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

[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.

[astraebled]

#TG DMP. 1   |  * ⋆

✦  ʃ   — out of stars ;  ◜ooc.◞ * ⋆ ✦  ʃ   — counting stars ;  ◜ic.◞ * ⋆ ✦  ʃ   — out of stars ( the voice inside his mind ) ;  ◜mun.◞ * ⋆

✦  ʃ   — galaxies in your bones and star‒filled scars / rise‚ for you are a constellation in the making ;  ◜jellal.◞ * ⋆ ✦  ʃ   — not alive ( not dead either ) / just a ghost with a beating heart ;  ◜study.◞ * ⋆ ✦  ʃ   — and i couldn’t stand the person inside me ( i turned all the mirrors around ) ;  ◜isms.◞ * ⋆ ✦  ʃ   — moon dust in your lungs﹐stars in your eyes && a war within your mind ;  ◜aes.◞ * ⋆ ✦  ʃ   — the ghosts of the past speak to all who listen ;  ◜hc.◞ * ⋆ ✦  ʃ   — i’ll tell you my sins ( so you can sharpen your knife ) ;  ◜melodies.◞ * ⋆ ✦  ʃ   — a lost soul’s screams inked on paper ;  ◜writing.◞ * ⋆

✦  ʃ   — show those haters how it’s done by hating yourself most ;  ◜crack.◞ * ⋆ ✦  ʃ   — WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE ;  ◜promo.◞ * ⋆ ✦  ʃ   — WANTED: JELLAL FERNANDES / DEAD OR ALIVE ;  ◜self‒promo.◞ * ⋆

✦  ʃ   — letter from the council ;  ◜psa.◞ * ⋆ ✦  ʃ   — the council’s archives ;  ◜keepsake.◞ * ⋆

✦  ʃ   — ad astra per aspera ;  ◜q.◞ * ⋆

[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」  

[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

[confused-as-all-hell]

Nina Zenik's trade was love.

Her lips were the colour of teenage breakups, her eyelids dusted dreamy gold. Her kisses tasted like melting chocolate, and the touch of her bare hands was wildfire, burning, destruction. Within a cage of ribbon and bone, her heart wept for quiet.

Her smile could have set the world aflame.

Nina had ridden desire until her body gave out, had slept with infatuation in her bed, had risen to the prying hands of lust. She had never known gentle touches or warm butterfly lips; men and women both saw her body, saw an opportunity, a conquest.

She loved, my god, she loved.

But nobody had ever loved her.

Some tried; they took her to quaint little cafes and pretty sparkling monuments, but her laugh was too bright, her grin too wide, she was too much to be managed.

Her friends did their best to cheer her, and their kindness was often her lifeline, but Inej’s comforting hand never struck out, and Kaz’s vicious mind never bent towards anything but his studies, and Jesper was too busy with his boyfriend for more than a friendly hello.

Nina had never expected them to wage her wars, but some little, nagging part of her mind longed to be fought for.

So when she met Matthias Helvar, she hated him.

He was gentle, kind, waited on her opinion, halted before kissing her fingertips. His warmth, she thought with breathtaking terror, was just a ruse.

No person on the entire fucking Earth could romantically love her.

She knew that her giggles were just too raucous, and her body too curved, and her wit could have cleaved the moon. She knew she was too much, and she knew she wasn't enough.

When she was studying, when she was jesting, when she was laying on top of Matthias' broad frame, the vines crept in.

When she heard him sneer at a young woman, when she heard him degrade her, their, rights, those tangling vines nearly fucking strangled her.

For the first time in her life, Nina fell silent. The stars spun before her eyes. The ocean was in her ears. The hatred and bewilderment clouded her lungs.

When she mentioned it to Kaz, he only frowned. "Helvar isn't known for his humanity," he said fairly.

Nina didn’t shake. She didn’t sob. She didn’t bury her face in her hands and weep.

She was still Nina Zenik, and she would not lose her heart over a hateful boy.

She only turned to Kaz, seated at her desk, and Inej, cross-legged on the bed, and Jesper, sprawled on the floor.

And Nina did what she had forsworn eight years ago.

She begged.

They were good to her, her friends.

They worked quietly and quickly, abandoning their piles of homework to soothe her furious heart, ditching their responsibilities for her anger.

It was their love she clung to when red flashed before her eyes.

Yes, she cared for Matthias, more than she ever wanted to admit.

But she was proud to be a female, and prouder still to be a feminist. She refused to dissolve her values for a few hours of sex.

They worked through the dregs of night, and when the first wisps of sunlight spun around the stars, Nina at last sat back.

Later that day, Matthias Helvar was expelled.

She had been staring at his back during one of their lectures, silent silent silent, as Inej squeezed her hand tight.

When the announcement came, all she felt was a bitter surge of terror.

The look on his face, the misery and humiliation and awful bewilderment, it would fucking haunt Nina forever.

He turned to her, eyes full of hope. "I was with you that day," he said softly. "You know I didn't."

Matthias, bold and kind and gentle, the god of burnished gold, a saviour like none she had ever known. His kisses tasted of salvation, his laugh sounded of redemption.

And fuck if the pain on his face didn't break her damn heart.

I'm wrong I'm wrong I'm wrong.

For just a second, Nina wondered if she had acted too harshly. But the image of the girl, sobbing into into her hands, screaming she was worthless and awful and didn’t deserve to be called human….

“I am so sorry, Matthias,” Nina said softly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Months later, Nina still dreamt about the hopeless look in his eyes, the way he would pick her up and kiss her neck, how his kindness was her tether.

Did she love him?

Yes.

She loved him, simply, bitterly, indomitably.

It felt like dying.

It felt like waking up in the middle of the night, heart hammering, and trying to shift the veil of sleep from your gaze because something's wrong, something's out of place, and fuck if it isn't a boy with pretty blue eyes.

It felt like searching for your oblivion in someone else's body, and their hands are too wide, and their breath too rough, and the fury that lights your bones aflame is too fucking much.

Nina was no stranger to heartbreak. Many, many boys had shattered her courage, her wit, her pride; she had built it up again, a fortress of red silk and crimson anger.

But to break someone else's heart, to dream of a guileless laugh like rumbling thunder, to think of his coffee order whenever Inej asked her what she wanted for breakfast, it was nearly too much to bear.

She tried to heal herself.

She tried changing her perfume and restyling her hair, tried shedding the skin of a rash, reckless woman, and dressed in the suitable tones of a graceful lady.

But a quiet life did not suit Nina Zenik.

The roar in her head could have broken queens. The hum of adventure in her veins moaned for one more taste. The tide of kindly words and gentle smiles were unfamiliar in her mouth.

Her friends always did their best to extend a hand, and it was due to Kaz's ability to hack the school website that her grades remained polished. It was thanks to Inej's quiet that Nina could breathe for just a bare second. It was put down to Jesper's raucous laugh that she clung to life.

How stupid, she told herself, to cry over a boy.

But she knew there was no shame in crying over a boy. It was natural to mourn a relationship, a missed opportunity, and it didn't make her less.

What she really meant was: How stupid, to cry over an awful person.

Was Matthias awful?

That remark, that stupidly bitter remark, was terrible, yes. But she in her indomitable fury had reacted so harshly.

Worse men than twenty-three-year-old Matthias Helvar had learned better. Couldn't he?

For a second, hope lifted her heart on the wind.

The very next morning, she hurried out to the center where Matthias was doing his penance, and she begged to speak with him.

When he stalked out, tall and breathtakingly handsome, aurete hair brushed back and glacier eyes gentle... fuck if she didn't lose her damned mind.

"Nina," he whispered, so softly, as if her name was his salvation.  As if they were back in the safety of her bedroom, bare among the silk sheets, limbs intertwined as he gasped for her to keep going, not to stop.

"Hello," she said shakily.

"Nina, my love," he said again, his words heavy with sorrow. “My sweet garden flower.”

Her joy rose like a crashing wave, and for just one second, it felt like she might conquer the entire fucking world.

"Matthias," she said, her voice strangely airless.

He rushed towards her, fingers reaching, and she dared to close her eyes. His calloused palms brushed against her bare throat.

"My darling," he murmured into the hollow of her ear. "Oh, Nina, why would you come here tonight?"

"Am I unwelcome?"

He laughed, but it was injected with something akin to misery. "You were always welcome, Nina. I never turned you away from my door. My bed was yours. My hands, yours. The key to my dorms hung around this pretty neck. When have I ever denied you houseroom?"

"I thought you might hate me," she admitted, still trembling. The idea seemed ridiculous now.

"Hate you?" Matthias echoed, thumb grazing her pulse point, pressing down gently. "My fucking god, Nina, I have detested you since the very moment you said my name in that damned lecture hall."

Her heart stuttered.

"Every aspect of your pretty fucking face," he whispered, still soft as if he was kneeling for his confessional, "reviles me. Your laugh, your grin, those little melodies even the birds cannot mirror. The way you write your birthday cards. The way you sat by while I was convicted for a crime I did not commit."

He kissed the corner of her mouth, light as a butterfly's wings. "Oh, my darling, but you knew. Was I so terrible to you? Did I not sing you to sleep and hold your hand and bring your spring blossoms?"

She tried to croak his name, but he ghosted a finger across her lips.

"I loved you, Nina Zenik," he said. "I love you still. But send me to fucking hell if I wouldn't drive a blade through your heart." He pressed his mouth to her own again, so delicate, so careful. "I thought you cared for me."

But Nina was beyond responses. She was dashed on the rocks, laying on the stretcher, amid the ashes of her ancestors.

"No?" said Matthias gently. "Very well, my sweet love. Go to your grave in my arms, as I went to heaven in yours."

His fingers brushed her lips, grazed the swell of her breasts, closed around her throat.

When Nina woke the next morning, it was to her own unmade bed. Her neck was so swollen, peppered in bruises and markings in the shape of broad fingertips. She could barely speak.

She didn't know if she would have, even if given the choice.

The words within her, the lovely ebb and flow of their comfort, had washed away with the tide at last.

Within a few days, the markings on her skin had nearly been scrubbed away, and the gasping pressure of her larynx had eased up enough for her to cry.

She felt like an untethered ship, bound for no shore, alone on the ocean with no hope of salvation. No matter how loud her desperate screams, there was no lighthouse beacon shining through the storm, no gentle arms to welcome her home.

Her tears fell like raindrops, pattering into her morning tea and onto the silk of her pillows, rolling down her face and staining her clothes with salt.

Inej tried to soothe the grief, and her grace was often enough to hold the hurricane at bay. She slept in Nina's bed, hands outstretched as if beseeching forgotten gods, the set of her delicate face troubled.

Kaz worked hard to keep her grades high, and he seemed to take her desk as his own, working there until the latest hours of night whenever Inej ran late. He was always there, irate and dry perhaps, but there.

Jesper, newly engaged to bright-as-the-stars Wylan Van Eck, could be counted on for mindless chatter and familiar jests.

It helped, of course it did.

But nothing filled the hole in her armor, the pride Matthias had so aptly destroyed.

Some people had thought of Nina's rage as a monster, a beast slithering through the night, a serpent prone to striking first and thinking later.

But she had loved that fury, loved her pride. It gifted her a defense against sneers and remarks and hatred. It had given a little girl with happy eyes a purpose, eighteen years ago.

Nina blazed like fire, lovely and breathtaking, but so many forgot that her flames were not just pretty. They were scalding, awful, burning hot to the touch.

And she had been fucking stupid enough to think Matthias could withstand the inferno.

And she had been fucking stupid enough to think Matthias could withstand the inferno.

It was ten months before she saw him again.

Nina was leaning over the counter at a little cafe, doing her best to remember her friends' orders, touching her fingers one by one.

A laugh, like the demanding rumble of a hurricane, crested over the cafe.

Her heart fucking stopped.

Matthias was seated at a rickety table, arms tucked behind his head. He was grinning at a boy seated across from him, one of the number who had snickered at his remark over that weeping girl, all that time ago.

He glanced to the side, laughter on his soft rosy lips, and caught glimpse of her.

It was too late to smooth her straight dark hair, or wish she had worn a ball gown instead of ripped jeans and one of Jesper's T-shirts.

It was far too late to do anything but stroll up to his table and lean across the wood.

"Aerts," she said with a click of her tongue, indicating the other boy. "Darling, and I thought your sad little gang provided good company?"

"No complaints," Aerts said with a roguish smile. "You look pretty enough to whine in my ear, though, Zenik. You fancy a tumble?"

There was a shuffle, and a loud thud, as if Matthias had swung his foot into Aerts' shin.

"Fuck off," Matthias said jerkily to her.

"I'd much rather get off," Nina said dispassionately.

His ears turned red. "You've grown more petulant than ever."

"You didn't mind my whining," she said airily.

A hand flashed in the air; Kaz, waving her over impatiently.

Nina waved to signal her understanding before turning back to the boys. "How about it, Helvar? For the sake of nostalgia. I'm going home with somebody tonight, might as well be you."

Aerts didn't seem offended she'd turned him down. On the contrary, he grinned shiftily at his friend. "Go on. It'll be fun."

They barely made it to an alleyway before Matthias was kissing her.

The sex was quick and rough and furious, bruised lips and roaming hands, gasping moans and clever fingers. It was Nina with her head thrown back against the wall, eyes fluttering like the wings of a dove. It was Matthias bent down over her, whispering I hate you I hate you I hate you as though the words were his litany.

When he knelt before her, the sun was in his skin, his hair, the brush of his tongue.

And suddenly they were in their first year again, learning to love and lose and grieve and gift.

He bought earrings shaped like little stars for her because he had seen the way her eyes lit up.

She left a bouquet of white lilies on his bed because he had once mentioned they were his favourite.

He kissed the curves of her body because he had seen the disgust which others regarded them with.

She let him cry on her shoulder the anniversary of his sister's death because it hurt it hurt it hurt.

But just like in their first year, they parted.

He would always be the boy with some semblance of poison in his heart.

She would always be the girl who was simply too much for anyone to love.

And if they met, again and again, in thrift shops and opulent restaurants and beaches and nightclubs, they could pretend it away. They could smile, wave, sleep at night with the memory of a sweet laugh ringing in their ears.

Maybe one day, another day, a kinder day, they met again.

Maybe this time, Nina would ask him to heal the hatred in his blood.

Maybe this time, Matthias would tell her why he had hurt that girl.

Maybe they would love each other anew, a spring blossom eager to flower again, an old oak tree strong enough to outwait the storm.

But for now, the blossom will wither and die every winter, and the tree will go gently to the hurricane.

For now, it is Matthias, the king of ice, Nina, the queen of fire.

For now, love is simply not enough.

[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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*

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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.

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

“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

[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.

[literameera]

White Sails

2433 words

The oceans going to swallow him whole some day and only then could he die happy.

Caspian already gave his soul to the sea, his first great love. Initially I was excited for him and how he got to live out his dreams. He’d write to me about his exploits, I’d gasp and laugh when appropriate, as if he can see, and finally when the stories ended, I’d write to say that I’ve been living the same way: wake up, work, eat, sleep and mostly anticipate. He’d tease that I live like a widow refusing to believe her husband's dead, wasting away staring out the window, hoping for him to someday return to her. Like the ship of Theseus every time he left a part of him had been replaced, how long has he been a man I couldn't recognise, a ghost wearing my lover’s skin.

Only the wooden planks stepped on by Theseus himself belong to the original ship, the rest are imposters high off the glory of His name. Your skin cells regenerate every twenty-seven days – and it’s been longer than that since my hands held his, the wind already swept all memories of my words from his mind. He can only belong to one and she’s infinitely larger than me. To him, her cold embrace feels like coming home. It’s selfish – I’d remind myself – selfish to want to steal what makes him happy all because I feel lonely, he’s loved the ocean long before he’s loved me, and he will long after. I can only hope she’s kind when she does finally take him. I’ve heard that saltwater burns your lungs and that a body only sinks for a moment and as it fills with water it floats to the top, I don’t want them to find his body, he wouldn’t want them to either. I hope his clothes weigh him down and 80% becomes all of him, that he sinks to Atlantis and the sun never feels him again, we don’t deserve it.

But then he comes home, the wind in his hair, salt clinging to his skin and horribly chapped lips, he kisses me hello and I get a taste of what he feels. He tells me he’s missed the warm water from the shower while I wash his locks, that his land legs haven’t grown back yet so can I hold on just a little tighter ‘to make sure I don’t fall of course’. I tell him our neighbours' gossip and he laugh and gasps when appropriate and says that he’s missed the shop at the end of the street, in the morning he’ll grab groceries and those chocolates he’s loved since he was a kid, and some things never change. When it’s quiet and we lull we watch the sun set, sitting on a linoleum countertop in the kitchen, he glows orange in its light and tells me he’s missed me.

When a whale dies its body sinks to the benthic zone, there where there’s no sun, no blood, no heat, no me, or him the oceans creatures eat on its flesh, their entire life's sustenance reliant on an animal they’ve never seen alive and blobfish get their namesake feature from the rapid shift in pressure, they essentially burst while being pulled up by fishermen. The universe is kept spinning by forces we don’t know and can’t name and one day the sun could burst, and we wouldn’t know until 8 minutes later when its light should touch us and won’t. But it did that day, the light travelled through a solar system to shine on him, and shine on me, and that’s how we met. It was fate. Eight years later it’s still fate when Caspian wakes up beside me, his skin a warm brown, like the terracotta pots he brings back to accommodate my ever-growing garden, and his tousled hair a sun-bleached orange, the roots betray their natural umber colour (the same as the eyes he was currently hiding behind tired palms), men like him are born out of stardust, and they can’t help but to replicate its heat. He’s looking at me now, his warm hands place a stray strand of my own umber hair behind my ear and pauses on my cheek, my bronze skin a slight contrast to his, brown eyes reflecting brown.

‘Let’s go over the plan, alright Leya?’ He breaks the silence, ‘we’ll lock up, give the keys to Theo and Honora, they promised to water our plants and dust the place while we’re gone, we pick up your jumper from the market –Eilidh promised it’ll be done by then- and then it’s me, you and wherever you can land your finger on a map.’

‘Yeah, I can’t wait. Me, you and The Caspian’ the smile I give him falters and my bottom lip trembles. He frowns.

It was my idea to come with him, I was tired of being alone and he was tired of forgetting synonyms of vast for his letters home, I knew he exhausted all the ways to say I love you when he started to transcript theology to me:

‘They believe that next to Christ, that’s what they call him, there was a man that lived in sin, two in fact but only one of them matters. They don’t know anything about this man, not even his name, except for his last words. And they were that of forgiveness and salvation. A man whose entire history is left out of the book that chronicles it. We know nothing of his home, his family, his life, not even his crimes, but we know that he loved and was loved in return. I don’t believe a lick of it but by God these people are good storytellers.’

I did want to go. Maybe the second I see the flickering reflected crescent moon on the ocean waves I’d decide I never wanted to leave, that the past 25 years of living and four years waiting can all be justified by that one experience. But I also couldn’t just leave. He was the one with adventures and loose ties and sea salt, and I’m the one that waits. The diligent partner with a cup of tea and open arms for him, who were we if not that? Who am I without anticipation and loneliness? For years, my life was contingent on feeling and watching a ticking clock, and now I just get to be free? It doesn’t sound real. It doesn’t sound fair on the woman I used to be, the one still waiting. He knows how I feel, he must, from the furrow of an eyebrow I know he’s got me pegged.

‘Remember the night before I left- the first time that is- and I kept going over lists, obligations and checking everything twice, I even meal prepped your food for months in advance. And you told me everything will still be here when I get back...’ He pauses to hold my face in both hands, brown eyes locked on brown eyes to make sure I was listening, ‘everything will still be here when we get back. If you don’t want to go that’s fine, we won’t, I’ll spend the next six months right here with you, and every day after that if you want me to. I’m tired of you being alone. But if you do want to go... We lock up, see the world and come back, it’s that easy.’ With that he kisses my temple -the most delicate part of the head – and climbs out of bed.

Honora and Theo promised to give all the leftover perishable foods to the family around the corner, they have seven kids and not enough to feed them all. They also ensured once a week every plant will be watered, all letters brought in, and the surfaces periodically dusted. The jumper Eilidh had made was beautiful, she told us wool is preferable when wet because it resists water and keeps you warm. She made it green, in case I miss the trees, and Caspian paid her double. I had hoped the air would be electric, brimming with something, as if it knew I’m leaving this time too. Everything was the same, same as it's always been and same as it always will. And I won’t be, I’ll go out there, replace my ships planks and come back me, but not wholly or maybe as more, and if Caspian’s with me the whole time who would notice the change, all of my red strings connect back to his.

It was half a day's journey to the port, and I felt it all. At some point my head was pulled to rest on his shoulder and every time the sun shone particularly bright he held a hand over my eyes to shield them. When we were close to enough to the sea to smell it, the briny tang light in the air, he came into himself, as if he swallowed sunlight, and grinned.

I hate this. Caspian told me I will at first, I haven’t got the familial love he has. A runaway father that was only 19 when he met his future wife at the port. The family was forcibly moved to a landlocked town when opportunities dimmed and Caspian's childhood was spending every holiday possible making the hours long treks to the beach, with just enough time to wiggle his toes in the sand and swallow lungsful of water when learning to swim, and when he was older it was learning how to sail with his father. Finally, it’d get too cold to continue so his mother would swaddle him in towels and place him on her lap, until he eventually grew too big for her, together they’d watch the sun set. He told me once that it was like the water was just a mirror and everything radiated pink and orange and golden hues until finally... darkness, and there was twice as many stars as usual. Then they’d go home and count down till the next summer. His love was intergenerational, it’ll grow on you, trust me. But it won’t, I hate this. I feel sick & disoriented, it’s too loud and quiet at the same time. Like when people move from a bustling city, heavy in smog and movement, to a quaint village, and there they find the crickets and pollen too much to bear. There was none of the sounds I was accustomed to and all too many of ones I wasn’t. I can’t even swim.

How did we plan for weeks and not think that I would need to know how to swim?

Caspian had finished prepping the sails and letting us go in the wind's direction, promising he’ll take us as far East as he can find – and then carry on. He had tried to explain all the terms to me, but words like ‘jib’ and ‘hull’ and ‘tiller’ easily slipped out of my mind like water. Instead, I stood by the helm and just watched him work, focusing on the beads of sweat running down his forehead and pushing supper down as far deep as it goes, as to not ruin this for him. When he had finished, he gave me the tour, showing me the saloon, where to cook, where to rest, where to pray, how to store in such a small space and when I was overwhelmingly exhausted from the information swimming in my head, he grabbed some pillows and blankets and led me back to the cockpit. There he prepped everything like it was our bed at home and laid down, gently pulling me down with him, our knees were bent awkwardly, and we were closer together than usual. That’s when I understood When I was younger my mother would bring me to visit her friends and after the initial gasps and hugs and ‘my how you’ve grown!’ they would largely ignore me to talk to each other. One of her friends, Mariam, had a baby boy that would sleep in a wooden bassinet pushed to the wall closest to where I was sitting, when he did stir, they’d finally address me again and tell me to rock him slightly, let him be lulled back to rest. Here, we were lightly rocked side to side by Poseidon himself and entire galaxies shining down on us, like a sleeping baby in a bassinet. I didn’t know there could be so many stars and still such a vast darkness. Caspian told me about the constellations he knows and the ones he’s made up, his own mythologies mapped out above us. And when I was too tired to listen, eyes drooping and his words bleeding into each other he tenderly held my elbow to help me up, shifting so I could rest my weight on him, and walked me to the bed, trying as best he could to push my dead weight into the cramped space. Leaving only for a moment to bring the pillows back in, before climbing into bed besides me.

The next morning, we stopped on still waters, and he taught me how to swim. In the afternoons, after I showed him my grandmothers' recipes for the cold, he tried to teach me more sailing terms and by the evening I’d read to him under the dimming light, I’d have to stop after a moment, too nauseous to read the words. It was a routine we near perfected in a month. I could tell he was happy; he was drowning in it. Shockingly, I was too, a saloon that smelled like garlic and spice, secured down potted herbs, dry storage spaces filled to the brim with my books, and his slow breaths when I should be asleep, was enough. On days the wind was too bad to pause he’d make me use the knots he taught me and shout what I need to do if we tip over, the exhilaration was more than anything I’d ever known.

Resources would run low, and he’d dock in the port of a country I'd never heard of, a culture unfamiliar and language unknown. With limited communication and lots of points & smiles we’d buy what we need and when our food was restocked, I’d ask to stay a few days more. We’d integrate ourselves in the local community and learn how to say ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’ and plan to return in the holiday season. We’d make pocket communities across the world and relish in hot water and write letters to the people back home.

[noocturnalchild]

Of Thieves and Poets

Paterson X original female character 

warning: bad language, mention of abuse, mention of death, light depiction of violence. 

Summary: The night falls on Paterson City, A mourning bus-driver-poet saves a thief from her victim’s clutches, Will that simple gesture of kindness change the course of both their lives?

All the passages in italic are from a William Carlos williams poem : These. 

Chapter 1 

*

The bus exhaled a death rattle. The stars twinkled far above the cloudy night sky, unperturbed in their eternity. His eyes scratched the deep purple of the firmament and his tired lungs liberated a shaky sigh.

The year plunges into night and the heart plunges lower than night.

It still happened; the face floating before his eyes, in the crowded streets, the hem of her dress in the wind, the tinkle of her laugh, the sparkle in her brown, warm irises. All six feet under.  

It still happened when he set the table for two, when he dusted her nightstand, hung her dresses in her wardrobe, ironed and still smelling faintly like her, cupcakes and paint.

Paterson’s hands squeezed the wheel.

 “Stupid bitch!”

A slap.

A strident scream.

 All six feet under.

 It had been a while since Paterson had applied the brakes with such force. With panicked eyes he followed the scene unraveling through his rear-view mirror. What seemed like a serious dispute broke out in the rear of his bus; a dozen of passengers circling someone, beating someone up, insulting someone Paterson couldn’t see but only hear.

Sky piercing mewls of an abused animal.

Six feet under. Paterson’s eyes hurt. Paterson wanted to go home.

“Stop the bus! Are you deaf? Stop the fucking bus now!”

His hands stiffened around the wheel, it was slick with his cold sweat. He stood up and the noises ceased. Long strides, clean shoes, stopped right above where her head rested.

She was clutching to the Rolex for dear life. Fragile little fingers shaking, blood on her knuckles and on her nails and on the bus floor.

“Dirty little thief!” The man shouted, eyeing Paterson with disdain and pride “about to dash off the next station.” “Right in the-”

“You broke her wrist.” Paterson cut off the bragging man, kneeling already at the side of the little sack of bones, wailing in pain.

“She stole my Rolex, sir, what was I supposed to do!? Thank her maybe?!” The man fumed, high pitched voice from hell.

The crowd hummed in agreement, Paterson closed his eyes.

“Please, I think it’s best if everyone regains their seats now. I… I have this in hand” Paterson gently slid the Rolex from a cold trembling grip as the other passengers dispersed. Noses returned to phones, fingers furiously tapping the screens, eager to tell, to collect. Pity and compassion for sale.

“Here sir, your watch” He didn’t spare a glance to the man who appeared to still have many things to say.  

Paterson stared at her bloody hand. The little thing sobbed quietly, curled on herself, head inside her arm, broken wrist on display. A damaged, cheap porcelain doll.

Dirt and stains on her pale blue jeans, holes and scratches on her thin white crop top, ribs like knives,  hair like a sad abandoned willow nest. No, a chiffon doll, crumbling under old garbage in a basement, where no child would ever find her again, alone to rot and disintegrate. Paterson’s eyes hurt.

“It’s not over, scumbag, I’m pressing charges. Next station, she’s going with me.” The man puffed his chest, over checking his Rolex, disgusted and haughty.

“She is not going anywhere” Paterson stood, mimicking the man attempt at “Mr Menace”. But Paterson was a natural; the man quickly understood that, retreated in his fake fur mantle. You’ve either got big mouths or big balls.

“Sir, you have your watch, she has a broken wrist. I think you are more than even”. Paterson didn’t even has to rise his voice.

The man chewed insults but, like the others, regained his seat at last. The bus driver poet, knew always how to keep discipline in his wheeled kingdom, a natural gift he was barely aware of.

Now silence was only cut by quiet sobs, muffled hip hop notes, neon lights whirring, and Paterson’s gentle rustling as he tried to gather the little woman. One big hesitant hand on her back, the woman shuddered, recoiled, and her injured hand jolted, another sob of agony.

“I’m not gonna hurt you”  

The poet’s eyes softened. She sensed kindness, maybe, because now her head straightened up, and Paterson looked at himself. Eyes so watery he could see his reflection, dark golden beryl, just like his. Bleeding little nose and chapped plump lips, little high cheekbones and a greasy dark fringe swallowing a sweaty forehead, and for a moment, Paterson wondered if he looked just like her, if people could see how he truly looked like, if people could see the tears of his soul and the bleeding of his heart. If they could see all the bruises and the wounds and the decay. If when they closed their eyes, they could see her name on the grave stone, like he did.

“…It’s all good, just try not to move your wrist… there, let me just help you a little” Paterson muttered as he gathered her like she was nothing. Not even the weight of one of his blue tip matches… It was a bit of a surprise, the complete absence of resistance, she was yielding, completely defeated. Empty stomach and empty pockets. He sat her far from the others, far in the back. Not a sound emitted from her. The bus emptied little by little, he took off his jacket, covered her. She looked like she could fit all her puny self inside the warm wool of it. From time to time he stole a glance at the dark shape through his rear-view mirror.

Finally, the last passenger got off the bus, and finally she spoke.

“No hospital, don’t take me to the hospital” Her words came scattered, little voice uneven, like her hair, he noticed now. It was short, wrongly cut, as if someone had taken a handful of it and started slicing, with a knife, with anger, and a desire to do harm.

The bus was quietly parked in its nest of steel and red bricks, and Paterson could attend to her, at last.

“Your wrist is broken” He stoically stated, hands in pockets, considering his options in the back of his mind.  

“I said no hospital, you dweeb” Her eyes sparkled with defiance. It was a strange way to thank someone, to say the least, but Paterson didn’t flinch.

White plastic bags rode with the wind, like mad ghosts. The crime rate rocketed in town, Paterson had before his eyes one of the little thugs that populated the underground, the run-down warehouses and the bridges flanks.

“I’ll ignore that. It’s the hospital or the precinct” He sounded sorry.

Paterson had bad bags under his eyes, fruit of many sleepless nights. After her passing, he refused to spend the night, alone in the blue bed. He changed his shifts to night hours. Sleeping the few hours before dawn on his sofa, their room a shrine to her memory.

“Fuck you”

“It’s the hospital then”

*

The ER wasn’t flooded that night. Paterson sat quietly, in the waiting room orange plastic chair, while a diligent doctor wrapped her wrist in a cast, scribbled antibiotics and painkillers, asked the routine questions, did the routine job.

Laura would be proud of him. Laura was smiling, sat beside him in her polka dotted dress, she was taking his cold hand in hers, her warm brown irises thanking him silently. Laura.

Now Paterson was standing behind the pharmacist counter, prescription in hand and she was the one sitting, quiet, wrist against her heart.

Mina. 24.

Just that. Cold black on white.

He forced himself not to imagine her lonely two syllable name carved on a gravestone.

 “Where do you live?”

The warehouses, the subways, the streets, the basements, the bridges flanks. The rat holes.

The silence became awkward once out on the wet tiles of the sidewalk. Paterson switching his weight from one long leg to the other, still holding the bag of medicines, Mina looking at the orange flickering of signalization lights, his vest still on her shoulders. She looked like a kid from a dystopian   future, from the 80’s science fiction novels he used to read.

“None of your business” She extended her valid hand, waiting, impatience in her big amber eyes.

“You need to eat, and a bath, and the doctor said—”

“I know twat! You’re not my dad, gimme the fucking bag and fuck off!”

Her chin was wobbling. Paterson spun on his feet and walked away. Stoic and tall. Damn him.

“Hey!”

She knew she should run to catch his wide strides.

Mina rarely realized a mistake when made, and as she tugged on his sleeve to make the gentle giant stop, she wasn’t sure either. Her judgment wasn’t to be trusted. Her mind was a mess, just like everything, just like her life and her wrist and her hair, just like her heart.

“Your… vest”

“I know, you can… you can keep it, my place is just ten minutes away”

“Ok, let’s go then.”

She smiled.

to an empty, windswept place without sun, stars or moon but a peculiar light as of thought

*

“Wouha! Dude your place is cool”

Mina was everywhere, inspecting the living space and the kitchen with round curious eyes.

He laughed.

Dude. No one called him dude since the campus days. Dude. That was different.

“I… I have chickens wings… some broccoli, apple pie…”

He fetched the leftover boxes from his fridge and proceeded to put them in plates to reheat, but the little sack of bones jumped on the apple pie first, two bites and only crumbles were left on the counter.

“Mhm…goohd” Mouth and cheeks still full, she slid the cold chicken wings plate into her lap and attacked the tender flesh like a starved panther.

Paterson stood there like a stranger in his own house. A bit out of breath by the chain of events. The situation starting to sink in his lonely mind.

His routine was all shaken. He felt funny. Didn’t know if it was good or bad or just…ordinary. Laura was looking at him with surprised eyes. Laura was looking at the girl with amused questioning eyes. Paterson shrugged.

She deserves another chance, everyone does, don’t they, honey?

[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.”