We all have scars, Az. Yours are no more shameful than mine." she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, and he smiled, really smiled, and squeezed her hand gently, leading her into the street. They stayed near the edge, with Azriel closest to the people walking up and down the street, and gradually Gwyn's fear faded, not disappeared, but faded, she was alright, and she could look after herself now. As her fear faded, she began to take in the beauty of Velaris, the shopfronts, the restaurants, the way the Sidra shined in the moonlight as they walked next to it, taking a short walk as she had asked before flying up to the House of Wind.

As beautiful as the city was, it was nothing compared to the night sky, nothing compared to the full moon shining bright over the city, the wind rushing over her face with each of Azriel's wingbeats. Gwyn had been grinning the moment he had lifted her into his arms to take off, and now she let out a whoop of joy, earning a chuckle from Azriel,

"What?" She asked,

"Nothing, it's just, your joy is infectious." He laughed again, flipping onto his back so that she could see the stars better, and she gasped as a shooting star crossed the sky, sending a trail of light through the inky black. When Azriel turned back to fly normally, he flapped harder for a moment, and Gwyn threw her arms round his neck, clinging on at the sudden rush of speed, but let out another whoop of joy as he sped up,

"I see why you love flying so much," she mused, "It's freedom."

"It is. And more than that," he sighed, as if deciding whether to continue, "I don't know what anyone told you about my mother."

"Just that she and your father weren't married."

"Married? No, not to each other, anyway. My father was married to another female, I was the product of an affair, a reminder of it. He-" he broke off, glancing around, and Gwyn squeezed his shoulder, resting her head against his chest, she would be there if he wanted to talk, whenever he wanted to talk. "I spent the first eleven years of my life in a cell underground, not able to fly or see my mother more than once a week. That's why I love flying, it's a reminder that no matter what, no matter how bad something is, it can get better."

"Az,"

"You don't have to say anything, I know it's a lot."

"Az. Thank you for trusting me." She cupped his face, forcing him to look at her as they hovered over Velaris, "You can't chase me off. We all have a past, you know mine," his eyes darkened at that, rage rippling off him,

"They didn't suffer enough," he murmured,

"They can't hurt me, just like you family can't hurt you now," she ran a finger over the back of his hand, over the scarred ridges, "I'm guessing they did this?" a nod of assent was all she needed, "So own it. You survived, and became Spymaster of the Night Court. I'd say you outshone all of them easily, even from the shadows." The tears that had formed earlier now threatened to fall,

"No one has ever said that."

"Perhaps you never wanted to hear it. You deserve happiness, Az." He sighed, contemplating her words,

"You don't know what I've done,"

"You are not a bad person. I don't care what you've done. It's what's in your heart that matters, and you are a good person. You are the person I feel safe with, not Cassian, not Rhysand and Feyre. You." She glanced around one last time before Azriel dove for the balcony. Gwyn squeezed Azriel's hand once more before stepping out of his arms, but something made her stop, made her turn back, there was something in his face, understanding, pain, perhaps, that mirrored hers, enough that she stepped back towards him and wrapped her arms around him before slipping away into the House before he could return the hug.

*****

I trust you, she had said, I feel safe with you, but why? She couldn't possibly understand what he had had to do for his job, could she? Perhaps she could, she of all people knew the worst their kind had to offer, and had survived. His blood was still roaring at the closeness she had offered him, proof of how her trust had grown over the last several months, of her willingness to keep living despite the past. She was right, his scars, physical and mental were not something to be ashamed of, she wasn't ashamed of hers, if she could accept the past, so could he.

He glanced towards her room when he reached his door, impulse making him knock to check that she was okay. Her voice was shaking when she called for him to come in, and the room was filled with candles,

"It's dark," she whispered, "It feels like it's chasing me again,"

"Do you want me to stay?" She  chewed her lip for a moment, considering his offer, and sank onto the bed,

"Everything I said just now, and I'm scared of the dark for something that happened once, and that can't happen here," she met his gaze, and laughed, "I'm such an idiot."

"You're allowed to be afraid of things, Gwyn, it happened yesterday, I'd be surprised if you simply brushed it off, but if it helps, my shadows found it again, and it was just the darkness at the heart of the library, I don't know why it went after you yesterday though."

"Well, thank you for finding it, I was worried it was some other dark magic."

"Nothing malicious, I think it was more curious than aggressive, it didn't seem to fear me, more to recognize me, to know who, and what, I was, so it wasn't interested." She nodded, and smiled,

"So it won't come back?"

"Honestly, I don't know, probably not, but it's possible." She drew her knees up, "But not here, it can't get up here, and nothing will hurt you while I'm here. Anything you can't handle yourself, I will deal with." She smiled and nodded, her breathing evening out as she settled down to sleep, mumbling a quick 'goodnight' when Azriel slipped out to go back to his own room.

With Gwyn safe, he could finally get started on some of his leftover paperwork from that afternoon that he'd never got round to. He leaned a pillow up against the headboard of his bed, trying to ignore his shadows dancing around at her presence.

"Go to her if you're that exited, but for the gods sakes, don't wake her, or scare her," he muttered, and stifled a chuckle as they all skittered off, immediately slipping under the door to keep an eye on Gwyn. His shadows were still with her when he finally blew out the candle to get some sleep of his own.

*****

Gwyn jolted awake. She was in the House of Wind, and safe. She glanced around the room, and something moved, for a moment she contemplated lunging for the dagger on the dressing table beside her bed, but recognized one of Azriel's shadows,

"Are you hiding from me?" She chuckled, "Come here," the shadow, and others around her drifted towards her, she knew that she ought to be afraid, but she was just intrigued, even in the months she had known him, she hadn't had a chance to get this close to Azriel's shadows, "Did Az send you to look after me?" She muttered, not expecting any response, but a shadow twined around her hand, the sensation tickling, and she laughed, but clapped a hand over her mouth to avoid waking Azriel in the next room. She giggled again when another shadow twirled through her hair, exploring, before settling beside her. One of them drifted towards an old dust-covered piano in the corner of her room, and came back, before drifting towards it again. "You want me to sing?" All the shadows froze, and drifted to the piano as one. "I can't. I'll wake Azriel, in the morning I'll sing for you." They almost seemed disappointed as they drifted back towards her, but suddenly rushed for her, surrounding her in a safe cocoon of darkness.

There was a muffled bang from down the corridor, and Gwyn did grab the dagger on her dresser then, silently crossing the floor to hide behind the door, the shadows concealing her, protecting her. The sound didn't come again for almost an hour, but she needed to know what it was, so that she could sleep properly. If only she had a proper sword, but she didn't even know where to get one from. She sighed in resignation, and pushed the door open a crack, checking down the corridor to either side, she couldn't see anything but,

"Go check it's safe," she whispered, and the shadows disappeared off, returning swiftly and swirling around her feet, it was safe. She silently crossed the corridor, and pushed Azriel's door open, "Az?" He opened his eyes immediately, and sat up,

"Gwyn? Are you okay?"

"Fine. I just heard a noise, like a person, and I don't have a sword, or I wouldn't have woken you." His eyes flicked between her, and the shadows still swirling around her,

"You spoke to them?"

"Yes. Is that not normal?"

"No." he mused, "It isn't, I've never met anyone else who can communicate with them. I'll check for anyone in the House. Wait here, I'll only be a minute."

"No. I didn't wake you so you could protect me like some pathetic maiden. I only woke you because I don't know where to get a sword from, other than that, I'm fine."

"Shall we both go, then?" She nodded, and her eyes widened in surprise as he pulled open the wardrobe, and handed her a sword, "Always have weapons accessible."

"Noted." She muttered, and poked her head of the door, "Is it still clear?" The shadows swirled again, and Azriel froze behind her,

"How do you do that? Speak to them."

"I just speak, they understand, I think."

"They do. It's just, they've never deigned to speak to anyone else before. They like you." She smiled, and caught a glimpse of a similar smile across his face, "C'mon, it's probably Cassian getting back, but we'd better check."

She dropped into her familiar stance, with Azriel at her side, sweeping through every room and corridor silently and efficiently before reaching the dining room, where a note was left on the table. Azriel got there first, and laughed at the note,

"It was Mor, she came to steal some more wine."

"Of course, she did." Gwyn chuckled, and laughed properly seeing Azriel roll his eyes, the light of dawn shining through the windows, "Well, since we're already awake, do you want a hand setting up for training?" He smiled and nodded, his gaze lingering on her a little longer than was perhaps necessary, but he did turn away to head up to the training ring. He'd hardly spoken to her since he'd woken up, granted he'd been suddenly woken, but perhaps he was annoyed with her, he'd only come to check that she was alright briefly last night, perhaps he hadn't wanted her advice with anything, perhaps he regretted telling her everything last night. She had overstepped, grossly overstepped, and now she might have ruined the first meaningful relationship she'd had with a male since the attack at the temple. She sighed and followed him, at least she could just pretend it had never happened, maybe then things would get back to normal.

*****

It was inescapable. Even her scent following up the stairs was driving him half-mad, it was taking every ounce of self-control he possessed not to just blurt out his feelings, or even just kiss her. He couldn't risk scaring her, not after everything, not when she was finally starting to be comfortable in public. Sure, she'd bee around people before, and his blood still boiled at the thought of her in the Blood Rite, but that hadn't been by choice. She had made huge steps recently, and he would not be the reason that she got scared again. If she actually wanted him she would tell him, perhaps the hug had just been an impulse, nothing more.

Still, he couldn't help snatching glances at her while she helped him set up the new obstacle course for training that morning. She moved so much more confidently, each action was thought through, measured, deliberate. She moved like a warrior, a Valkyrie, like she was finally comfortable in her abilities, like she knew that she could protect herself now. He tried not to remember holding her in his arms last night, what he had told her, and what she had said. She was a stronger person than he was, she always had been, even before he had gotten to Sangravah, she had protected the younglings, had made a terrible decision, but she had saved so many young lives. She had saved lives, and he couldn't help remembering the lives he had taken with each glimpse of his hands, the invisible blood that marred them. No matter what she said, he had done unspeakable things, even in the name of a greater cause, he was still a murderer. Gwyn had told him that being Spymaster was a great achievement, and it was, but she couldn't understand what else that job entailed, could she?

She was shining in the early sunlight, glowing in her newfound confidence and happiness, and he was still shrouded in shadows, even as she glanced in his direction, smiling broadly at him, he couldn't help but mirror the smile, and his shadows leapt for joy at her smile. He kept one eye on her while the other females trained, waiting for the moment that she would call him over for 'help', he'd figured out from day one that she didn't need help, she was just trying to get more comfortable having a male near her, touching her, someone she at least trusted, if nothing more. But she didn't even speak to him the whole session, and he found himself staring at her turned back as she shot arrow after arrow into the target, not perfect, but her groupings were improving, her form was better, and her technique was load better than the last time he'd seen her shoot. She was a natural, at all aspects of fighting, even the silent movement he had adopted this morning when they had checked the House for intruders, he hadn't taught her that, and Cassian certainly hadn't.

Azriel was still watching as Emerie dragged Gwyn away from the archery range to spar, several other females stopped to watch, and he didn't reprimand them, no, it would be good for them to watch these two spar. He leaned against the weapons rack next to him, actually concentrating now. Both females had picked up the skills well, but Gwyn best of all, she kept light on her feet as she circled with Emerie, darting forward, and feinting left, but striking right, leaving Emerie reeling backwards to escape the blow, and retaliate, but Gwyn was already gone. They circled again, and Gwyn narrowed her eyes, waiting for Emerie to stumble, or lose her balance. The moment her friend stepped on an uneven stone, she struck, tackling her to the ground with perfect form, and pinning her still. She grinned, and whooped with delight at winning, immediately helping her friend up, and showing her what she had done to best her, she could be a wonderful assistant with training once she had honed her skills a bit more.

Azriel was still watching when Gwyn waved goodbye to return to the library for the day, he wasn't sure if she would sleep there tonight or not. A rush of wings caught his attention, and he rolled his eyes at the overwhelming scent rushing into the ring,

"Back are we, brother?"

"Everything alright?" Cassian asked, setting Nesta down, an arm still around her shoulders, his grin fading at Azriel's obvious distraction, even if he couldn't see what was distracting him,

"Just tired, I'm fine. How was the honeymoon?" Nesta grinned,

"I don't think you want to know."

"You're right. I don't. I'm glad you had fun at least." Cassian snorted in laughter, and pressed a kiss to Nesta's temple,

"You could say that," They were so in love it was ridiculous, Azriel had always thought it was impossible, that mates didn't really exist, that it was just the world playing tricks on him. But then Rhys had met Feyre, and Cassian had met Nesta. He had assumed that he should be feeling that same devotion to Elain, and he had tried to force it, thinking that perhaps it took time in some cases. But that love, that devotion wasn't there. She was beautiful, and kind, but she wasn't the person who he could love with his whole heart, who he wanted to fight for a future with, because it wasn't right, he didn't feel any of that for her. Maybe he was broken, maybe he couldn't ever feel love like his brothers did, but then there was Gwyn, if he didn't know better he might think that she was worth fighting for. But he knew better, he had never deserved a mate anyway.

"Have you two eaten this morning?" He forced out, forced himself to engage in conversation, reminded himself that he genuinely liked these people, both of them, that talking to them wasn't a chore. Cassian had been his brother for five centuries, and Nesta was now his sister, he supposed, so why was his whole body screaming at him to follow Gwyn, to talk to her, to find out what was wrong, what he had done wrong to push her away enough that she didn't talk to him. Gradually, he managed to drive Gwyn from his mind, sitting at the table with Nesta and Cassian, he was happy for them, he really was, the way Nesta was talking about the lakeside mountain cabin Cassian had taken her to, the way Cassian was smiling at her the whole time, the way his his love for her shone in his eyes, made Azriel's own heart soften. It was about time Cassian had found someone, and for Nesta, they had found each other, found their mate, their mirror.

"Az?" He blinked, realizing that Cassian had asked him a question,

"What?"

"Cauldron, Az, you are tired. I asked how training was going?" Azriel mumbled something noncommittal, but sighed at Cassian's genuine worry,

"Fine, Emerie needs a brace for her wings to shoot, she can't reach full draw at the moment, she's seeing Madja later, I think Gwyn will probably go with her, and Nes, I suppose, now you're here."

"They're learning to shoot?" Nesta asked, shock crossing her face, and Azriel nodded in confirmation, "With war-bows?"

"No, thirty pounds, we'll build up the draw weights."

"I was going to say." She chuckled, "I could hardly draw Feyre's hunting bow when she taught me," Cassian squeezed her shoulders tighter, "I'd like to learn to shoot properly."

"I thought you could shoot, didn't you do it in the Blood Rite?" Right, Azriel remembered her mentioning that,

"Adrenaline, I couldn't even draw that bow afterwards, let alone hit anything with it, I know the basics though."

"Well, now's a good time, a few of the others are starting, you can join them tomorrow morning, that is, if you can cope with leaving that prick for more than a minute," he ducked the cup Nesta chucked at him,

"I'm not as pathetic as you males," she crooned, "I can stand to be away from him, it's Cass who's the baby here." Azriel took that as his cue to leave, draining his cup of tea, and throwing a knowing glance at Cassian,

"Have a nice ride," he whispered to his brother as he left the room, causing Cassian to choke on his own tea, but Azriel was gone before he could respond, diving off the balcony to retreat to the relative safety of the River House, it was eleven in the morning, surely Rhys and Feyre would be being sensible? He was wrong. Only the townhouse was safe it seemed, and Mor must have come to the same conclusion, given that she was sitting in the living room, drinking what could not possibly be water, an grinning almost evilly at him as he entered the room,

"Lovebirds smoked you out as well?" He grunted, and she patted the couch next to her, "You look like you need a drink."

"You could say that." Azriel didn't return to the House until well after lunch, praying to all the gods that Nesta and Cassian would behave. He glared at the horrible stack of paperwork on his desk, and groaned, sitting down to tackle it all, making up for all the time he had lost daydreaming recently. Soon, the familiar rhythms of work filled his mind, leaving no space for thoughts of Gwyn, or anything else.

[searchingwardrobes]

Ivory Runs Red: 4/6

Just look at this cover art by @cocohook38 !!!!! Isn’t it amazing? I just can’t stop staring at it. She is so talented and spent so much time working on this, please head over to her blog and give her some love. 

This chapter is sort of a bridge chapter (no pun intended) where we begin to discover connections between all the characters. Belle especially is tied to Emma in a surprising way. 

Massive thanks again to my beta @demisexualemmaswan​ and everyone in the @cssns​ !

Summary: When ebony flashes gold, blood runs cold. When ivory runs red, you’ll be dead. Killian Jones had heard the old rhyme his entire life. Every child did in Storybrooke, Maine. They heard it whispered in the dark at sleepovers as children; taunted as a challenge as teenagers. Killian never believed it was actually true. Until that fateful night …

Rated M for graphic depictions of violence, abusive relationships, and major character death (I mean, it’s a ghost story ya’ll, people are dead. BUT I promise, there is a happy ending. Trust me? *peeks from around a corner*)

Length: 6 chapters, complete, updated every Friday

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @spartanguard @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @ohmakemeahercules @carpedzem @branlovestowrite @superchocovian@hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @itsfabianadocarmo @lassluna @distant-rose @courtorderedcake @winterbythesea @thesschesthair @killian-whump @thisonesatellite @batana54 @it-meant-something @xsajx @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling​

Chapter Four: Red

“Neal Gold,” Belle said, her voice trembling with excitement, “no wonder it got covered up.”

Belle struggled with an ancient tome on the top shelf in the library’s genealogy room, and Killian rushed to help her. When they set it atop the metal desk nearby, a cloud of dust billowed up. The genealogy room was hidden away in the basement too. 

“I still can’t believe Graham went to the bridge,” Belle continued. He’d never seen her so giddy with excitement. “This will show everyone Killian! You aren’t crazy!”

Killian nodded weakly. He knew it was true, and he knew that Graham getting Neal’s last name from Emma was a huge break for them, but he was starting to worry. He wanted to help Emma by solving her murder, but he also didn’t want to lose her. Didn’t ghosts linger because they had unfinished business? If he, Belle, and Graham, took care of Emma’s unfinished business, then would she . . . what? Move on to paradise? Cease to exist?

“Killy, did you hear what I said?” 

He shook the thoughts from his head and focused on Belle who stood over the huge book, her finger pointing to its binding. 

“Um, sorry. What did you say?”

“I tried to look up Swan, Emma, but the entire S section is missing.”

Belle’s fingers ran along the torn edges of several pages. Killian ran his hand wearily down his face. 

“Of course it is. So no birth certificate there either.”

“Wait a minute!” Belle exclaimed. “We know she died in 1894, and we know she was sixteen years old.”

“Which means she was born in 1878. We figured that out already. But the birth certificates from that entire year are also missing, remember?”

Belle nodded. “Yes, yes, the Gold family had money and power and were very thorough, but they may not have thought about baby announcements.”

Killian grinned. “Parents put baby announcements in the newspaper! Belle, you’re a genius!”

They ran down the short hallway to the microfilm room. Belle quickly pulled out the film for 1878 and put it in the machine. Once they figured out where the social section of the paper was located, they were able to scroll fairly quickly. And then - there it was. Just a few short lines: 

David and Mary Margaret Swan are pleased to announce the birth of their daughter, Emma Eva Swan, on October 22nd, 1878 at three o-clock in the afternoon. She is welcomed by her paternal grandmother, Ruth Elizabeth Swan, and her maternal grandfather, Leopold Blanchard.

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“David and Mary Margaret,” Emma whispered. 

Killian tightened his hold around her shoulders and brushed a kiss against the crown of her head. “They were your parents.”

Emma nodded slowly, and he watched her facial expression under the light of the waning moon. He could practically see happy memories light up her face. 

“I remember them,” she whispered. “We didn’t have a lot of money, but we were very happy. We lived on a farm.”

She dropped her head onto Killian’s shoulder and let out a contented sigh. They remained that way for a long moment, silently watching the stars twinkle overhead. 

“She had a beautiful smile,” Emma told him quietly, “and he used to cup my head so tenderly whenever he hugged me. That’s all I remember, though. Their faces are even fuzzy in my memory.”

“I’m sorry.”

She turned in his embrace so she could look him in the eye. “Don’t be. I wouldn’t remember anything if it weren’t for you. Thank you, Killian.”

She pulled his head down gently so she could press her lips to his. They lost themselves in the passion of their kisses.

***********************************************************

Killian sat with Belle once again in the library’s musty basement. Books with cracked leather bindings were piled around them: genealogy records, property records, and marriage certificates. With names and the information that Emma grew up on a farm, they were able to piece together the history of the Swan and Gold families. 

There was no evidence, however, of the Swan’s reporting their daughter was missing. In fact, aside from the birth announcement in the paper, there was no evidence that Emma Swan had existed at all. Everytime they got close, records were conveniently missing. Pages had clearly been torn out of several books, and years worth of Storybrooke Mirror and Portland Press articles were missing from the microfilm records. 

“It’s so obvious, though,” Belle exclaimed in frustration, slamming yet another large book shut. “Neal Gold falls in love with Emma Swan, a poor farmer’s daughter. His family would never approve of the relationship, so he never plans on marrying her. She’s just a good time to him.”

“I’m still a little grossed out by how old he was,” Killian muttered. 

Those records hadn’t been missing. Neal Gold was absolutely, unequivocally twenty nine years old when he met fourteen year old Emma Swan. Which made him thirty one when he got her pregnant and murdered her. 

Disgusting. 

“Belle? Did you hear me?”

His friend had gone completely pale, her finger frozen in the center of a yellowed page. Killian got up and leaned over her shoulder. 

“What’s this?”

She flipped the heavy leather volume back to the cover with a deep sigh. Killian leaned further over his shoulder and read the title out loud. 

“The Life, Impact, and Genealogy of Storybrooke’s Founding Family: The Golds. Well that’s not pretentious at all,” he snorted. Belle giggled. “By -”

He cut off, reeled back, and looked at Belle, who nodded in affirmation. “By Roderick Gaston?”

“There’s more,” Belle told him, flipping back to the page that had left her frozen. 

It was a family tree, and Killian scanned it quickly. At the top was Robert Gold, the founder of Storybrooke, with his wife Milah’s name beside his. Below that, it listed their only son: Neal Gold. He married Tamara Gold in 1894, the same year Emma died.

“Well, there’s another motive for murder,” Killian murmured, “not only did he get a teenager pregnant, he was cheating on his fiance.”

“Keep going,” Belle whispered. 

Neal and Tamara had three children: Bonnie, Felix, and Gretchen. The oldest daughter, Bonnie, had married Roderick Gaston, and they had two sons: Lewis and Mitchum Gaston.

“Wait - isn’t Mike’s dad Mitch Gaston?”

“Yes,” Belle told him softly, “and I met his grandfather once, too. His name is Roderick. I never put two and two together before, but the man was the worst snob. He kept asking who my people were and going on and on about how the Gaston’s were connected to Storybrooke’s finest families.”

“So this means that your boyfriend -”

“Is the descendant of Emma’s murderer.”

*******************************************************

“Where the hell are you going?”

Killian jumped at the sound of his brother’s voice. He whirled away from the back door to find Liam standing in the kitchen with the phone in his hand. Killian could hear the loud, grating beeping of the line as it went dead. 

“Who were you talking to at 3 am?” Killian shot back. 

Liam narrowed his eyes then slowly put the phone back onto the receiver that hung on the wall. He took his time untangling the long cord before turning back to face Killian.

“Something’s happened, little brother.”

Liam’s voice was so full of fear, shock, and sadness that Killian didn’t even bother correcting him on the little brother label. 

**********************************************************

The girl in the hospital bed couldn’t possibly be Belle. Her eyes were wild and darted around the room, her hair was a tangled mass around her face, and when she saw Killian she began to scream. 

“I saw her, Killy! The ghost! The blood, the blood, the blood . . .” 

Orderlies ran in and grabbed her before she could lunge from the bed. She fought them tenaciously, her back arching and her eyes rolling back in her head.

“Ivory runs red, ivory runs red. He’s dead, he’s dead.” She started to laugh maniacally as one orderly managed to get a syringe into her veins. They wrestled her to the bed and strapped her down, but she continued to speak, her words slurring. “He’s dead, dead, dead.”

She arched her back one more time, mumbling about ivory and red, shaking her head back and forth. Then she began to say the rhyme they had learned as children, singing it to a morbid little tune. 

“When ebony flashes gold, blood runs cold. When ivory runs red, you’ll be dead.”

Killian felt the blood rush from his head, leaving his skin cold in the sterile room as he watched Belle’s breaths even out. He knew the kinds of drugs running through her veins, God did he know. He also knew no one would believe her. 

Mike Gaston was dead, and Killian couldn’t muster a modicum of grief. 

[feareth-who]

I'm sorry it's so long but I hope you enjoy!! 😊

Two Braids Is All It Takes

Remus was always there. Whenever Sirius needed him, his Moony was always there.

Of all the things in the sob story that was Sirius’ life, Remus had been a consistent source of comfort. The lingering scent of chocolate and fresh parchment had been -is- one just as much.

This particular full moon had been horrendous. The toll it had taken on Remus’ body had had him prone in bed for two whole days. To top it all off, Sirius had received a howler from his mother this morning.

Sirius had been brooding the rest of the day, berating himself for being so pathetic that he couldn’t even get himself to comfort Moony. He hadn’t even responded to James’ words of comfort.

“James,” Sirius began, voice still thick with tears, “You should go-“

“No, Siri-“

“James.”

Prongs shut his eyes, steadying himself, and bowed his head.

He looked up after a few seconds, having made a decision.

"You’ll be okay right?” His tone was anxious, “I’ll send for Wormtail, wait-“

“Prongs,” Sirius put a hand on his shoulder, cutting him off, “Just leave me be. I’ll be fine. You should go to Moons, I’ll try to come by later.”

The couch cushions shifted as James got to his feet and moved to the door. He turned back to give Sirius one last look-over before offering him a small smile. Sirius returned it rather weakly.

Sirius screwed his eyes shut. Now James was gone too. Had his mother been right? Would he always be this alone? His miserable thoughts gave way to new tears. He bit his lip hard, choking on a sob. He took deep breaths but they only seemed to start the sobs anew.

Today was the evening of third day, and Remus insisted that he was better. Madam Pomfrey spent nearly an hour confirming it, and after bettering his remaining daylight hours with one last sticky, sour potion, left him to his own devices.

James told him of Sirius’ condition then, and Remus asked to meet him, despite James’ protests that he should return to the dorms to rest. Ultimately, Prongs gave out a resigned sigh and got Remus to the Gryffindor Common Room with Wormtail’s help

The three padded softly into the place, Remus looking just as anxious to check on Sirius as was James. The man in question, however, was so out of it that he didn’t even register their entry.

Peter sighed in long-sufferance. He whispered, “I think it’ll be better if we leave him with you, Rem.”

“Moony, I think you’re the only one who can get through to him right now,” James murmured, “He refused to say a word when I tried”

“I’ll try,” Remus paused, still staring at Sirius’ pitiful form. He smiled at his friends, “You guys should go get some sleep, you must be exhausted from all the running.”

The two helped Remus as he limped to the couch. Once he managed to stand with the support of the couch’s backrest, he waved them away and listened to the sound of their footsteps fading up the staircase followed by that of a door creaking shut.

Remus accio’d a nearby chair and sat down heavily. His eyes moved to Sirius, and before he knew it, his hands were carding through Sirius’ tangled, knotted hair. There was a jolt as Sirius startled himself out of Remus’ grasp, and relaxed evidently once he realized whose smiling face it was.

He looks so pretty like this, was all Remus could think, I don’t deserve him.

He lifted himself off the chair with great effort, moving to the front of the couch, settling down next to Sirius. He placed his left foot on the ground and stretched his right leg across the couch onto Sirius’ lap, leaning against the armrest. Sirius tracked his movements with an absent look in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Sirius said abruptly, eyes coming back into focus.

“That isn’t for you to decide,” Remus replied casually, “I feel better, because everything feels better when you’re around”

Remus suspected it was a mixture of the late hour and mild relief from three days of agony that was allowing him to say and do things he’d regret later, but retrospect can’t hurt in the moment, can it?

Sirius froze for a second, a blush creeping across his face as he processed the statement.

Remus whooped internally, he’d provoked a rare moment of uncertainty from Sirius, even though the context he would have to give to James to explain his achievement would be wildly embarrassing.

Clearing his throat, Sirius shifted towards where his face lay on the couch, “Is your leg better?”

"Yeah, much better.” Remus hesitated, thinking vaguely of consequences, though it was kind of hard to do while he was distracted by Sirius’ moonlit, godly face, the firelight throwing his freckles and scars into aggravating focus.

“Lay down” Remus said finally.

“I’m not your dog,” Sirius growled, earning a chuckle from the other man.

“Merlin, Pads….” Remus sat up himself, a small distance away from Padfoot.

“Okay, sit down here.” He says, nodding to the place on the floor where his sock-clad feet are resting.

Sirius eyed the floor dubiously.

“Just humour me, will you?”

Sirius still looked puzzled, but complied nonetheless. Leaning cautiously against the werewolf’s legs, he crumpled the letter held in his hand, his clouded gaze staring vacantly at the dying flames in the heart.

Remus smiled minutely, and brought his hands up to Sirius’ hair, tugging gently at the strands like his mother used to do to soothe him. He continued to do so as Sirius’ body starts loosening up.

After a while, Remus probed, "You wanna talk about it?" Sirius hummed before answering with a small smile,"Same old crap." Remus let out a light chuckle and shifted his hands to massage Sirius' head.

Sirius moved himself to lie on Remus' chest. He felt home, a home he'd never felt in the house of the Blacks. It smelled like home, it felt like home. To him, it was always home and it would always be so.

The silence continued, until Remus stopped with his actions. Sirius, who was almost asleep let out a groan before opening his eyes. "Moons," he said with a sleepy voice. Getting up from his chest, Sirius looked at a frozen Remus. Panicking he asked, "Moony..Moony! You alright?" Snapping out of his thoughts, Remus looked at Sirius and smiled.

"Moons?" Sirius questioned again.

"Can I braid your hair?" Remus posed casually.

This was the second time Sirius had frozen with a flushed face that night. Remus couldn't believe it, but he smirked at the effect he had on the man.

"Can I braid your hair, Pads?" Remus asked again.

The idea of braiding, Lily and Marlene had suggested it and even offered to do so but he had refused it. The only thing going through his head at the moment was- moons wants to braid my hair!!

"Ahem, Pads?" Remus said bringing Padfoot back to earth from his heaven. "Ah, yes... sorry, I was just a little surprised... ofcourse please go ahead," he rambled. He mentally cursed himself for doing so and turning away he placed his now red face in his hands. He could feel himself burning up because Merlin, Moony is going to braid his hair.

He straightened himself and sat in anticipation. Moony brought his hands to Sirius' hair and played with it while deciding which braid to do. Remus combed Sirius' hair with his fingers and the tension in his body eased out. He started to breathe evenly as Remus began parting his hair and pulling his strands into what felt like curls around one another.

French tails, that's what Remus ended up with two small, cute little french plaits. Five minutes ago, he couldn't decide what to do since the idea had struck him so suddenly. Playing with Sirius' hair had reminded him of his mother. Hope had taught Remus baking, cooking, knitting and plaiting his mother's hair. She was the only person he did it for.

But now, in front of him sat the man he loved, in two French plaits, the first braided hair his mum taught him. In front of him, sat a man staring at himself in a mirror he ran to pick up from across the room, which probably belonged to Marlene but it didn't matter. Sirius was smiling, that was all Remus would ever need.

Remus looked down and grinned. He felt proud but more ecstatic than anything. Sirius got up and jumped, laughed and said things which Remus didn't care to hear because oh merlin he's so handsome.

He was fighting the urge to get up and kiss him, confess to him and tell him that he loved him, he truly did.

On the other hand, Sirius jumped up and down looking at his Moony and shouted, "These are amazing Moons! You are amazing!" Sirius could've sworn that he almost thought leaping at Remus and kissing him but no.. this would be enough.

He smiled brightly at him once again, as Remus now regained consciousness from his thoughts. "I'm glad you like it," he said clearing his throat. He slowly got up and raised his hand to caress Sirius' hair but accidentally tripped. Sirius instantly grabbed the man by his waist and smiled," Woah, careful there Moons." "I keep falling for you, I can't help it you idiot," Remus said arbitrarily.

Again, Sirius thought, it's the third time this night moons please. His hands moved from the man's waist to his neck. Sirius lunged forward causing his and Remus' lips to crash. The kiss lasted a good minute before Sirius pulled away.

"I like you.." they said together and broke into giggles.

"Thank God you do," Remus said blushing.

"Ofcourse I do, boyfriend," Sirius teased making Remus more flustered.

And now all Sirius had to think about was, getting Moony to braid his hair because oh merlin there was nothing better than- Moony, his Moony.

And now the two lied curled up on the couch with Remus thinking, two braids is all it takes.

Ok please I'm not amazing or anything but I hope you enjoyed it!!

Thank you @alex-tries for helping me correct my silly mistakes

Tagging: @star-dust-2317 here! Hope u like it

[sa-suga]

the blooming, bloody sun | ii.

∟ hinata shouyou x f!reader, brother!kageyama tobio | angst, fluff, royalty and deity AU

warnings: descriptions of blood, violence, gore (not very explicit), sexism, (kinda) arranged marriage, language, canon divergence from kageyama's family, oc inserts for minor characters

chapter word count: 5.8k

a/n: big thank you to meg @star-puff​ for commenting nice things on my doc <33 and giving me the confidence to post this monstrosity :”) but please sleep earlier next time HAHA

masterlist | series masterlist 

summary: your people don’t want a queen; they want a king, and a god who can help them win the war. you give them both. in exchange, you wear the kingdom’s finest silks and thread your hair with heavy pearls, and you give to the god the last thing you have to give: yourself. 

prologue | i. beasts of burden | ii. boy in the dark | iii. little deaths | iv. the boy king | v. you were a child | bonus. what i am is yours

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------«« 

You step out of the ruins to the sound of raised voices. 

“You let her enter alone? What were you thinking-”

“It was an order!” Noya throws his hands up pleadingly. 

“So you let the Princess, who hasn’t stepped out of the palace in a decade, enter crumbling ruins that haven’t been maintained for centuries alone and in the night?” Kiyoko looks furious. Noya cowers.

It’s a scene so terribly nostalgic that you can’t help but smile. Noya trembles as Kiyoko bites out another admonishment - are those tears you see in the corner of his eyes?

“Hey,” you say with forced cheer, skipping carefully down the steps. “So you were following us, Kiyoko-”

Kiyoko pivots, cloak billowing like a full sail as she draws her sword in a smooth action that your eyes barely follow. It slices through the air so quickly it whistles - it trails moonlight in its wake. The moon gleams off the length of her blade, inches from your bare neck. 

“Step away from her,” she says lowly, eyes narrowed and form graceful. The tip of her longsword, angled at the Sun God’s throat, does not wobble.

Gingerly, you turn your head just slightly to eye the God, who had come to a stop behind you. Hinata quirks a brow, amused. 

“I said,” Kiyoko repeats, and for all that you’re not the one being held at swordpoint, your knees grow weak at the dark promise brewing in her eyes like a storm, “step away from her. I won’t repeat myself again.”

Shimizu Kiyoko, Lady of the Northeast Plains, Captain of your Personal Guard and the first and only ranked female soldier in Sol, is holding the God of the Sun at swordpoint. 

(Look, father. This is the noble girl you let into our palace as a playmate.)

Still, her opponent is a God, and as much as you have faith in Kiyoko’s abilities, you’d be very upset if Hinata smites her. 

Hurriedly stepping forward, you place a hand on the flat of her blade, pushing it down. Kiyoko shifts her glare to you, holding her sword steady. “Your Highness,” she says formally, voice thawing only a little, and the reminder of your disagreement makes your heart clench, “step away from him.”

“Kiyoko, this is the Sun God,” you tell her, trying for a smile. Kiyoko’s eyes narrow in disbelief, but you soldier on, “he’s very gracefully agreed to the terms of our bargain.”

Kiyoko doesn’t budge. Her longsword - twice as long and heavier than the broadswords that most of the army used - doesn’t lower an inch.

Raising your eyebrows, you push a little more insistently, and she finally relents. She slashes it through the air in a cross - the afterimage of bright arcs burns itself behind your eyelids - before reluctantly sheathing her sword. 

A step behind her, Noya still has an uncertain hand on the hilt of his shortsword, though he, too, sheathes it hesitantly at his Captain’s glance. “A God,” he says dumbly, and the words hang in the air between you like a guillotine above a neck.

Unfortunately for you, Kiyoko doesn’t let that detail distract her. 

“What bargain?” she asks, voice measured. It is only due to the credit of a childhood spent together that you hear the minute shake to her words. 

(It reminds you of tiny hands wrapped around a wooden hilt, of closed doors and barbed words. It reminds you of watching from the sidelines, suffocated by the golden circlet atop your head as Kiyoko falls onto the dust of the training grounds again and again and again.)

You smile - in sympathy, in apology, in thanks. “He’ll rid us of the King of Arbor - they will lose their ties with the God they call Ushiwaka.”

The knight’s grip on her sword tightens. “And what,” she asks slowly, as her eyes  - night with a metallic sheen, and so, so different from Takayuki’s, from your father’s - bore into you, “did you bargain away?” A chill unrelated to the night air crawls up your spine.

You don’t answer; you hope she can read it from your eyes.

“Answer me, Your Highness,” Kiyoko hisses, taking a step forward. “What did you sacrifice?”

“Kiyoko,” you say softly, seeing the dawning realization and horror in your friend’s eyes, “you already know.”

She must have expected it. Kiyoko must have known what your answer would be - maybe since the night you’d looked her in the eye called her Shimizu for the first time in almost a decade. Maybe she’d had an inkling years ago, that a day like this would come. 

(Once, you’d slipped a hand into hers atop one of the many balconies of the palace as below, the tiny figure of your brother staggered under the heavy blows of your father.

Once - with unseeing eyes fixed on the horizon, on the gleam of the rising sun; on the quicksilver flash of your brother’s sword as he drove soldiers with almost twice his experience back - you’d said, I wish I could bear his burden.)

You meet her eyes. Kiyoko flinches. “I gave myself to him,” you say simply, “and don’t call it that.” 

I’m sorry, you don’t plead so much as you implore, that you have to be a piece in this game of chess, that I couldn’t listen to you. Your brother’s smile - small and awkward. The pinch in his brow as he corrected your stance, the pride in his voice the very first time you’d disarmed him.

I’m sorry, because I would do it again. By your side, your hands twitch with restraint.

Kiyoko takes a single step back - and it’s like the snap of a wooden rod against your wrist as you slow-dance before a mirror. Noya’s hand drops away from the hilt of his sword to hang limply by his side. 

Silence lapses between you until Hinata steps forward. The renewed wave of heat that crashes over you is dizzying. “Ushiwaka? Did you say Ushiwaka?”

“Yes,” you force your eyes away from Kiyoko and Noya, “those who had been at the front reported that the people of Arbor called the God Ushiwaka.”

Hinata’s brows furrow. “Ushijima would never agree to such a bargain,” he says confidently, “for all his strength, he is not one to massacre.”

You offer the God a small smile. “I’ll ask the Captain again,” you say, though you know the answer will be the same - you have never known your father to be more alive than on a battlefield. Hinata hums in agreement, thoughtful. 

“We should return,” Kiyoko says stiffly, turning away before you can catch her eyes, “daybreak isn’t far.” 

Hinata beams. “I can help with that,” he says, and snaps his fingers.

You open your mouth to ask what he means by that. Out of the corner of your eye you see Kiyoko pivoting, lunging for you with an outreached arm.

The next moment, all that exists is boyish laughter like wind in your ears, and the comforting lapping of warmth at the edges of your being.

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

When you return - though you know not from where, just that it reminds you of blistering sands at the same time that it feels like a rippling meadow dappled in gentle sunlight - you are in the palace gardens. Kiyoko stumbles within reach of you, catching herself. Her hand drops to her side, and you feel the beginnings of another apology on your tongue.

(You remember the metallic flash of Noya’s eyes in the darkness of a ghost town. You remember Tobio’s guilt, a death sentence written plainly for all but you to see.

You swallow the words.)

“Y/n?” You turn to see Tobio flanked by Takayuki and Iwaizumi, Tadashi nowhere in sight. 

“Tobio,” you try for a smile, “I didn’t see you there.” Your smile snags on your cheekbones; it never reaches the corners of your eyes. 

“Princess,” Takayuki bows deeply. In the relative privacy of the gardens and away from the prying eyes of nobles, you don’t extend a hand for Takayuki to kiss. After a pause, he straightens, clearing his throat in humiliation. 

“Forgive our surprise, you appeared before us in a burst of light.” You don’t miss the gleeful turn to his lips; a hooked beak, a twisted dagger. 

“And,” he continues, and you can’t help but bristle at the edge of his words, “in unexpected attire.” He rakes his eyes disapprovingly down your figure, still clad in Hitoka’s tunic - the word unbecoming lingers on his tongue. Kiyoko takes a step closer to you, hand drifting instinctively to the hilt of her sword before she remembers herself. 

“Takayuki,” you greet civilly, drawing yourself together - remember where you are, you chastise yourself, you are in the palace. You think of the grace in Kiyoko’s swing, and point your smile at your father’s most trusted advisor like the straight edge of tempered steel. “I return with news.”

Next to you, Hinata waves. Takayuki startles, as if only just seeing the God. In a blink, Iwaizumi is standing protectively in front of Tobio, sword drawn and readied.

Oh, not again.

The God laughs. Behind him, the sky bleeds rose, dawn spreading from the horizon. “Sol is an interesting kingdom,” Hinata turns to you conversationally, “your knights are amusing, pointing swords at Gods.”

You smile, tight-lipped. “They are fearless, yes.” 

“A God,” Takayuki says with wonder. The word is filthy dripping from his tongue. The many rings on his fingers jangle and clink like coins scattering on a marble floor. He shakes himself out of his daze, prostrating himself on the grass. Iwaizumi casts you a last uncertain look before he sheathes his sword and does the same. Tobio, though visibly confused, sinks to a knee. 

“Hinata Shouyou, God of the Sun,” silhouetted by the rising yolk in a lightening sky, a warm wind billowing through the palace gardens and rustling the leaves of the tall trees, he’s ethereal and untouchable. “The Crown Princess and I have a contract.”

“Sister,” Tobio says lowly, and you resist the urge to gulp as sharp eyes meet yours, “what did you do?” Kiyoko shifts, exchanging an uneasy glance with Iwaizumi. 

“A king for a queen, an era for an era,” you recite the terms, feeling the same hazy heat from the temple enfold you, soft as silk in a cradle. “He'll rid us of Arbor’s King, ending their contract with the God they call Ushiwaka. In return,” you pause, eyes flitting to meet Iwaizumi’s, “my life is his to do with as he sees fit.”

As you’d expected, Tobio surges forward, all decorum forgotten. “Don’t be foolish,” he snarls, crossing the distance between you in an instant, “our military-”

“-Is insufficient,” you finish for him. “Tobio, this is the only way.“

“Our military is strong,” Tobio insists, “I am strong, I could-”

“Tobio,” you say gently, “Sol needs a King.” You will die, you don’t say, but he hears it anyway - you see it in the way he recoils, shoulders hunched; a child discovering, for the first time, that the fire in the fireplace is capable of much more than harmless warmth. Taking his hands in yours, you smooth your thumbs over clenched fists, and the tension drains out of him like water in the baths. “You will be King, there is no other as worthy or as fit for the throne as you are.”

“There’s you,“ your brother says softly, head lowered, “the crown was always meant to be yours-”

“Maybe so,” you say, and the words sting as they roll off your tongue. Hidden beneath lush petals, crooked thorns draw blood as you reach down your throat to draw out the rose bushes that had been planted in your heart at birth, in an effort to seed out the ambition. “But our people don’t want a Queen.”  

Bringing his right hand to your lips, you press a soft kiss to his knuckles. Tobio’s eyes widen at the silent declaration - in Sol, it is the loudest way to say I love you, you are that which I hold dearest; it is what brothers do to sisters. 

Tobio’s hand is clammy between your palms, and you guide it to rest lightly over your beating heart, the way knights do to their wards. I will lay down my life for you, I will keep you safe from harm. 

“Tobio,” you say as gently as you can, “I’ve made my choice.” 

Releasing his hands, you shift your gaze instead to Iwaizumi. You’re not sure how he’s taken this piece of news, terribly overprotective and gruff as he can be. 

The knight in question sinks to a knee in a fluid motion. A hand resting over his chest, his armour settles with a soft clang. “Princess,” he says, eyes averted, voice as soft as a prayer, “We will not forget your strength.”

Your breath catches in your throat in surprise. When you blink, there’s a wetness that hadn’t been there before. “Rise, Iwaizumi-san. The Captain of the Royal Guard has much to do, does he not?” You try for a smile, “the peace talks will soon begin, after all.”

He grins, the jagged scar running down his left eye crinkling. “Of course,” he bows, low and deep. 

“Hinata,” Tobio says suddenly, taking a step forward. 

“Wait, Tobio-” You make to stop him, but Hinata holds out a hand, stepping forward to meet your brother.

Face-to-face with the still-smiling God, your brother doesn’t falter. “God of the Sun, how can we be certain that you will fulfill your end of the bargain?”

“Prince of Sol,” the Sun God muses, “aren’t you a proud thing?” The faint breeze you had felt winding its way through the gardens disappears. The air is deathly still - the branches of the trees sway to a slow stop. 

A trickle of sweat drips down your brow. The God is still smiling, impossibly wide; his eyes glow like the sun on the horizon. He’s shorter than your brother, but in this moment of suspended time, the God’s presence weighs on your shoulders, heavier than anything you’ve ever known. 

Hinata laughs. The wind whips back into existence; Noya staggers before catching himself. “Sol,” the deity muses, testing the word on his tongue, “humans never cease, do they.” Tobio’s brows furrow, the vein on his forehead pulsing, but Hinata’s next words stop whatever he was about to say.

“You have a God’s word,” the Sun God says, and looking at him is like peering into the infinite fabric of day, layers upon layers of flames that burn, “to doubt my word is to subject me to the mortal fallibility of humans.” He grins, feet lifting off the ground till he’s eye-to-eye with your brother, “The head of a king for the life of a queen - there are no terms fairer than that.” 

The city stirs. Tobio bows, once, before turning on his heel and striding away, flanked once again by Takayuki and Iwaizumi. 

You watch him go with muted wistfulness.

(The Sun God watches you.)

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------«« 

In the week since you’d stepped into the ruins of a forgotten God’s temple with nothing but your life cradled in your hands and left with an end to the war nestled between your tongue and the roof of your mouth, the capital had been restored to its former glory. 

Peering out the floor-length windows spanning the side of your quarters that faces the Plaza, you’re greeted with the sight of your kingdom draped in colour for the first time in a decade. What you can see of the merchant markets and city shops are decked out with garish banners, and from the same lampposts that you had thought of as bare in the manner of torn sails on ships wrecked on the ocean floor just last week, now flutter great, draping fabrics boasting the royal crest - a large crow, claws wrapped around a thorny branch, ruby eyed with the sun held like a marble in its beak. 

It's almost as if the city is merely putting on a dusty cloak - a little moth-eaten, but no less magnificent than it had once been, before the darkness of the closet. 

“The people rejoice,” comes Hitoka’s voice from your back, and you turn, “they have been uneasy since His Majesty’s unfortunate passing.” She holds out the feathered cloak that had been prepared specifically for this occasion, and you beckon her forward to clasp it to your shoulders.

Pure white and soft down, it flutters at your every movement, a direct contrast to the fur cloaks worn by the men in your family, which drag over marble and carpet to etch their presence in the wake of their passing. 

“Kageyama-sama will make a fine King,” Hitoka says softly, when your gaze drifts back to the ripple of your people on the streets, “but Y/n-sama, you too-”

“Would have made a fine Queen?” You finish. Tearing your eyes away from the windows, you take Hitoka’s hands in your own. “I have made my peace,” you tell her, “those of my household should not trouble themselves over such matters anymore.” Hitoka’s eyes well up with tears. You wipe them away with your thumbs. 

“M’lady,” Hitoka says, voice wobbly, and doesn’t continue. You smile fondly at the way her nose scrunches as she mentally shakes herself out; you don’t need to hear the end of her sentence to know what it is she’d wanted to say.

“Jewelry,” she says suddenly, marching to your vanity and puling open several drawers at once, fire in her eyes, “it’s your first royal appearance in a decade, the people musn’t be able to take your eyes off you.”

“That might be a problem, seeing as it’s Tobio’s coronation,” you point out, amused.

“M’lady’s a much better sight to behold,” Hitoka says absently, holding up what looks to you like identical pairs of earrings to the light, where they glitter and spill rainbows over her cheeks like prisms. 

You laugh, and Hitoka startles, cheeks flushing as her words catch up to her. “I-I mean-” She flounders, before straightening, “M’lady’s beautiful,” she says with conviction. 

“I agree,” Noya’s voice pipes up from the other side of the door, “there’s no one who draws my eye quite like the Princess- Ow! Kiyoko-san?” 

“I’ll have you thrown in the dungeons for your fiendish mind,” the knight says calmly, muffled through the door. It’s followed by a polite knock, “Y/n-sama.”

You swing the door open, a hand fiddling with the earrings Hitoka had pressed handed you just moments before. “Sorry for making you wait, Kiyoko.”

The knight smiles, and its small and sad. It crushes you. “It is my duty,” the girl with whom you had danced with behind closed wooden doors and before mirrored walls tells you, “I will wait as long as I have to.” I don’t care if I’m just a piece on your chessboard, my place is to protect you. 

What can you say to that? There is only one thing you can say to the girl who had picked up a sword for no one but herself, but who ended up wielding it for someone else. A bird which didn’t break out of the cage in a glorious show of might so much as chipped away at the bars slowly, day by day without fail, until the bars gave way beneath her beak - only to come flying back as a companion to the poor, flightless bird unable to leap off the edge. 

“Thank you, Kiyoko.” It’s not enough; there can be no words for gratitude of this depth. 

You reach for a hand, you press your lips to her knuckles. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Always,” the knight vows. 

“Well,” you say lightly, the unshed tears in your eyes reflected in Kiyoko’s own, “shall we get going, then? It’s not every day that my baby brother becomes King.” 

Kiyoko laughs as she leads the way, and whatever tension that had still been between the two of you from a week before disappears. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

Tobio’s coronation is a grand thing.

It’s held in the throne room, which dwarves even your father’s court. The same ornate doors encrusted with gold leaves and rubied eyes greet you, your feet make no sound on the plush red carpet that leads from the entrance to the three thrones on a marbled platform.

Tobio is dressed all in black again, a reaper on the warpath with a frown on his face and tension in his back. The heavy fur coat pinned at his shoulders leaves trenches in the carpet in his wake where your own, feathered down and almost insubstantial, had billowed. 

Takayuki hands him the crown - a gilded monstrosity, black feathers engraved and cradling glistening rubies. 

You curtsy as Takayuki proclaims him the new king, the higher-ranked knights falling to a knee in a resounding clang behind you.

“The war ends today,” are Tobio’s first words as the new King of Sol, “today, we ride to the front.”

“Today, we will come back.”

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

It’s different, seeing Sol so brightly again - you’d seen the preparations and restoration underway from your quarters, but now that you’re riding through the streets, surrounded by the smell of spices and the cheers of your people, you can properly feel excitement seep its way into your bones. 

Then you look more closely, and you realize - the brightly patterned clothing the citizens wear are mismatched scraps, sewn together hastily; the rings with fat stones the children show off happily are painted pebbles.  

“Humans are wonderful creatures,” a voice says to your right, “a millenia ago, these same streets were dust-trodden and bare.” Seated on a great black stallion reminiscent of your brother’s steed, Hinata is a sight to behold. 

His hair is as windswept as ever, as if he’d spent the day running across the sky. Instead of the dress uniform Tobio wears, the Sun God is in the same attire you’d found him in - a white chiton that stopped at his knees, gold circlets around his ankles. It’s deceptively simple, and if it weren’t for the proud set of his shoulders, the more-than-regal curve of his spine as he holds himself atop his horse, you might have mistaken him for a palace servant. 

You offer him a smile. “We’ve learnt many new things,” you say in explanation, “and we’ve established trade with the other kingdoms.”

A child cries - following the sound to its source, you see that another child, older and taller, is wrestling a ring off the fingers of the first. 

“And yet,” Hinata starts, and there’s something unbearably ancient in the calm you see laid over his cheekbones, in the acceptance you see in his eyes, “you never really change.”

He’s not a boy, he’s a God, you chastise yourself, appearances mean nothing. 

“You’re right,” you acquiesce, “we still steal, we still lust for power.” Your eyes flicker to rest on Takayuki’s figure ahead, before resting on your brother’s broad back. “We still love,” you tell the God, “we still lay down our lives to protect those we hold dear.” 

By Iwaizumi’s side, Kiyoko glances at you over her shoulder, an unspoken question. You smile in answer. 

“And I think that’s alright, that the ugly things we do live next to the everyday beauties. It’s like gardening - we just have to make sure the weeds don’t overtake the garden.” 

There’s a moment of silence, long enough for you to dread that you’d somehow angered the God, before boyish laughter rings in the space between you.

“Indeed,” the God says with mirth, “and that’s what makes you interesting.” 

The clatter of hooves to your left draws your attention. “Great Sun God, Your Highness,” Iwaizumi inclines his head in greeting, slowing his mount to match your pace, “we will be heading to the front, to the abandoned village our men have set up camp with.” His face twists with unease, “our spies have sent word that the God Ushiwaka will be there.”

“Thank you, Iwaizumi-san,” looking at him now, he looks exhausted, the circles under his eyes darker than what they had been a mere few days ago.

“Where is this village?” Hinata asks, curious.

Iwaizumi startles, and you watch, amused, as he casts his gaze to the reins he holds in his hands, unsure if it is proper to look the God in the eye, “Arce, a small village in the north.” 

“I believe it used to be called Miyagi, a millennia ago,” you add, and Hinata’s eyes light up in recognition.

“They had the best buns,” he tells you conspirationally. “Well then, it’d be a lot faster if I brought us there, would it not?”

“What do you-” Iwaizumi starts.

Hinata makes to snap his fingers, and you sigh, tightening your grip on the reins. “Best hold tight, Iwaizumi-san,” you warn, before your voice is ripped away by the wind.

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

It must have been quite the sight, an army appearing in the middle of a village. 

Only the streets are empty, the dusty paths undisturbed save for the footprints of the procession that had, up till a moment ago, been in the Capital.

“Y/n!” Distantly, you hear your brother’s frantic voice calling your name. Shaking the dizziness off your limbs, you wave tiredly as you see him galloping towards you from the front of the procession. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you cast a glance at Iwaizumi, who has gone deathly pale, still clutching the reins of his horse. You sympathize - it had been rather upsetting, to be plucked off the ground and dropped suddenly without warning. “There’s nothing to be alarmed about, Tobio, Hinata-sama just gave us a hand.”

“Is that so,” your brother says, eyes narrowing as the rest on the God, “I guess it’s fortunate that we didn’t land in the midst of enemy fire.”

“It worked out, didn’t it?” You rest a placating hand on his arm, “And Hinata-sama knew where the village would be.”

Tobio clicks his tongue in annoyance, opening his mouth to say something else, when there’s a sudden explosion in the distance, shaking the earth beneath which you stood. 

“What happened?” Tobio asks, already turning his mount around to head back to the front of the procession. “Where are the enemy soldiers now?” The procession is in chaos, horses pawing at the ground, rearing up and nearly taking off the heads of the soldiers in front of them. Your own mare shakes her head frantically, pawing restlessly, until Hinata’s hand rests lightly on her head. 

You watch in wonder as your mare calms immediately, flickering ears and darting eyes the only signs of lingering discomfort. 

“Shit,” Iwaizumi swears, reigning his bucking horse in, “don’t tell me they broke through already -”

“It’s here.” Hinata says quietly. 

“What?” Iwaizumi snaps, forgetting his anxiety over speaking to the God in the chaos. 

“It’s here,” the Sun God repeats, hair lifting as a phantom wind swirls around him to reveal his eyes, fixed on something in the distance, further than the gleam of Tobio’s circlet at the front, further still than the distant, writhing mass that you realize must be Sol’s army. “And it’s not Ushijima.”

His face twists with a sneer that looks as out of place on his boyish features as it looks natural, dripping with disdain. “It’s not even a God.” 

Before you can say anything else, Hinata is gone in a flash of light. 

“What-” Iwaizumi’s voice rises, hopelessly lost.

“He’s gone to the front,” you squint, and sure enough, there’s the telltale glow of unnatural light in the distance, amidst the troops you can see charging to meet the enemy. “Iwaizumi-san,” he flinches at the steel in your voice, but you’re already guiding your horse into a trot as you veer away from the procession, “stay with the men - get them organized and ready, then follow us.”

Pushing your horse into a canter, then a gallop, you barely hear his answering, “Understood, Princess!” A moment later, his voice booms over the neighing and shouts of the men, and you smile in relief - Iwaizumi’s regained his footing. 

At the front of the procession, Tobio is in a heated discussion - or argument - with Tsukishima, the Captain of his Royal Guard. Kindaichi and Kunimi make their way through the ranks, calming horses and soldiers alike. 

You can hear what they’re saying even before you reach them; with the way their voices are raised.

“There’s a good chance that that disturbance was Ushiwaka,” Tsukishima runs a hand through his hair in frustration, blonde tufts in disarray, “it’d be foolish for the King to-”

“All the more that I need to go,” your brother insists, straightening in the saddle to meet Tsukishima’s height, “I am the King, or have you forgotten? It is my duty to fight for my people.”

“If you’d like to die, then be my guest,” Tsukishima hisses, “but a dead King is of no use to the people.”

Tobio’s eyes narrow dangerously. “You speak as if I will lose.”

The knight rolls his eyes. “I didn’t mean to offend your ego, King, but the facts remain that the previous King fought him and lost.”

“Boys, that’s enough. You two never change, do you?” Pulling on your mare’s reins and bringing her into a rear, you fix both of them with a glare. “Hinata-sama is already at the front - Tobio, we must make haste.”

“Tch.” Tsukishima clucks his tongue, displeased, and you smile. He wouldn’t be this upset if he didn’t care. “Kindaichi, follow them.” Nodding at Tobio, he smirks, a lazy thing that stretches across his face like a cheshire grin, “Do your best to last till I get there, King.”

“You insubordinate, arrogant knight,” Tobio starts, brow ticking, “if it weren’t for Tadashi I would have you thrown in the-”

“Your Highnesses will be fine,” Kiyoko says calmly, having caught up to you, “I’ll be with them, after all.”

Iwaizumi pulls up behind her, nodding once at Tobio before glancing at Tsukishima, an entire conversation on battle strategy passing between them. “Don’t die,” is all he says.

Then you’re off, the only thing in your ears the dull ring of hooves on dirt, and the whistle of the wind as you gallop, an arrow set free.

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

It crashes into him like waves against the shore - this familiar feeling of disgust and disdain, of disappointment, of I should have known, you mortals never change. 

There is another not-quite feeling - it is more vivid, at the same time that it is distant; like a memory from a past-life. Like looking not at the sun, with its blazing brightness, but at its quivering reflection in the stream, muted and blurred. A tale or a myth or a legend, its meaning lost in translation. Horror and pain. 

And fear - so much fear. If Gods could drown, that's what he’d say it felt like.

(This not-quite feeling sings something like he’s going to get me i have to go home i have to run faster i have to oh no the flowers i promised i promised i pROMISED I HAVE TO GO HOME I HAVE TO-

- Boy, do you want to go home?)

“You,” Hinata growls, and the hulking figure in the middle of the battlefield turns, red eyes glowing in a misshapen, blackened face, boiling, “what are you doing here.”

The creature growls, its skin boiling and popping, features sludging off like tar. It tears off the head of a soldier - blood arcs over the sky like the brush of paint on linen.

“Ah,” the God realizes. “I see.” 

(The soles of his feet tearing, blood flowing in rivulets. The grass dyed red, the twigs snagging in his flesh - the flowers the flowers I promised I promised I said I would-)

“You are merely an imitation.” The Sun God smiles, unnaturally wide with too many teeth. 

The daemon’s dripping maw opens wide, a darkness within darkness. What must be its arm draws back in a horrid arc, bent so far back it’s gruesome.

Letting out a screech, a sound that tears right through mortal souls and leaves them trembling like the last leaves of autumn, it lunges, claws outstretched-

(- Bearing down. A darkness darker still than night, a darkness that knows no end, a darkness that consumes. The pebbles the boy throws bounces off the writhing mass like rocks on the surface of a lake. The flowers he had picked for his sister mock him, half-submerged in the putrid flesh of its face.

hUngRY, the daemon moans, pOweR. 

The boy trembles - useless fingers wrapped around a useless twig. He flings it - it lodges between the daemon’s eyes; two red suns, two horrid flames. 

eAT, the daemon says, grin splitting its face, and the boy-)

“Hinata-sama!” A voice cutting through the distance, an arrow through the clouds. Ah, the mortal girl. The Princess who had looked him in the eye and told him not to call her a sacrifice. 

The Sun God raises his arm. “You pitiful thing,” he says, and the fear fear fEAR HELP ME SOMEONE HELP ME I HAVE TO GO HOME quietens, the disgust disappointment you never change you never change you steal and you steal and you steal settles reluctantly in the pit of his stomach. 

The two fingers he holds an inch away from the daemon’s forehead glow. Time slows, the daemon’s claws frozen mid-motion, its trajectory the God’s head.

 “Disappear.” Light spreads from his fingertips. The daemon bursts, darkness withering in the beam of light. 

It’s over. Arbor no longer has a contracted daemon. He glances behind him, at the stunned faces of Sol’s army. The girl is galloping towards him, with her brother - the new King, it seems - and two knights. 

He staggers. 

(stay away don’t come near me go aWAY I HAVE TO GO HOME I PROMISED NATSU I SAID I WOULD I SAID I SAID GO AWAY-

- i’m scared.)

“Hinata-sama,” the Princess is asking, “did you defeat it?” There’s an edge of worry to her voice, as if she is speaking to a soldier. He wants to laugh - gods can’t die.

(Can they?)

He looks at her, this mortal girl who can’t hold a broadsword, who had, regardless of this fact, walked into the ruins of his temple with nothing but her life and an old dagger. He looks into her eyes - and he remembers.

He remembers pain - he remembers blood soaking his shirt, a sticky merlot that had seeped through trembling fingers pressed against his stomach. He remembers the way it had clogged his lungs and spilt from his lips in waterfalls of red as he’d pushed himself to his feet, stumbling away from the thing in the forest. He remembers fear.

He remembers being mortal.

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

(I’m sorry. If I hadn’t- no matter. Laments solve nothing.

Boy, you will never go home.

But you can live.)

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------«« 

➳ annex

arce - a small village to the north in the kingdom of Sol: latin for castle (miyagi 宮城, when translated, gives “shrine castle”)

kissing someone’s knuckles - a declaration: I love you, you are that which I hold dearest; usually done by males to their sisters or lovers

kissing someone’s knuckles and pressing it over your heart -  a vow: I will lay down my life for you, I will keep you safe from harm; usually done by knights to their wards 

➳ cast (more to be added ;)

iwaizumi hajime: Captain of Sol’s Royal Guard

tsukishima kei: Captain of Kageyama’s Personal Guard

kindaichi yuutarou: part of Kageyama’s Personal Guard, commander of a battalion within the Royal Guard

kunimi akira: part of Kageyama’s Personal Guard, commander of a battalion within the Royal Guard

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------«« 

a/n: can you tell that i love kiyoko with all my heart 

tbh i absolutely loathe this chapter :”) the only parts i can kinda stand is the front part because kiyoko <3 and the last part which was really fun to write, but the stuff in the middle is 🤢🤢🤢 but this was like my 12th rewrite so i guess this is as good as it’s gonna get for now :”””)

i’m sorry i took like a month to write this ,, i’ve been and will still be very busy with school since it’s exam season :”) thank you to all of you who stuck around!! 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

taglist: @kuroopaisen, @pyblos, @roseonfireinwinter, @yikes-buddy, @kingkagss, @yams046, @croctears, @haikyuu-ink, @w-yuren, @kontj, @miel-meraki, @miyaosamoo, @sneezefiction, @kageyeaman, @super-noya, @ly-nia, @currentconcern, @iamnotobsessed, @bap-kingdom, @kodzukenkk, @thatartsybitch, @anseoo, @sugarandsoft, @bxckvpmxrz, @iwaoi-mate, @star-puff, @angrylittlezizi, @pinkypromi-se, @kuraomi 

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[vintagegoddess12]

Radioactive Salvation Ch. 5

[Cordelia Goode x Reader]

Chapter: 1, 2, 3, and 4

A/N: I am alive, yes. Thank you for waiting y’all. Throughout the months that I’ve taken a break (that was a real long break asdfdghkl), lots of you continue to read and send sweet messages. Those are real inspiring. If you’re reading this chapter, hold on to your horses because Chapter 6 is coming sooner than you think. Enjoy y’all.

@cordeliasflowergirl @athenamgh @stevenuniversetanzanite @germansarechill @chonisbestmistake @alurous​ 

Just comment down below your thoughts and suggestions. You can also dm y’all. Everything is much appreciated. 

I sat on the head of the table and Misty took the chair to my left, an action that made Madison's brow to raise but we just shrugged it off.

Myrtle is the only one who isn't seating yet. When she noticed, she got off the phone and instantly sat down. "Pardon me, girls. Bubbles just called and said she's going to drop by later to greet her favorite roommate a happy birthday."

"Oh please!" Madison rolled her eyes, "She's her favorite because she's the only one who stuck with her."

"Who's gonna have a birthday?" Misty asked while chewing a part of her bagel. I tried to remember what date it was and failed. Things have been too busy around the manor. I haven't even visited my room for a while now.

My room.

I suddenly remembered you. My body stiffened at the thought - or lack thereof - I had of you for hours now.

"It's Y/n's birthday," Myrtle answered the witch in front of her. "She used to be Bubbles' roommate before she moved into Delia's bedroom."

How careless of me! I completely forgot about your birthday. I don't think I even got you a gift, not that you care for the material things. I glanced at the seat on my left, the one you usually occupy, only to realize that it was Misty taking the place. I was too preoccupied with assisting Misty yesterday that I don't remember seeing you all day.

"Where is she by the way?" Mallory inquired that prompted everyone at the table to look at me. They're used to me knowing your whereabouts, especially before we got out of bed. I'm used to that too but this morning was different. You didn't grace my mind until they've reminded me. What is wrong with me?

I tried answering but no sound came out of my mouth. I took a deep breath and excused myself, "I'm going to wake her up now." A sudden flush of guilt run over my body. I walked to our room, but not before overhearing the girls' hushed discussion.

"Did she just forget her girlfriend's birthday?" Coco whispered. Zoe called her out, saying it wasn't nice.

"I don't think it's just her birthday that she forgot," Madison remarked. I can feel her stare behind me. Sometimes, I hate her for being right.

I reached the door and I was trying to think of ways to brighten up the situation. You hate waking up alone in the morning, that's why I was always hesitant to leave our bed when Misty or any other of the girls need me. That's why you moved into my room after Bubbles left to continue her career outside the coven even before we were together. That's why you went to the academy.

You hate to be alone.

Before I opened the door, I decided that I will make it up to you by treating you to dinner tonight then perhaps stargazing. You've always liked the silence of the night and the moon and stars gracing the night sky. It wasn't much but you've always loved the simplicity in things.

When I opened the door, I was expecting you to be seating in front of the mirror and combing your hair - that routine you take the longest to do in the morning - or lying in the bed because you're mad at me. I was surprised to see neither. In fact, you weren't there. The bed was made and cold - untouched by any living person for a long time. I checked for you in the shower, maybe you were taking your time in the tub. You weren't. Nervousness trying to creep its way slowly inside my head. I tried to shrug it off and checked the window facing the garden. Maybe you wanted to have some alone time with nature. You're still nowhere to be seen. This time, there's no denying that I am scared.

I walked myself back to the dining area, the girls' confused faces welcomed me. "Where's y/n?" Myrtle asked, "Is something the matter, dear?"

I looked at her and summoned the courage to speak. "Does anyone know where y/n is because she's not in our room?" Addressing everyone at the table. The younger witches talked in hushed tones then shook their heads.

Coco raised her hand to get my attention, "The last time we saw her, she was going to Misty's place to clean up, right?" She confirmed with Queenie who in turn nodded. "But that was like yesterday morning," my voodoo sister witch added.

That wasn't good. You never leave the house and don't come back before sunset. I stepped back and tried to remember the location of Misty's shack, one I always go to when I want to have peace of mind. I was able to do that but not before a gloved hand reached for me.

"You are so not using transmutation to go there, Delia." Aunt Myrtle remarked, distracting me.

"But I have to get there fast," I replied, too strongly.

"It's dangerous out there, with the Antichrist and everything," her grip on me tightened.

"The more reason I have to be there, instantly!" I snatched my hand away.

"Stop bickering, the two of you," Madison, now walking away from the dining table, intervened. "Queenie, you're in charge of the academy. Zoe, you're coming with us."

"What are you going to do?" Zoe hesitantly asked her sister witch.

"Buckle up, bitch. I'm driving," Madison replied while reaching for her keys in her bag.

I practically sprinted to her car and took the front seat. When Madison took the wheel, she went as fast as she could but not as fast I wanted. I tried speeding up the vehicle but that resulted in Myrtle yanking my hair from behind to distract me. Somehow, she knew words wouldn't exactly stop me so she opted for the physical approach.

When we reached the swamp, time stood still for me. I don't feel your presence, just traces. I approached Misty's house only to be embraced with familiar warmth.

Your warmth

You were here, I'm positive. I called out your name before I went inside, maybe you're just sleeping.

"Is this...?" Aunt Myrtle motioned to the energy surrounding the shack.

"A protective dome, yes," I replied. "I didn't know she can do that." I can't help but smile. I've always known that you are powerful and as years pass by, you learn to master even the highest forms of witchcraft.

I entered the house, hoping that you're inside, only to find the remnants of your visit. New albums of Fleetwood Mac. New stereo. No trace of dust. When I used my gift of Sight, I see you cleaning up with a content look on your face. Tears started forming in my eyes until Zoe called out for me.

"What is it?" I asked my council. She pointed me in the direction of the two bodies lying on the grass and starting to fade away. I quickly grabbed a part of them before disappearing only to see visions of you.

You were running for your dear life.

That's the only thing I saw. Then everything went black.

I can't feel you. I can't even see what happened afterward.

---

Seeing you running and knowing nothing but that shook me to the very core. I tried. Believe me, darling, I tried to find out what took place in the woods but I failed. Your sister witches were helping as well but we still had nothing. The coven was spread too thin, between finding you and ensuring that we are safe from the Antichrist.

It was before supper and Misty knocked on our bedroom.

"Delia, the food will be ready any minute," she said as she stood in the doorway. I nodded and continued to stare at your favorite dress hung on the dresser.

"She'll want ya to be strong, ya know," she said unpromptedly.

"I don't know what she wants anymore," I uttered.

"Shame," another voice chimed in the conversation, "that's what she would want you to feel."

I turned to see Bubbles entering the room. Misty excused herself right before the older witch slammed the door.

"You've been avoiding me," I remarked. It's been days since she occupied her old room here and this is the first time she spoke to me.

"So did you," she nonchalantly said as she sat down at the edge of the bed. It's true. I don't even know how I'd tell her that you were gone or lost or how unsure of it I am anymore.

The silence enveloped the room for a few a second before she spoke. "I've always known she would die if she stayed here, with you."

"She's not dead," I replied sharply, trying to hide the pain the statement caused.

"How sure are you?" She took a hit from her cigarette. Silence once again covered the air, if not for the occasional huff and puff from her cigarette.

The idea that your own best friend is uncertain that you're alive breaks my heart even more.  

"She almost died for you once," Bubbles whispered, with her voice breaking. The sentence prompted me to look at her way. She put out her cigarette and looked at me, tears forming in her eyes. "[y/n] is all about saving the people she loves," she continued, "no matter the cost."

"I know," I replied trying to keep my voice from wavering.

"No, you don't" She replied sternly. "She fights these silent battles for us, keeping us from harm that we don't even know exists."

At this point, I'm not even sure what would be the next words coming out of her mouth.

"You're probably wondering what I'm saying," she lets out a little scoff before continuing, "there was a time when she saw your powers fading."

In my head flashed moments from years ago when I felt someone was taking the air out of my lungs, unsure whether I was being cursed or dying. I couldn't even walk straight on my own. I would rush into my office just to hide the fact that the coven's new supreme is sick or worse... fading.

"She performed a ritual to stop your weakening," she muttered in the air, taking me out of my reverie. She continued to look at the white walls of my - our room, "she performed it perfectly but we all know every ritual has a price."

She paused momentarily before facing me, "She was writhing on the floor with life draining out her eyes. We were so sure that she's dying." The former actress can't stop the tears falling out of her eyes. "I felt shame because I was her senior and friend and yet we can't do anything to help her"

"Who's we?" My voice filled with confusion, "what ritual?"

"I can't tell you that because I made a promise," she stood up from the bed preparing to leave, "and unlike you, I'm not gonna let that girl down."

Looking at Bubbles, I'm not sure whether it was her intention to hurt me but all I know is that her words sting. The woman you have treated like family all these years thinks that I'm the reason you're gone.

It hurts because I know she's right.

"All I can say is," she paused to get my attention, "that ritual made her the barrier between the transfer of your powers to the new supreme." She looked around as if not wanting to say what was about to come out of her mouth.

"So if you think you are fading," she says the last word like it's the plague, "that means the barrier is gone."

She blinked back her tears before walking out.

Love, are you really gone?

---

The logical answer is no.

You are breathing, existing, in this post-apocalyptical world you have created with the Antichrist.

However, looking at you right now through the blurry, intoxicating fog outside the Hawthorne Academy, I think it's safe to say the [y/n] I know is gone.

The black dress that hugs your figure emanates darkness and deadliness. The way you move and position your body speaks of a changed woman. A woman who can hurt and kill. A woman who can-

"-who can what, Cordelia?" a sharp voice echoed around me.

The fog between us cleared and showed you - tears streaming down your face. I was about to open my mouth when you answered the question yourself.

"A woman who can end the world?"

"[y/n]..." I was about to disagree when you continued.

"You're not wrong about that."

[markynaz]

7/29

Ruins / Campfire Written for @tes-summer-fest 2021 Wordcount: 1593 Content Warnings: Imprisonment Ao3 Mirror: here

The statue to Azura was always relic of the days long before memory, even back to when Morrowind was instead Resdaynia. Neither Wise Women nor careful Temple records recalled when it had actually been built. It had been impeccably maintained through the years, though by whom varied. Sometimes Ashlanders would come to groom the ash off Azura’s face and ensure the roses on her brow stayed sharp. Sometimes curious Telvanni would come, dusting off the plinth before her feet to perform some ritual or another, respectful of the Good Daedra’s power. Sometimes Temple pilgrimages would visit her as the Anticipation of Sotha Sil, the closest to the clockwork god they could get while he secreted himself away, and worthy of respect as was every piston in the Maker’s great design.

Those days had vanished with the Red Year.

Now the Reclamation’s statue was buried by volcanic rock that neither spell nor might could move - and both Temple and Ashlanders had tried, desperate for guidance in the wake of the now-absent living gods. The eighty-foot tall statue of the Lady was buried up to her waist in rock, details of her robe melted into the solid lava flow. Attempts at excavation showed the barest hint of the plinth at her feet, but no more than a thin edge, covered in burned down Temple-issued candles. In a way it was a ruin, a picture of despair, and perhaps that's why the Temple had withdrawn. New statues could always be built. Vvardefell, especially the southern coast, was too uninhabitable - too full of memory - for the statue to be any great reminder of what they had lost.

The Ashlanders clung still to their home. Zainab Tribe especially, ranging along the no-longer-grassy Grazelands, looked up to the imprisoned statue and felt for her. They too were rooted where they'd stood for generations with no way out. They too would survive, just as all the Three had taught them.

There were nights where Masser and Secunda were no more than slivers in the dark night sky. On those nights, keen Ashlander eyes could note that the statue - merely a silhouette against the stars - seemed to reflect some sort of moonlight. If not for the darkness of Tamriel’s moons, one would hardly notice it. The moon and star held aloft in Azura’s outstretched hand glimmered with the light as it diffused across the rest of the statue much more faintly. Moonlight, in a sense - but much more beautiful, with many more colors than Masser and Secunda could ever hope to give.

The Ashlanders saw this as a blessing, a boon, a prophecy. Azura had not abandoned them. She was watching over them now, even as her statue was imprisoned by the rock flow, and she would guide them from this night and into the twilight hours of prophecy and glory once more. This had to be the case. And chins started to lift in the small Ashlander camps, the despair no longer as heavy as the ash on the air.

The Wise Woman said nothing about all of this.

Dusanabi, Wise Woman of Zainab Tribe, had wanted to believe as much as her people when the lights had first been noticed. That first night she had retreated to her yurt and prepared a ritual of connection, dipping into her low-running stores to make the old tincture, setting it over a fire and allowing the steam to make its way around her and into her lungs as she fell asleep.

She was prepared to receive the cool, glittering, loving presence of her Prince into her dream. She was prepared to walk in Moonshadow, kneel at her Prince’s feet, and ask her for some bit of guidance she could pass on to Azura’s beloved people.

That was not what she received.

Instead the vision that took her was of the dim inside of a Daedric ruin. The air was stifling, ashy beyond the scent of the ritual herbs in Dusanabi’s lungs. When she looked back, the doorway was sealed by volcanic rock.

There was no statue inside the ruin, but Dusanabi knew in her heart who it was dedicated to. It would be difficult to deny. The single furnishing in the entire room was a bare stone slab, carved all around with praises of Azura in old Chimeris, and upon it lay a woman.

Dusanabi approached with gentle steps, her dream-feet making no sound and leaving no mark on the dusty stone floor.

The Dunmer woman had her arms resting at her sides, hands relaxed, fingernails glimmering with the faint light of the stars. Her eyes were closed. A fine robe covered her neck to ankle, a House robe - woven beautifully of gold and silver and gray spidersilk, though in a style so old that Dusanabi couldn’t recall ever seeing a House mer wear something similar. She did not stir as Dusanabi gently touched her chest, but there were thoughts there, under the surface - not the glittering unfathomability of a Prince, but the warm touch of a mortal.

Dusanabi woke up in her yurt with a pounding headache and a sickness clutching her heart.

But she had to know properly. She couldn’t just leave it there, not when her people still gasped and hoped over the lights of the ruin the next night. This time she modified her ritual of connection - different proportions, different herbs, and drank a tea of strengthening before she lit the fire and allowed the scent to infuse her dreams.

The Daedric ruin was not the place she found herself in this time. Instead, a lively bed of coals crackled in the middle of a stone pavilion, built solid like a House mer home before Red Mountain had erupted. Scattered around the room were colorful cushions and blankets, bright colors and warm fabrics, contrasting against the lovely night sky outside and the breathtakingly ethereal gardens far below.

The woman in the ruin rose from a cushion to greet her.

She was quite solid, quite real, and not as unconscionably beautiful as her surroundings. Bright golden eyes flared from her angular gray face, and her brown hair fell loose around her shoulders. But her smile was warmer than even the coals at the center of the room as she bade Dusanabi to sit.

“Please,” she added once they were both settled, Dusanabi almost wishing she could feel the silks at her fingertips, because what sort of texture would the cloth of Moonshadow have? “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand how you’ve come, but I’m grateful for the visit nonetheless. Tell me- what is your name?”

“I am the Wise Woman of Zainab Tribe. They call me Dusanabi.” She squinted at the woman opposite her. “And you are our Nerevarine.”

The woman did not try to hide it, dipping her head with sadness furrowing her brow.

“So it is truly you, in the shrine.”

Arafel, the Nerevarine, nodded, giving life to all of Dusanabi’s fears. “My Lady thinks it best that I… do not interfere as directly as I once did,” she said regretfully. “I may still look out on the world and observe, watch it go by and change without me. But these past thirty years, I am not allowed to interact.”

Dusanabi folded her hands in her lap, glancing around herself. It was a very small pavilion, for all its beauty, for a woman to inhibit for decades unending.

“We had thought the statue imprisoned.”

Arafel laughed, a sound with no joy in it. “I imagine it is, in a way. But I do not think it would be if my Lady did not also want it to be a prison.”

Dusanabi’s face must have been very unguarded, because the Nerevarine looked as if she regretted her words instantly. She reached out, placing a hand over Dusanabi’s ethereal one.

“Please don’t worry over me, Wise Woman,” she said. “I would hate to give you grief when you’re doing such a good job of guiding the people I love. Looking out on Tamriel gives me solace, and the spirit of Nerevar is a great comfort. This is not the first time he’s gone through this at our Lady’s pleasure.”

“Her will is always as deep and obscured as her love,” murmured Dusanabi, falling back on the old maxims. She gained the favor of Arafel’s smile.

“It always has been.”

A few more words of numb nothings were all Dusanabi had time for before the connection began to fade, her mortal shell unable to sustain the dreamwalk to Moonshadow for long. She awoke alone in her own yurt, to an aching cramp curving up under her ribs at all the magicka she had spent, and to a somewhat more painful ache in her heart.

She slowly stood and exited her yurt. The faint, gorgeous lights still shimmered over the statue of Azura. Below, the people of Zainab Tribe had rallied around their evening fire, the conversation having more animation now than it had in several years.

It gave hope to her tribespeople to believe the lights at the shrine were a sign of favor. So Dusanabi sat and watched and gave evasive answers when questioned about the ruin against the skyline, trying to expel the ash of despair from her lungs.

Whether Azura had abandoned them was yet to be seen. But she had certainly abandoned her champion - and forced her to abandon the Ashlanders she’d advocated so fondly for in turn.

The Wise Woman quietly convinced the Ashkhan to break camp and move up the coast sooner than expected.

[mczenrath]

aesthetic.

what are your muse’s aesthetics? bold any which apply to your muse! remember to REPOST! feel free to add to the list!

[ COLORS ] ~ burgundy. red. crimson. scarlet. maroon. mahogany. copper. amber. chocolate. brown. tawny. tan. bronze. brass. orange. gold. saffron. yellow. chartreuse. spring green. lime. mint. green. olive. forest. turquoise. teal. cerulean. blue. navy. cobalt. periwinkle. indigo. pewter. plum. purple. magenta. fuchsia. lilac. lavender. pink. coral. peach. ivory. cream. white. silver. grey. smoke. charcoal. ebony. black. pastels. vibrant. matte. metallic. muted. dark. light.

[ BODY ] ~ mutations. claws. fangs. wings. tails. feathers. webs. spikes. scales. fur. stripes. spots. freckles. acne. bruises. scars. scratches. gashes. lashes. wounds. amputations. burns. brands. teeth. gums. tongues. lips. beards. mustaches. cheeks. noses. ears. eyes. eyelashes. eyebrows. hair. heads. neck. shoulders. collar bones. arms. elbows. wrists. hands. fingers. breast. back. ribs. abs. belly. hips. curves. butts. legs. thighs. knees. shins. ankles. feet. toes. nails. sweat. spit. tears. blood. heart. stomach. lungs. liver. veins. guts. bones. spine. muscle. skin. feline. canine. masculine. feminine.

[ WEAPONS ] ~ bites. fists. kicks. sword. dagger. spear. arrow. bow. crossbow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. mud balls. bombs. missiles. boomerangs. lethal pets. lasers. canons.

[ MATERIALS ] ~ metal. gold. silver. platinum. pewter. titanium. iron. steel. copper. bronze. brass. tin. bismuth. diamonds. pearls. rubies. garnets. sapphires. emeralds. jade. peridots. alexandrite. opal. topaz. jasper. quartz. rose quartz. smoky quartz. amethyst. citrine. fluorite. amber. malachite. turquoise. lapis lazuli. sodalite. pyrite. labradorite. moonstone. petrified wood. wood. paper. parchment. hemp. canvas. burlap. oils skin. muslin. rayon. faux. wool. fur. lace. leather. skins. suede. corduroy. silk. satin. chiffon. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. rocks. flint. asphalt. brick. granite. marble. dust. rust. glitter. sand. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. carbonate. rubber. synthetics. nylon. polyester. plastic. glass. porcelain. bone. shells. coral.

[ NATURE ] ~ grass. leaves. trees. bark. flowers. roses. daisies. forget me nots. tulips. lavender. sunflowers. petals. thorns. seeds. hay. roots. ocean. pond. river. stream. waterfall. creek. meadow. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rain forest. tropical. jungle. marsh. moors. swamp. plains. hills. highlands. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. clouds. mountains. fire. lava. ice. frost. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops. shadow. tornado. hurricane. water spout. thunder. hail. twisters. humidity. dryness.

[ ANIMALS ] ~ birds. penguins. eagles. owls. falcons. vultures. hawks. swans. parrots. parakeets. doves. pigeons. ducks. robins. cardinals. blue jays. bluebirds. blackbirds. crows. ravens. magpies. mockingbirds. flamingos. ostriches. seagulls. albatross. peacocks. condors. finches. pelicans. chickens. geese. quail. bats. sheep. cows. buffalo. deer. hedgehogs. elephants. horses. giraffes. cats. lions. tigers. pumas. cheetahs. jaguars. foxes. dogs. wolves. coyotes. bunnies. mice. rats. monkeys. apes. bears. pandas. polar bears. snakes. iguanas. chameleons. alligators. crocodiles. turtles. lizards. frogs. toads. whales.dolphins. fish. sharks. stingrays. octopus. lobsters. crabs. bugs. spiders. moths. butterflies. flies. maggots. roaches. ladybugs. beetles. cicadas. dragonflies. fleas. termites. leeches. worms. snails. mosquitoes. werewolves. unicorns. pegasus. dragons. dinosaurs.

[ FOODS/DRINKS ] ~ pepper. salt. sugar. honey. syrup. caramel. candy. bubblegum. mints. candy canes. gumdrops. lollipops. chocolate. vanilla. cinnamon. ice cream. cake. cookies. brownies. biscuits. pie. tarts. lemonade. soda. champagne. wine. brandy. rum. whiskey. vodka. tequila. sake. beer. soju. gin. crema de cacao. cocoa. latte. coffee. tea. spices. herbs. fruit. apples. oranges. lemons. cherries. strawberries. blueberries. raspberries. cranberries. watermelons. cantaloupes. bananas. coconuts. grapes. kiwi. pomegranates. tomatoes. vegetables. potatoes. cucumbers. carrots. turnips. onions. leeks. celery. broccoli. cabbages. lettuces. roots. nuts. white meat. red meat. raw meat. veal. pork. chicken. beef. venison. fish. lobster. oysters. pizza. ambrosia. pasta. sandwiches. soup.

[ HOBBIES ] ~ music. piano. flute. woodwinds. whistles. drums. guitar. cello. synthesizer. violin. lute. harp. fiddle. harmonica. trumpet. brass. singing. composing. folk. classical. bluegrass. blues. jazz. big band. pop. country. rock. punk. metal. electronica. hip hop. reggae. ska. rap. vinyl records. cassettes. cds. soundcloud. itunes. spotify. art. sculpting. pottery. painting. watercolour. drawing. pastels. charcoal. sketching. graffiti. printing. inking. collecting. fighting. martial arts. self-defense. boxing. fencing. sumo. wrestling. jousting. paintball. lazer tag. duelling. hunting. fishing. climbing. weight lifting. training. sports. football. football (usa). rugby. baseball. cricket. lacrosse. volleyball. basketball. tennis. badminton. skating. cycling. sailing. swimming. rowing. hiking. running. gymnastics. dancing. ice skating. hockey. reading. writing. cooking. sewing. acting. photography. video games. horseback riding. gardening. smithing. shopping. traveling. movies. theatre, libraries. books. magazines. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. science.

[ STYLE ] ~ nudism. perfume. cologne. piercings. tattoos. henna. body paint. war paint. make up. lipstick. mascara. eyeliner. eye shadow. powder. beauty marks. blush. nail polish. lingerie. fishnet. pantie-hoes. socks. stockings. leggings. long johns. under armor. corsets. sports bras. bustles. camisoles. blouses. button ups. tunics. vests. waistcoats. leather jackets. ponchos. sweaters/jumpers. hoodies. skirts. jeans. kilts. breeches. scarfs. cravats. ascots. belts. sashes. gloves. heels. sandals. platforms. tennis shoes. penny loafers. jordans. slippers. boots. cowboy boots. rain boots. army boots. armor. justaucorps. trench coats. capes. cloaks. burqa. suits. tuxedos. kimonos. saris. sun dresses. gowns. jewelry. earrings. nose rings. lip rings. tongue piercings. belly rings. gauges. eyebrow rings. necklaces. pearl strings. leis. bracelets. bangles. cuffs. watches. friendship bracelets. rings. pendants. lockets. broaches. boutonnieres. pocket watches. cuff links. hats. crowns. circlets. flower crowns. helmets. hijabs. turbans. baseball caps. cowboy hats. brocade. doublet. gorget. bracers. masks. cowls. braces. glasses. sun glasses. eye contacts. pajamas.

[ MISC ] ~ balloons. bubbles. candles. battle. war. diplomacy. peace. money. power. clocks. photos. mirrors. pets. diary. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. loneliness. family. friends. assistants. co-workers. enemies. loyalty. smoking. drugs. kindness. love. sex. hugs. duality. sin. lust. greed. wrath. envy. sloth. gluttony. pride. virtue. chivalry. honor. piety. charity. diligence. chastity. gentleness. aggression. romance. hatred. grief. pity. success. bitterness. sorrow. joy. fear. anger. good. evil. relativity. vampirism. sapphism. life. birth. time. death. illusion. silence.

Tagged stole from: @ababwa Tagging: @direbcrn @sunsreign & anyone else who wants to do iiit

[suntara]

☽ Dusk and dawn  ☾

. Part I: dusk  . When dusk arises, like a romcom tragedy We, you and me Will search again For those sandy dunes we left our footprints on We sang songs and lit fires in the dark, We consoled the crying stars, who had faded to a forced flicker, Stars that cried in pieces of themselves And called their hail disgusting We found solace in each other's small talk and raspy voices The oasis we camped near reflected Tear stained smiles, half forced But we at least made them half smile Yet We yearned for more than water For more than each other's touch When dusk arises, like a romcom tragedy We, you and me Will search again For the oldest of kingdoms, where we once were declared regal We grinded the sun's rays and painted our lanterns with it Like in tangled, We let it into the sky till the lanterns dissolved and the rays twinkled at night We laced our kingdom into a tight corset, we interweaved the world together Some people say that the sky is a story But we turned the sky into our very own tapestry We sewed the stars into empty spaces We created what nobody else could We created something to stare at, at night We created life for the times once called doom We smiled because we knew That we made a difference When dusk arises, like a romcom tragedy We, you and me Will search again For the single cherry blossom tree that remained after the war Where our cheeks were tinged with childlike shyness And then tinged with the frigid memories, dried up blood and drier regret The tree lived off of love, then survived with bitter guilt It's the petals that now blush instead of us, it has found love in sweet regret and the moon light who attempts to steal their bedsheets, for warmth not for war And I have never seen a single tree glitter in the dark and calls birds as family, Not intruders We promised to each other, like a confession under a Mistletoe "When dusk arises, like a romcom tragedy We, you and me Will search, for the last time For each other, when the sun decides to rise Even if we are worlds apart We share something so ambiguously vivid Even if our crops shrivel up, the clay pillars to our castles fall, The oasis dies of thirst and even if the lantern falls before it could reach its place If we are destined to be together for our next lives If what we shared really meant something" . {What we have is the kind that you remember in history, the kind that comes in old scriptures and statues, The kind thats is unforgettable, the kind you fantasize about after reading our story The kind that you can still touch, hear and see when you come near all the places, where we endeavoured, where we illustrated, where we scrapped What we have is as precious as our crowns, as heavy as our under eye bags, as beautiful as a constellation we discovered ourselves We have what nobody does And we gave what nobody could live without And that was the beauty of it all} . . Part II: dawn . When dawn arises, like a romcom tragedy We, you and me Will search again For our small ramen store, White and red, wooden and never stayed in one place Where no child could enter, no adult could enter It was a hushed secret between those who knew who love was, and why they came We never ate ramen But we allowed their noodles to chain our lungs together, because we breathe for each other And keys don't matter if the locks will never reopen And our ribs wished to fuse We couldn't stay away from each other The soup replaces our blood, because our feelings are thin and smell like broth and vegetables, Hazy liqor and the metallic taste of blood never suited us And we love each other, knowing that we are different, we love each other knowing that our tongues and hands are tied together Not in a bow, but a fisherman's knot Sometimes it looks ugly But boy it will last When dawn arises, like a romcom tragedy We, you and me Will search again For the antique store we raided and grew history Warm sunday mornings All kettles that are made of gold, Turn boiling water to lemon juice Our love isn't sweet But it filled with flavor we kissed mirrors until they shatter We sat on old wooden tables, with fleas eating up the mahogany We sat on chairs older than our grandparents, we lied on carpet covered in layers of dust Marigold beams leak through boarded up windows. We laughed with the mice and fleas We discovered that little nothings are nothing but our everything And "I love you" is the only thing that shines with the sun When the dusk arises, like a romcom tragedy We, you and me Will search, for the last time For each other's flights at the airport, for North when we head home No meeting is ever ones last Because memories are a rollercoaster of their own We wove baskets in each other's name And filled it to the brim with winterdrops, tickets and hand written letters The hourglass never runs out of sand And we found ourselves standing six feet apart at at our terminals No last kiss, not even a hug Just a final stare, a final squeeze We promised each other at the start and will promise to each other again, "When the dawn arises, like a romcom tragedy We, you and me Will search, for the last time If our love really is love, If words really meant what our bodies spoke, if we will cross paths without batting an eye, If what we shared really meant something" . {What we have is not the kind you remember in history, but the kind that comes in the form of hazy scents and hazier feelings. The kind that you don't remember, but can never seem to forget The kind that is remarkably forgotten What we shared is in the clouds on a gloomy day, in the wood you throw into a fire, the fog in your glasses when you have coffee We have what nobody does And we gave what nobody could live without And that was the beauty of it all} .

.

Aureatemoonshine

[dracjoonie]

| ⋄ Moonchild ⋄ | Mer!Joon AU |Chap.1 Flounder|

⥼ Pairings : Mermaid!Namjoon x Human!Fem!Reader

⥼ Genre : Fluff, maybe smut down the line? (Undecided. If it happens it’ll be sweet and WHOLESOME). Do Mermen count as hybrids? 

⥼ Summary : What happens when a son of the moon and sea discovers the surface for the first time. And as he stumbles through it; trying to adjust to these new things she called “feet” and “legs”, would it be the surface he fell for, or her?

Basically, Namjoon as the little mermaid~ Minus the whole plot. 

⥼ Word Count :  3323

 The sea’s rippling arms stretched open; quietly, like a secret between her and the moon. Her arms grasped and kissed warmth against the skin of one of her many creatures. Pooling in rivers against his chest and back. He stretched up towards the moon, a son basking in the glow of his celestial father. And so the moon shone back, for him. His silver hair shining in the light, wispy strands clinging to soft cheeks. He swayed back, spinning his tail out from under him and letting his outstretched fins break the surface in a great whoosh. He relished in the way the air pricked his glittering scales. Never quite use to the chilling rush of adrenaline it gave him. But he would seek that thrill a million times over no matter how forbidden the surface may be. Up there he could feel and see everything. He was in love with the way the sea kissed the moonlight from the surface, her oceans ever reaching with her great tides. A force so powerful and beautiful it filled his heart with wonder. With longing. A feeling he could only grasp when he was in its clutches. Adrift between two worlds at their infinite collision. 

 Tonight was the night he planned to see it all. He schemed for months, but the weight of his duties below the surface left him all too preoccupied most nights. But he wouldn’t let them tonight, his dreams of watching the moon dip below the surface were too strong. He needed to see it for himself, the stories of its beauty weren’t enough to satisfy him anymore. He would let the waves take him on their journey, and he would watch the stars drift slowly across the sky, wondering how it was that they could stick up there when everything else seemed to always fall.   But he had never seen land before. Never imagined there could truthfully be a whole world outside of his own. Outside of the moon and sea’s warm embrace, the great blues that spanned forever and beyond. He didn’t know how close to land his home really was, just mere miles far enough to not see it,  just passed where the moon kisses the ocean, and gets lost between her waves.

  It was still hours before he would even drifted close, but they were hours he spent looking up and not around. All too mesmerized by the stars chasing each other across the night sky. It took the violent flutter of sails and a shout for him to finally be swayed from contemplation. He felt the splash in his fingertips. A weight in the ocean that wasn’t there before, a presence pushing in on him like shadows at his back. He shifted. And there it was. a great black shadow on the surface, stiff and artificial just like the stories he had been taught to fear. Stories of another world forbidden, surely those weren’t real? But here they were before him; this big black scourge against the water. Making sharp cuts in her waves.

Another shout and he was called into action. He was afraid, in awe, but that voice held fear, and his heart told him to lunge forward anyway...

..

 You weren’t sure how it all happened. It happened so fast, some violent force striking your back and BOOM. 

 Of course you could swim. But that didn’t mean anything when you were too dizzy to tell which way was up. When salt and water were all you could taste when you gasped for air.

 The waves were pulling you under so quickly. Shimmering black tendrils squeezing around your throat and filling your lungs with fire. They skirted inwards on the cusps of your vision, zeroing in until all you could see was darkness. Soon they pulled at your consciousness, fighting against you in one last flailing grasp at the surface. And then your world slipped away. Or at least the world you knew did.

But the world was much bigger than you could have ever imagined. 

 Something curious was near to you. Something mystic and ever wondering. Something you would have never believed was possible. But there it was, a shadow below the surface. Pushing in on you as it neared. He; the shadow your soul called friend, grasped at your sinking body. He pulled you towards him, relying only on instinct and the stories he could never bring himself to be afraid of. He pulled you towards the shallow waters, his fins brushing against the sand. He had never touched the sea floor and the surface at the same time before, he didn’t know it was possible. Even in all the stories he had ever heard he never knew his world could stretch out so thin.

..

 He didn’t even know how to swim in such shallow water, but he knew he had to learn now or never. Pulling you with him; desperately, to the summit of where his world ended and yours began.

 When he reached it he was reduced to dragging himself against the sandy floor, the last streams of the sea on his scales trying desperately to pull him back in. He obeyed, the fear of the unknown keeping him with his tail fins safely seated underneath her waves.He held you in his arms; this frail helpless thing, he didn’t know what you were. How were you so familiar, yet so foreign? Where was your tail? Why did the waters not kiss their breath into you like they did him? If the stories he knew were true, then you were nothing like him, and the water filling your lungs was more akin to poison. And if the stories were true.. he needed to act quickly. 

 He did whatever came to him first. He stretched back the column of your neck, brushing back the wet clumps of hair from your face. Fumbling, he pressed the heels of his hands at your chest, keeping as upright as he could with the little friction against the sand his tail lent him. His efforts did little to nothing and he only grew more desperate. Pounding helplessly at your chest, but hoping with all his heart he wasn’t hurting you. Despite his wishes you didn't budge, the water was just lodged too deep.

 He had one more idea. An idea that needed to work if he was going to save you. You, this ephemeral creature slipping away between his webbed fingers.If the water didn’t cling to you like it did him, maybe it would seek him out like it always had before. In one desperate swoop of instinct and hope, he pressed his gaping lips to your own. Willing the waters to leave you and follow him like they were meant to. And they did, brushing like the tides past your lips and spilling over into his own. He sucked up every last drop until he finally felt you coughing against him. He pulled away when he felt you surge, watching as you sputtered back to life. You gasped and shuddered and coughed beneath him, scared and confused as the spots of your vision slowly returned.

..

 You held to him like a life line; hands grasping at his wrists and arms. You were searching frantically as your vision returned, watching his glowing outline reveal itself against the moonlight. And it was as if moonlight was made for him. The glow dusting starlight against his tan skin. The water reflecting against him like shining glass mirrors that rippled as her waves splashed against the shore.  He was beautiful. His features sharp and soft and untouched. Like a dream against the horizon. He looked down at you with such curious eyes. They were big and dark; and deep, yet so gentle and full of so much light. You could feel the weight of him on your lower body, something cold and ruff scraping against the bare skin of your legs. He leaned in to look at you with an innocence that was so endearing. His head tilted to the side, locks of his long silver hair brushing past his shoulders and tickling your skin with icy water. You shuddered and he flinched back, his pupils dilating when he blinked back at you. When you stilled he leaned in so close you didn’t know whether to scream, or to blush. Was he.. Sniffing you? You shuddered again when the tips of his hair grazed your skin. This time he jumped back far, something heavy pulling at your legs when he moved. You didn't catch the subtle splashes he was making in the water, him too nervous to keep his tail fins still.

..

 He knew you weren’t like him, but did you know yet? He wasn’t sure.  You had two tails like long arms where they should have been joined and scaled. Distant fingers, and no gills. You were so different already. Did you even speak the same language? Should he even try to communicate? He composed himself after seeing the fear in your eyes.What was the harm in trying? He had already broken every rule in the book, what was one more?

He cleared his throat.

“Um.. What-what.. are you?” His head tilted again, the jewelry adorning his ears and neck jingling as he moved.

“E-excuse me?” His eyes widened at your reply. He understood you, and you him. And that was more shocking than anything to him thus far. Two creatures from entirely different worlds and yet you could understand each other. It shouldn’t have been possible. How could he know nothing of such a creature's true existence, and yet you both spoke the same tongue?. What long lost history was there that could tie you two together like this? 

He was amazed, and unwavering. But you were beginning to grow increasingly more uncomfortable underneath his weight, and the weight of his curious eyes lingering far too close and too long, no matter how beautiful those big curious eyes were. 

“Thank you for saving my life But-” You struggled to get your arms free out from under him. “Could you.. Get Off?” You popped a knee out from under his lower half, but the loss of stability sent him tumbling over on his side in the sand. He hissed when his shoulder thumped painfully against the ground. 

“Ouch! Hey!.. How do you live up here, I feel so heavy...” 

“Oh! Sorry!.. Wait, what..?” You pulled yourself up on your elbows and that's when you finally noticed the splashing. A.. tail? You shrieked, and he pushed himself back farther into the water to feel more secure. He wasn't sure what from, but your loud voice sent his instincts alight, and him stammering with more questions.

“Why are you screaming!?”

“YOU HAVE A TAIL!”He glowered at you before replying with only slightly less volume.

“And You have four arms! But I didn’t scream!?" You couldn't reply, too taken aback by the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

He paid your perplexed expression no mind, pushing up on his hands and walking backwards until he could bend his tail back enough to sit in the water. He had never sat before, never having been in shallow enough water to need to. But after maneuvering himself into position he found it leagues more comfortable than flailing on the ground helplessly. This way he could use his hands again too. You watched him pick his hands out of the sand one at a time to brush them off, doing the best he could to stay balanced on his tail. All you could do was watch him in awe as he messily flung his hair out of his way-too-shiny-for-this-world.. eyes. 

“Whatever you are, you sure like to stare, huh?” He gave you a one sided smirk as he glanced back at your awkwardly placed form. You shook your head before squinting at him and pushing up off the sand to sit on your knees. “Was he for real?” You thought.

“Well at least I don't sniff people.” 

He blinked at you.

“Well yeah, of course I did. That's just polite.” 

You frowned back at him. Or you tried to, but something about frowning at a shimmery merman felt off.

“Saved from drowning by a polite merman, wow what a day.”You watched as he finished fiddling with his hair, and he switched to fighting desperately to get the sand off his chest and shoulders. You were beginning to get all too distracted by the way his muscles rippled under his tan skin every time he swatted violently at himself. It was like watching a kid with peanut butter on his hands in a desperate battle to fling it off. A big ethereal kid… with a tail.

“Excuse me?" He snapped you out of your daze. "What did you call me?” 

You stammered“A-a.. merman..?”

“Is that what you call me? How come you have a name for me but I don’t have one for you..” his voice was so innocent, all of this was seeming more and more like a weird dream. Maybe something your brain cooked up just before drowning.

“Because you’re mythical, and I’m obviously hallucinating.. Or dead.. I’d never think up something as pretty as you on my own.” You really couldn’t help staring at him. Him still desperately trying to get the sand to stop sticking to his wet hands, and failing. He would rinse them off in the water, and then lose balance and catch himself in the sand again. Rinse, and repeat, with only mild frustration. 

“I’m mythical? I didn’t even know the water could get this shallow, but I’m the mythical one?”

“You’re the one with the tail.” 

“Yes, and you have whatever those are.” He pointed to your legs, one hand falling back to the sand as he lost his balance.. again. 

“Legs?”

He squinted.“Le-h-giz?” 

“Yeah.. legs.”

 “Like.. plural? Leg..s?” You hummed and nodded in reply. He went back to pull his hand out of the sand again with a look of defeat, and you just couldn’t watch the struggle anymore. You crawled up towards him on your knees, only taking him off guard a little. But a little was a lot for a guy with a tail who could stay balanced. He reeled back, his tail shifting around and splashing water up behind him as he started to topple over. Wiggling, but so determined to stay up this time.

“Hey, hey I just wanna help, here-” You reached your hands out to him, gesturing for him to place his own in yours. He looked into your eyes searching for something, any signs he should flee, but all he could see in your eyes was a kindness akin to his own.

He placed his right hand in yours first, and then slowly lifted his left to you, but his balance would be his demise. He fell forward, his hand catching between yours but you held him up by digging your knees deeper into the sand. 

“Oh! are you ok?” He hummed at you, but you could hear the twinge of fear in his voice. You checked his hands for any way you could have hurt their webbing from how you caught him. They seemed fine. Or you hoped they were fine, you weren’t really sure what unscathed webbed hands were supposed to look like. 

“Use me for balance, ok?” He only nodded in reply.

“How do you stay up.. without the water?” 

“Considering I just drown.. I’m not really sure how to answer that.. But.. if you let your hands dry off the sand won't stick so bad.” His eyes got so wide, like shinny glass fishbowls.

“Dry!? That sounds awful!”

“Have you ever even been dry?”

“No!?”

“Well.. Shit-” You held tightly to his hands as he shivered in the wind. You hadn't noticed it before, but it was growing increasingly windy.

“Well.. how about I help you dry one hand off, and if you hate it the waters right there.” You gestured behind him, and he hummed in discomfort.

“Will it hurt?”

“It..shouldn’t?” 

“Then..Okay. Why is your sand so sticky anyway...”

“Pretty sure its you that’s sticky..” “Huh?” He looked confused. Like he wasn’t sure if you had just insulted him or not. You just sighed and shook your head in dismissal. 

“Here-” You lifted his left hand to rest on your shoulder for balance, while you lifted his right so you could blow on it. 

“OH!” He exclaimed as soon as you started,  you merely chuckled.

“Did that hurt?” 

“No its just.. it tickles.” He said, his full lips forming a line in his uncertainty as he blinked at you again. You swore you could see the pigments in his eyes shift and change color.

“This is so weird..” You shook your head still in disbelief, continuing to blow on his hand and getting the webbing between his fingers.

“You never told me what it is that you are.”

“I’m just human.”

“Human..” He weighed the unfamiliar word on his tongue. Thinking it over, trying to see if it held any significance to him. It didn’t.

“Never heard of that. Sirens, sure. Humans? It sounds like you should be a lot more colorful than you are.”

You squeaked when you caught his connection.

“Hue! HA I get it.. “ He only squinted, his eyes changing colors again.

“Oh.. you were being serious..” 

You decided to change the subject.

“So.. what do you call what you are?”

“We’re Moonchildren.”

..

 You might have noticed the wind, but what he didn’t know was what the wind and waters do when they battle from up on the surface. Waves. He felt the little ones sliding up against his fins and keeping him warm before they would be pulled back to sea. The water always swayed back and forth, she was always moving. He knew that. But what he didn’t know was just how big those waves could get. But more importantly, how much the shore line would thin out in anticipation. 

 The water drew back behind him before he could even react, leaving him high and dry in the sand without her comfort keeping him feeling secure. He squealed a helpless sound as he toppled forward. To him losing contact with the water was like venturing up to a high ledge and losing balance. And when he fell forward he was only falling farther away, and taking you with him. 

 You tried to catch him. You really did, but he was much bigger than you. He knocked you back into the sand with a bang, his elbow somehow lodging into your diaphragm. 

You coughed, and he shuddered. Panting and shaking with fear, little whines leaving his lips the longer he was out of water. You didn’t mean to push him off so coldly, but you couldn’t breath. He landed on his shoulder and the side of his head with a thud and a yelp. You were too busy gasping for air again to see the look of utter betrayal he was giving you. And he was too busy being scared and offended to have noticed he was now flopping and drying out in the sand with two appendages instead of one. 

“I’m sorry!! I’m so-so-so sorry!!” You shouted as soon as you could, turning to try and help him back up.

“YOU PUSHED ME!” 

“I know, I didn’t mean to..” He grabbed at your shoulders despite his new found distrust, at least you weren’t sticky like the sand he could now feel grinding between his teeth. You pulled him up into a sitting position with what little strength you could muster, and that’s when he finally felt something was off. His tail felt.. funny. Like it was tickled in phantom sensations..and numb. Was that just what being dry felt like? 

He glanced down and screamed.

Neither of you remembered to look for the wave. 

⥼ Author’s note : I have a lot of sweet ideas for this one! so I hope some of you guys are still around ^^” Let me know what you guys think! Interaction would be much appreciated <3

[star-and-the-motherverse]

Chapter 4 - The First Breath

The Butterfly Who Lost Her Wings

Word Count: 2980 | AO3 Mirror | Previous | Next

Summary: One question still remains… what does Star think of all this?

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* ♥ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

“Poor little Butterfly. You've lost your wings.”

Star had been in a lot of bad situations in the past, but this one was a top contender for the worst of it. The Whispering Spell had done its work and tossed her somewhere she didn’t recognize at all, into an ocean of what appeared to be corrupted liquid magic. Her plan—if it could even be called a plan—must have worked in some fashion, because Toffee was here with her, too.

Now that she had finally found him, she quickly began to realize why her wand had become so increasingly dysfunctional. His presence in this dimension was likely the source of the problem. He appeared to have manifested directly from what was left of the magic, taking on the same sickly green color as their surroundings. His sludge-covered figure occupied so much space that even a singular tooth of his was larger than her entire body. He had ahold of Star by her hair, clearly amused by her struggling.

“Let me go!”

He paid her no mind, instead focusing on the tear in space in front of him. It was a window to the real world, and it was so close, just within reach. It was right there. But no matter how much she yelled and screamed, her mother’s unflinching stare never changed. They were worlds apart. Only Toffee had the power to communicate with her now.

“Now then,” he began, grinning a malicious smile. “Your majesty… do we have a deal?”

Horrified, she saw Moon hold out her hand, offering the severed finger. Her mother’s face was wearing a reluctant frown. “Take it.”

“No, mom, stop!” Star shouted, frantically trying to swim towards the opening in the sky. Maybe if she got up there, she could stop her mother somehow. Toffee couldn’t win. No, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “I can take him! Just hold on! Please!” She struggled and struggled, but no matter how hard she fought, she couldn’t seem to make it any further. Her mother placed the finger in his hand, and the deed was done. Magically, it reattached itself to his severed finger, and it looked as if nothing had ever been absent in the first place.

Inside of the wand, Toffee’s beady yellow eyes turned their focus to Star herself. She froze up as overwhelming fear washed over her. Everything about the situation was telling her to run as fast as she could, but she had nowhere to go. He towered over her smugly, content with what he had achieved. He lowered his head towards her, and she frantically tried to move as far away from him as she could.

“How does this make you feel, little Butterfly?” His voice was menacingly low.  “Do you feel scared? Helpless?”

“Y-you won’t get away with this,” she snarled back, doing her best to appear intimidating.

“Get away with what, princess? Tell me, what do you know about my true intentions?”

He was right, in some capacity. At the end of the day, she still hardly knew anything about him or his motives. She couldn’t help but ask herself, what do I have to do with this?

Toffee’s patronizing grin widened as her uncertainty grew. “I do admire your fortitude, Star, but you really should know what you’re getting involved with before you charge in headfirst. There’s nothing brave about making foolish choices in the moment.”

“I’m going to fix the problems that I created,” the princess declared. “You’ve hurt my family enough, I’m not gonna let you do it again!”

“How admirable of you.” Toffee hummed, pausing to think for a moment. “You know… we are not so different, you and I.”

“No! You’re a murderer!” Star hissed. “We aren’t anything like each other, not at all!”

“I only do what I must to help me bring my cause to reality,” he explained plainly, remaining excruciatingly vague. “I don’t believe you’ll understand it just yet, but you will. Oh, you certainly will. This place will make you realize it.”

Star allowed herself to be smug. “I think you should have more faith in me than that. I’m not just gonna flip sides for no reason.”

“But that’s just it, princess. I do have faith in you. I believe that you are capable of much more than you realize. You have the power to change other people.”

W-what? How was she supposed to respond to that? It almost read like a compliment, but she knew that he had to have some sort of ulterior motive behind it. “Y-yeah, well… I’m going to stop you! I don’t care what it takes.”

His booming laughter echoed around them. “Ah, of course. In that case, I look forward to the day we meet again, princess.” Toffee looked up into the darkened sky for a moment, and then back down at Star. He opened his mouth, and a single, two-syllable word left his throat. “Goodbye.”

He started to rise into the sky, oozing further and further away. “No, no NO NO!” Star struggled to keep her balance, but was ultimately thrown off of him and was sent cascading down into an ocean of sickly green magic that swallowed her whole.

Star breached the surface mere seconds later, flailing her arms and turning her head back and forth in a panicked state. Only when she saw that she was alone did her heart stop pounding so violently in her chest. The magic had erupted into waves, crashing back and forth. She struggled against the sludge, but she was unable to stop herself from getting pushed under a couple of times. Frantically, she looked around, hoping to find something off in the distance, something to give her an idea of what to do next.

Without warning, her cheek marks began to glow a soft golden color. “What..?” All around her, small pieces of uncorrupted magic were glowing as well, easy to see in the plane of darkness. But they were fading out of existence fast, succumbing to corruption.

The princess started to panic. She tried to swim over to the nearest blob of light magic, but it disappeared right before she could grab it. “No, wait!!” Every attempt that followed was increasingly futile. Frustrated tears began to pool in her eyes. Her cheek marks kept flickering in and out, making the scattered uncorrupted magic even harder to spot.

A particularly strong wave grabbed ahold of her and shoved her head under the surface. She kicked her legs furiously and bobbed back above the waves, breaking into a fit of coughing. Again, her cheek marks glowed. She didn’t understand why—as far as she could see, there wasn’t any uncorrupted magic on the surface anymore. She’d wasted her one chance.

But far, far below, there was her beacon of hope. A piece of magic shimmered from its home in the depths. Without a second thought, Star gasped for air and dove under the surface, pedaling her way towards it. There was so much distance between it and her, but naïvely, she let herself pretend that there wasn’t any at all. It was just her and this scrap of magic. That was all that mattered anymore. Just a little farther!

And then it was gone.

She could feel herself breaking down. Her energy sapped from her body and her movements slowed. She instinctively breathed in and was only met with the suffocating presence of the corrupted ocean invading her mouth, stealing the air out of her lungs. The fear that had been plaguing the back of her mind took over full force in those last few seconds of consciousness. There was absolutely nothing she could do. Never had she ever felt so hopelessly lost.

✧·ﾟ: *·ﾟ✧

“Star!”

The pitter-pattering of feet across the ground echoed all around her head. A bright white hallway extended infinitely in front of her.

She started giggling hysterically. “Wait up!”

“Come on! You’re gonna miss it!”

“Miss what?”

“You’re never gonna know if you don’t hurry up!”

Her eyes blinked slowly, and when they opened again, there was only darkness in front of her. Was she blindfolded?

“I can’t see, this isn’t fair!”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Mhm...”

“Oh come on, don’t pout like that.”

“Well, I need someone to help me so I don’t accidentally trip and die.”

“That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

“Oh, come on, Tom, she’s right.”

She smirked. It felt good to hear that every once in a while.

“Okay, fine! Fine.” Someone took hold of her left hand. “You just better keep up, then.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Not long after, someone was holding her right hand as well. They all took off into a wild sprint, thundering through the field.

“Come on, Star!”

“Slow down!” She huffed out, exasperated. “Gosh, what’s the big hurry?”

“Star!”

Her name bounced off of the walls and ceiling, assailing from every known direction. She blinked repeatedly and shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts—until finally, some piece of reality snapped back into place.

“Hey, Star!”

Her eyes finally opened to a world of bright clashing colors, swimming around in the sky. There was a distinct voice coming from in front of her.

“Does this, uh, need salt?”

Glossaryck? Why is he here? She wondered about it, but ultimately was in too delusional of a state to come to a reasonable conclusion. Wait—did he have a spoon? Why?

Apparently, her unresponsiveness warranted being poked repeatedly with said spoon. “Hey,” he said alongside each additional jab. “Hey. Hey. Hey. Star.”

It was annoying, she decided. “Oh, knock it off!” She swatted at the spoon in his hand, but completely missed due to her still skewed perception. She managed to sit upright, but not before Glossaryck shoved the spoon into her mouth.

“Less salt? More salt?”

Offended, she spat out the spoon and shoved it back into his hands. No amount of salt was going to save… well, whatever that big, bubbling pot of stuff was supposed to be. “Ugh, what is wrong with you?!” She pushed herself off of the ground and dusted herself off. “What's going on here? Where am I?”

“I have no idea. I doubt this place gets very many visitors. I mean, look at the place! It’s in disrepair, no one even dusts. Some people should never be hosts, I tell you—“

"Oh no,” she managed to gasp out. There were only so many places she could assume this to be, and well, with what had just happened… “I’m dead. I'm totally dead. I died!”

Glossaryck sighed, shaking his head. “Well, if you're dead, then I'm dead. And if you're calling me dead, I find it... well, I find it a little insulting, frankly.”

“Oh, no. I am totally dead.” There were so many confusing factors at play that she hardly could wrap her head around any of it. “And I'm stuck here…with you.” This was not her ideal purgatory by any means…

“Uh-huh. Again. A little insulting.”

Why do I have to be stuck here with him, of all people?! “You betrayed me!”

“I'm sorry it seemed that way,” Glossaryck murmured, returning to the side of the soup pot. “Can we get beyond this and just enjoy our time here together in... wherever we are?”

“Do you really think I'm gonna stay here with you and eat your dumb magic soup? Toffee is out there doing who knows what!”

“Star, what’s out there doesn’t really matter to you right now, does it?”

“But it’s still my problem! I chose to go into the wand, I wanted to deal with him myself! Okay, yeah, maybe my mom tried to stop me, but it’s too late to change anything. I’m here now.”

“Well, why didn’t you listen to your mother, then?”

“What are you—ugh, you’re just like everyone else!” Star snapped, turning away from him and crossing her arms indignantly. It seemed like she could never escape this spiel, but she certainly did not need to hear it right now, and from Glossaryck, no less.

“And everyone else is… who, exactly?”

“The ‘everyone’ who thinks that I’m incapable of doing anything for myself!” She put on a petulant, imitating tone as she continued to fume, mimicking the many people her anger had stemmed from. “‘Uh oh, would’ja look at that! Star’s gone and messed everything up again! You were supposed to be watching her! You were supposed to be keeping her under control!’”

“A straw man often enough does nothing to support your argument, Star,” Glossaryck said rather simply, not so much as flinching at her enraged display.

She ignored him. As far as she was concerned, she was just venting at an emotionless brick wall—a mirror, even. Something that was only there to bounce back all the terrible things she believed people thought of her. “I know I’m careless, reckless! I’m a joke! But is it really that hard to understand what I tried to do? I’m so sick of being monitored like a child! For once, I just wanted to clean up my own mess. I did this—“ she gestured to the pocket of space around them—“and I brought Toffee into the wand. I... I just wanted to end everything. I just…”

Her knees suddenly felt very, very weak. Silently, she cursed herself for not being able to stay angry. But she never was very good at that, was she? No, if there ever was a moment where she felt overwhelmed, she’d fall to her knees, cry, and wait for someone to come rescue her, to make all the bad things go away. Then she could pretend to be prepared for the next time, until another obstacle came along and knocked her fragile self down again.

At this point, she was only arguing with herself. “I am a child,” she mumbled under her breath. “Just an impulsive, destructive little child.” I really messed up this time, didn’t I? “I-I just wanted to prove that I can do this,” she cried out, tears already pooling in her eyes. Her hands came up to cover her face. “I thought that I could fix everything, but… I just made everything so much worse.”

“Star,” Glossaryck spoke up, his voice surprisingly sympathetic. “You tried. That’s all we can really do, isn’t it?”

“I tried,” she repeated. “But I messed up. Really, really bad. I-I don’t know what to do…”

“Sometimes, you don’t know anything. There’s quite a lot that I don’t know, even.” He hovered down to the ground to be at eye level with the young princess. “But you can’t let it scare you. If you’re scared, you’ll never start trying to learn why.”

She was shuddering now, crying. “I’m scared,” she whimpered. “I’m really, really scared, Glossaryck.”

“Of what?”

“I-I don’t know! I don’t know anymore.”

“Well, then, how about this? How about you try to figure out what you’re not scared of, and go from there?”

“But I don’t know-“

“Oh, come on, now, you can’t be afraid of everything.”

“Maybe I am!” was her childish retort, before she curled further in on herself.

“You aren’t going to get anywhere if you just sit here, on the floor. Do you really just want to hide behind my soup pot and not come out until you know everything is going to turn out okay?”

She sniffled. “W-well, no… I don’t want anything to do with your dumb soup.”

“There you go. You aren’t afraid of soup. That’s one thing off the list.”

The absurdity of that statement managed to get a solemn giggle out of her. “Yeah, sure.”

“Oh, and the floor. Obviously, you aren’t afraid of the floor.”

“Glossaryck, this is silly.”

“Well, evidently it’s working. There are a lot of things you aren’t afraid of. You just don’t realize it.”

“Duh,” she laughed, wiping at the tear streaks on her face with the palm of her hand. “I’m not afraid of you, or the air, or—“ she gestured at the pot—“or whatever weird ingredients are in that soup.”

“If that’s so easy, then why don’t you know what you’re afraid of?”

For a moment, she thought about it. “I guess… I’m really afraid of dying. And being stuck here, forever. Being alone... and not knowing what’s out there.” The blip in space seemed to extend infinitely in every direction she looked.

“Good, good.” He nodded his approval, and a sincere smile appeared on his face—something that happened very scarcely. “That’s a good start."

“Okay, are you done interrogating me now?”

“I mean, you aren’t done yet. You still need to think about if you’re willing to act on one of those things.”

Her eyes fell on the horizon yet again as she thought about it.

“Just what are you going to do, Star Butterfly?”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Glossaryck interlace his fingers. He was very clearly waiting for an answer of some kind. What exactly, she wasn’t all that sure.

“Well, I... I guess I’m gonna go see what else is here. Wherever here really is. Maybe...” she stood up quickly, looking out into the unknown. An ocean of colors swam and bled into an indistinguishable horizon, reaching out forever into the distance. “Maybe there’s something in another part of the wand that can help us get out of here. Well… assuming that we are in the wand, and not in some weird type of after-death purgatory.” She subconsciously crossed her fingers. I really hope it’s the first one…

As she left, Glossaryck watched silently. Not a single emotion crossed his face. Only when she had disappeared did he shake his head, carrying a quiet chuckle under his breath.

“It’s for her greater good,” he said. He returned to and stared down into the soup pot intently. An ambivalent smile formed on his face. “For her greater good.”