#Iris Silver Mist

[underachievers-please-try-harder]

Track of the day // Jenny Hval - The Artist Is Absent

From the album Iris Silver Mist, out May 2nd on 4AD.

[parfumieren]

Iris Silver Mist (Serge Lutens)

Iris seems to come in two forms: rich, bready and warm or raw, watery and cold. Though I haven't nearly explored the full range of available iris perfumes, I can safely say that I prefer the full-fat version to the pale, low-calorie tincture any day of the week. Between the two, a link must exist-- some sort of connector between earth and raincloud.

Why not lightning?

Iris Silver Mist (great name, seemingly arrived at via some sort of collaborative word-game, like "Miranda Sex Garden") is an ozonic take on iris to which La Myrrhe clearly owes a stylistic debt. I knew La Myrrhe could not have sprung whole from the head of Osiris; it had to have an antecedent, a source point from which its eerie DNA descended. Iris Silver Mist is that source. Neither as sepulchral nor as soulless as its cousin of one year later, it nevertheless is a bit of a cold fish-- placing it, at least nominally, in the 'tincture' category of iris fragrances. What saves Iris Silver Mist from primordial chill is its sense of suggestive friction-- rather like the ghostly electric crackle that sheer nylon stockings produce when the wearer crosses her legs. The skin underneath may be alabaster-pale and chilly, but the blood coursing deeper down is reliably hot.

I imagine that Iris Silver Mist would leave me cold in March, with the temperature barely cresting 40°F under the bitter bite of the wind. But in the heat of high summer, it's a treat-- and when the flicker of lightning heralds the advance of storm clouds, she will lay her cool hands on my forehead, and I will feel content in her presence.

Scent Elements: Iris, galbanum, cedar, sandalwood, clove, vetiver, musk, benzoin, amber, incense, oakmoss

[persolaise]

Balmain and Bottega Veneta 2024 re-launches, Dior Tendre Poison and Serge Lutens Iris Silver Mist reviews

My final reviews of the year, featuring the re-launches of Balmain and Bottega Veneta.

The gremlins were out in full force for this year’s final set of Love At First Scent broadcasts. The audio at the start of one of the videos turned out to be atrocious (for reasons utterly unknown to me) and then the camera placement decided to pull some kind of weird misalignment trick in the final episode. Apologies for the less-than-ideal viewing experience. But hopefully, you’ll be able to…

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)Wife

Chapter III: Dreams 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: You miss Aemond, yet you can’t stand to be near him. Will performing a new song about your separation make you feel better?

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, toxic relationship dynamic, possessive Aemond, fighting, smut, oral (f receiving), spanking, thigh riding, P in V, thumb in bum, spit kink, degradation

Word count: 5750 A/N: Thank you always my love @theoneeyedprince ♡

“This is the third day in a row that guy comes in here, orders a coffee, and pretends to work on his laptop as he stares at you”, Alysanne whispers in your ear and points to the silver haired man sitting in the back corner of the campus coffee shop. 

He’s clad entirely in black, and his long hair is neatly tied in a low bun at the base of his neck. 

“You should go talk to him!”, she urges with a gentle push on your shoulder. 

“What? No. He’s not been staring at me”, you shut her nonsense down, slightly embarrassed by your friend's pushiness. Alysanne is such a hopeless romantic; always convinced that the love of your life’s lurking around the next corner, constantly looking for a ‘meet cute’ to thrust you into. 

“Oh, come on! He’s definitely been checking you out! Maybe he’s just shy?”, she argues, staring at the stranger unabashedly as he sips his coffee. Her lack of discretion fuels the nerves bubbling inside you, eager to end this embarrassing conversation as soon as possible. 

“Aly, please. A guy like that doesn’t get shy. Typical rich fuckboy”

He certainly is good-looking, and probably knows it as well, dark designer clothes a stark contrast to the surrounding patron’s jeans and sweatshirts. He looks to be around your age, a student as well, you’d guess. 

Alysanne hums in response, moves to stand by the display of sweets by the register, and places a cinnamon bun on one of the small dishes stacked on the counter. 

Before your protests stop her, she walks towards where the stranger is sitting, a wide smile plastered on her face, 

“Hi there! My lovely friend and coworker over there made these earlier today. Would you like one?” 

Her voice is unnaturally cheery as she places the dish on the table next to the stranger's laptop. 

He looks up, nods stiffly in confirmation, and quietly mumbles a “thank you” before quickly returning to type on the keyboard, eyes again on the screen. 

“Would you like to talk to her? I can ask her to come over here”, Alysanne offers, voice still upbeat, so energetic it nearly comes across as intrusive.   

The stranger seems slightly thrown off by her forwardness. He looks up at her in surprise, but stays silent. 

To anyone else, his stoicism and unfriendly demeanour would be enough reason to leave him be. But not Alysanne, who turns around to catch your eye and gesticulates for you to come over with an exaggerated wave of her hand. 

From behind the register, you’d watched the scene unfold in horror, certain that your friend would embarrass you to the point where ‘rich fuckboy’ would tell everyone on campus about what a freak you are. 

You slowly make your way over, eyes boring holes into Alysanne as you force yourself to smile, dreading the inevitable faked  niceties you’ll have to exchange with the strange, silver-haired man. 

His face is even prettier up-close. 

High cheekbones, strong jawline, sharp nose, beautiful eye- 

Your gaze stops at his left eye. The baby blue iris is covered by a thin mist of white, and a red, angry scar slashes through the socket, starting at his forehead and ending at cheekbone. 

“Hope you like it”, you blurt out, trying to grab Alysanne’s hand and tug her away from the unbelievably awkward interaction. She’s still smiling, dodging your hand while her attention stays on the stranger in front of you, 

“Would you like her number?”

Alysanne persistence causes dread to pool in your gut. God, she could be so forward it was disturbing; completely ignoring what you thought to be common social decency. 

Your heart is hammering in your chest as the stranger hums at your friend’s question, 

“Actually, I wanted to ask you about the open mic last week. Did you write that song?” 

“‘Planets of the Universe’? Um, yes, but it’s not really finished, um, I mean, I just sang it for fun, I was kinda drunk last Friday..”

Your babbling reflects how the stranger makes you feel; nervous and unsure. His face is impassive, and his tone so unemotional it borders on stern. 

You only performed that silly song because your friends were pushy and you were buzzing on way too many margaritas. Why does he care about who wrote it? 

“You’re not a guitarist, I assume?”, he asks and you notice the corners of his lips briefly turn upwards, as if to prevent a smile from breaking out. 

God, the audacity of this rich fuckboy. 

“No, but like I said, it was just for fun”, you bite back. 

You don’t care for his condescending tone, or his efforts to make you feel bad about your sub-par guitar skills. Does he not understand what ‘just for fun’ means? 

The stranger’s gaze is still locked on you as he hums in response. He stares with an intensity that leaves you feeling even more unsettled. 

“You’ve got a very unique voice” 

The unexpected compliment takes you by surprise, and a warmth spreads over your face; heating up your cheeks. 

“My siblings and I play a bit of music on the side, for fun” he says with an emphasis on the last part, mimicking you, “I think your voice would go well with the sound we’re trying to create”

He sounds very matter-of-fact, like he’s offering you a business proposal. You notice something shine in his intense gaze; something inviting that makes it hard for you to concentrate on what he says. 

“The song you performed has great potential, with a proper guitarist backing you up, that is. If you’re interested, we’re meeting up tomorrow night” 

You’re briefly lost for words, not expecting him to be so forward. Alysanne is practically vibrating with excitement next to you, glancing over at you with a wide smile and big, expectant eyes. 

“Sure, I’ll stop by after work” 

Your infatuation with Aemond started slow. 

Essentially, it was the small things he did that pushed you to the realisation that he isn’t just some ‘rick fuckboy’, but a quite caring and sensitive man. Albeit with a layer of stoicism obscuring his more tender side. 

Things like him insisting that he needs to walk you home after band practice, even if it’s still bright outside. Or him picking you up in his car when it rains, so you ‘don’t catch a cold’. Or him offering to help you with coursework, surprising you with detailed, hand-written notes tucked in between the pages of your textbook. 

Aemond is caring in such a genuine way, always asking you how your studies are going, how work at the campus cafe is like, if you’d eaten anything. Always straight-to-the-point. And when you answer, he listens to you with such intensity, you’d think whatever comes out of your mouth is of grave importance. For the most part, it’s not. 

You soon find yourself looking forward to seeing him, heart skipping a beat every time he picks you up after you've finished your shift at the cafe. He always waited outside of the cafe, observing you tidying up through the shop window with a cigarette glowing between his fingers. 

When he asks you one day if you’d like to grab dinner after practice, you eagerly accept his invitation, trying your hardest to hide the excitement you feel as he says a quick goodbye to his brother and sister before leading you out of the studio you used for practice. 

It’s not a date, not really, yet when you sit next to Aemond in that dimly lit booth at the rather posh Yi-Ti-inspired restaurant he’d picked, it sure feels like one. 

That night, after sharing a bottle of wine, your face is warm and you’re filled with alcohol-infused confidence. As you talk animatedly about your favourite musician, Aemond regards you with a small smile playing on his lips, eyes intensely meeting yours to take in all your telling him. You feel a sudden urge to kiss him, and though it is chaste and unplanned; a result of your slight intoxication, you feel mortified as you pull back, ready to apologise for placing your lips on his without consent. Before you have a chance, he places a hand on your cheek and pulls your face back towards his, kissing you passionately, though his lips are soft and gentle. 

As you pull away, eyes still closed and mind lost in the bliss of your first kiss, you hear Aemond murmur a quiet “finally”. 

As a partner, Aemond seems to study you just as diligently as he studies everything else. 

He quickly picks up on your favourite things.  

If you’d been admiring a particular flower when you passed by the flower shop on your way to campus, you’d later find a bouquet waiting for you at home. When you went to museums and exhibitions together, he’d lean in next to you, one hand gently on your waist and soft lips right by your ear, and tell you everything he knew about the artist or artwork in front of you. Later, he’d buy you postcards of the paintings you’d shown particular fascination with, so you could decorate your bedroom wall with them. 

Though he claimed that his knowledge of the arts simply stemmed from being a history major, explaining that “art is one of the greatest insights we have to previous decades”, you have a strong suspicion he actually knows so much because there’s a secret love for the arts tucked away inside him, where he keeps the more sensitive parts of his soul. 

Sometimes you’re privy to that too. 

Like the time he wanted to take you out to a fancy restaurant downtown to celebrate your six month anniversary. Being a student, you didn’t really have money to spend on anything besides rent and food, meaning that you hadn’t been able to reciprocate the lovely gifts Aemond had given you since you first got together. 

Determined to give him something meaningful, you purchase a small frame from the local charity shop, print out some pictures you’d taken together from the university library, and put together a little collage of your time as a couple. 

You include a message on the back of it, thanking him for everything he’s done for you; for being such a caring boyfriend. 

As you timidly hand him your homemade gift at the luxurious restaurant, you feel a storm of unease swirl within you, suddenly overcome with embarrassment that you couldn’t get him anything nicer. 

Aemond’s eyes light up in a way you’d hardly seen before. 

He turns the gift over in his hand, admiring the photo collage and reading the little message on the back. 

Grabbing your hand, he looks into your eyes and says a quiet “thank you”, and the gravity and sincerity of his voice lets you know that he appreciates the simple gift more than he can put into words. 

The coming week you stick to the same set list; kicking off each performance with ‘The Chain’ and finishing with ‘Go Your Own Way’. You’d like to pretend that the performances got easier as time went on, but that would be a lie. 

Each night, you’re forced to sing Aemond’s self-pitying words; ‘if I could, I’d give you my world’. You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes each time. What made him incapable of ‘giving you his world’ when you were married? He made it sound like he had no part in your divorce; like all he did was try and love you while you broke his heart. 

Fuck that. 

He broke your heart. And he kept breaking it. Every fucking night he made you sing his martyr complex bullshit. 

It wasn’t anything new, not really. This is how it so often went when you fought as a married couple, it had just taken a new form. The bones of it are the same; Aemond is upset and shuts you out, you try to reason with him and get burnt. 

There’s something about his attitude when you find yourselves in a fight. He could turn so condescending, berating you for your emotions. Like he’s better than you for not letting them get the best of him; for not shouting or crying. 

He thinks showing that something hurts him is a sign of weakness. That he’s too smart to let his insecurities and doubts overtake his senses. So he can pretend he doesn’t feel such unbecoming emotions. 

Even when they prove too strong to push down. 

Aemond has been quiet for the entire trip back home, jaw shut tight and eyes refusing to meet yours. 

You know something’s off in the way his usual stoicism doesn’t feel natural, but forced. He’s holding something back, keeping something from you, and you can’t figure it out for the life of you. 

As you enter your flat, he finally breaks the silence. 

“Did you like that?”

His voice is colder than you’re used to. You recognise the tone though, from when he’s had enough of Aegon’s endless shenanigans. 

You step out of your heels and turn around to face him, “Like what? The party?”

His face is set in a frown and he irritably clicks his tongue at your obliviousness, 

“You know what I mean, don’t play dumb” 

You really have no idea what could’ve prompted his sour mood, so you stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. You don’t feel like playing these games with him; they won’t lead anywhere. 

If he’d just tell you what made him upset, you could solve the issue and move on.  

He sighs at the lack of answer, “You liked all that attention, didn’t you?”  

Oh. 

He’s jealous. 

“Oh come on, Aemond, this is great for the band! We’re getting recognition! We’re recording our first album!”

You don’t want him to rob you off the excitement you’d felt today, talking to one of Westeros biggest record labels and finally getting the recognition you’d worked so hard for. 

He turns to face you, features still stern as he backs you into the wall, 

“But did you like it? The way that guy from the record label was eyeing you?”, he asks again. 

You know Aemond has a tendency to get protective of you; fussing over you and insisting that you listen to him. And when he’s caring, and when you feel anxious, it feels comforting to have someone protect you so fiercely. But you’re not a child, and he doesn’t have to treat you as one. 

“Why would I like it?”

Your challenge makes him move closer. You see the way his pupil is blown wide, the heat in his gaze radiating off him. 

“I think you did. I think you enjoy the attention”

It’s almost laughable; the fact that Aemond Targaryen, undoubtedly one of the most alluring people you’ve ever met, feels threatened by some sleazy guy from a record label. How could he think some guy flirting with you would affect your affection for him even in the slightest? 

Still, there’s something intriguing about the dark look in his eye. It’s so passionate; the way he observes you. Like he wants to devour you. Punish you. Claim you. 

It sparks something alight inside you. You want to match his fire.  

“Maybe I did”

You have to bite your lip to prevent a smirk from breaking out. Will he fall for the provocation? 

Aemond’s eyes narrow. They travel from your face down to your body, and his arms come up to cage you against the wall of your hallway, 

“You like tormenting me, is that it?”, he asks lowly and presses the tip of his nose to the side of your face, trailing it down your cheek. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, lowering your lips to press kisses onto his neck, 

“Yes”, you say against his skin, a light chuckle escaping your lips. 

It’s almost cute when he gets like this, and so flattering in the most twisted way. He’s just as enchanted by you as you are by him. 

He startles you by pulling away, grabbing you by your waist and flipping your body so you’re suddenly facing the wall. 

He rucks up the short skirt of your cocktail dress with much more force than necessary and a firm smack lands on your ass. The sudden sting of pain makes you inhale sharply and you feel your pulse elevate with excitement.  

Behind you, Aemond drops to his knees, kisses your stinging backside, and pulls at the flimsy material of your thong until it tears in two, falling to the floor. 

His insatiable display causes desire to pulse within you; an ache that nestles itself between your thighs and beats as fast as your heart. 

Pushing on your lower back, he urges you to lean forward as he continues to soothe the aching flesh of your ass with sweet kisses. 

The chill air of the room feels strange against your hot, wet cunt, and you wish he’d touch you in the place you needed him most. The place that painfully pounds with want for him. 

As if he could read your mind, Aemond grabs the front of your thighs with his large, warm hands and he presses his face against your exposed cunt, unwilling to waste any more time as he swipes his tongue over your swollen clit. 

You moan in gratitude and your forehead falls to make contact with the wall in front of you, the sweat of your forehead sticking to the cool surface. 

He knows exactly how to work you; how to make you squirm and tense up and reach your peak in no time. 

With each movement of his tongue against your clit, you feel your peak grow closer; an embarrassingly fast release only your beloved could elicit. 

As you lose yourself in the pleasure, and your hips begin to move in tandem with Aemond’s tongue, his debauched kisses lessen, and he pulls away from your cunt, wiping his sticky face against the back of your thigh. 

You let out a frustrated whine, turn around to face him, and look down at him, still on his knees. 

“That’s just cruel, Aemond”

He looks so beautiful kneeling in front of you, long hair dishevelled and cheeks flustered pink. 

“Maybe I like tormenting you as well”

He still has that darkness dancing in his eyes, but now accompanied by the playful grin that’s spreading across his face. He stands, leans in so closely your body gets pushed against the wall behind you, and places one of his legs between your naked thighs, 

“Beg me to fuck you”

He rocks his jeans-clad thigh against your exposed core as he makes his demand; blue colour quickly darkening from the stain of your arousal. 

You throw your head back and moan at the pleasurable friction, the harshness of the fabric providing wonderful relief to your aching clit. Your hips quickly meet the rhythm of his thigh, and when he lowers his face to bite at your nipple through the thin material of your dress, you feel your previously denied release approach once more. 

You move yourself more forcefully against his thigh, and as your movements turn sloppy from pleasure tightening inside you, he pulls away yet again.  

You know you look like a mess with your hair frizzy from the friction of the wall, spit covering the fabric over your nipple, and the lower part of your body fully exposed; inner thighs sticky from arousal. 

“Aemond, please”, you whine as he straightens up, face wholly entertained by your miserable state. 

“Beg me to fuck you”, he repeats, this time slower and with emphasis on each word. 

You bite your lip and look at him. You can see the hardness of his cock straining against his jeans, but you know he’ll never relent; never give you what you want until you give him what he wants. 

“Please”, you plead, hands moving forward his zipper to undo his trousers. 

He tuts and slaps your hands away, 

“Beg”, he repeats, face returning to its previous, stern expression. 

You’d like to think you’re as good as him at playing these games. But you’re not. You don’t have the patience. 

“Please fuck me Aemond. Please make me come, please make me feel good, please stretch me out on your cock, please-” 

Your pathetic surrender is cut off by his lips on yours, kissing you passionately, stealing your breath. 

Pulling down his zipper, he takes his length in hand; rock hard and glistening with arousal. He pushes your body up against the wall and you quickly catch on, wrapping your legs around him as he enters you in one swift motion. 

“Fuck! Thank you!”, you cry out when he finally gives you what you want, and an amused snort espaces his nose. 

Aemond wastes no time in ravishing you and sets a brutal pace, pelvis repeatedly hitting your clit as his cock hits your g-spot. You’re unable to do much more than to just take it; take the mind-numbing pleasure he’s forcing upon you. 

For the third time, your peak is within reach, so close your cunt starts to tighten around Aemond’s cock. To your dismay, his pace slows, and you’re back to begging,  

“Please, I’m so close. Please let me come Aemond”

He pulls out, smiles at the devastated frown on your face, and turns you around once more. 

This time, he presses your body against the small side table by the front door, pushing his hand on the back of your head so that the side of your face makes contact with the wooden surface, ass prettily propped up and glistening entrance waiting for him. 

He presses the slick tip of his cock against your leaking hole, and pauses without entering. His large form looms over you as his hand reaches for your face, thumb stroking your lower lip, pulling it down to reveal your teeth, 

“Who do you belong to?”

His voice is lower, and calmer, than before. You look up at him; at his lust-filled eyes and kiss-swollen lips. 

You. Always you.

“You” 

Aemond’s thumb is still on your lower lip. He leans down and pushes his length fully into you again, making you let out a cry in blissful relief. 

God it feels so good. 

You see him purse his lips together, spit collecting between them, and he slowly lets it drip down to where his thumb is. 

Onto your lower lip, your tongue, your teeth. 

He smears his spit around your lips and tongue with his thumb, pace of his hips picking up to thrust into you harder. The table beneath you rocks against the wall aggressively loud. 

“Would you let anyone else fuck you like this?”, he asks, trailing his spit-soaked thumb down your body, stopping between your asscheeks to push at your puckered hole. “Never”, you assure, moaning as he pushes his thumb in, never ceasing the pace he’s set as he fucks you on the table. “Didn’t think so. You’re my little slut. Mine. No one else will ever see you as fucking cockdrunk as I do”

Maybe it’s the heat of his tone. The dark, possessive passion that excites you, even in its volatility. 

Maybe it’s the way he knows your body. How he can turn you into a begging, pathetic mess by the briefest of touches. 

It’s hard to decipher what makes your orgasm feel so utterly consuming, but when it hits, and your body shakes from the force of it, you know that no one else will ever have this effect on you. 

You. Always you.

You’ve made it a habit to go back to your hotel room between the sound check and the show, not able to bear spending more time around Aemond than absolutely necessary. 

Both of you had tried to keep up with the cordial act, but even Erryk had started to catch on to how forced each of your interactions felt. Whenever you or Aemond addressed the other, everyone around you tense up and the air feels thick; like you’re all just waiting for what’s bubbling beneath the surface to finally erupt. 

Tonight, as you’re getting ready for the tour’s fifth stop in White Harbor, no amount of breathing exercises seem to lessen your nerves, making your hands clammy and heart flimmer in anxious anticipation. 

You’re finally going to perform one of your new songs for Rumours. 

What if the fans hate it? 

Writing has helped you deal with the aftermath of your separation; a tedious effort to make the painful end of your relationship into something meaningful. A song about lost love. 

What if it sounds awful live? 

Recording separately means that this will be the first time the band actually plays the song, as opposed to each member recording their own part in solitude. 

The song sounded good in post-production. It’ll sound great live too.

You try to repeat the comforting phrase to yourself as you spot Aemond and Alys in your peripheral vision; her arms around his neck, his lips coming down to brush against her cheek. 

You don’t know if you’d rather barf or cry at the display, but when Aemond’s seeing eye briefly searches for yours, your stomach turns in disgust.

The intro of your new song starts to play; upbeat drums accompanied by a melancholic guitar melody. Aemond plays it flawlessly, just like you knew he would.

This is it. Your time to shine; to actualise the pain that’s been wearing you down for the past months. To make it into something that means something. 

Your music.

‘Now there you go again, you say, you want your freedom’

‘Well who am I to keep you down?’ 

You don’t want to look at Aemond, don’t want to mimic the staring contest he challenges you to each time he sings ‘The Chain’ or ‘Go Your Own Way’. 

You’re not doing this for him, you’re doing this for yourself. To make sense of the suffering he’s caused you. You’re doing it for the fans; all those who can resonate with what you’re singing.

‘But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness’

‘Like a heartbeat drives you mad in the stillness of remembering what you had’

‘And what you lost’

Oh but gods, do you want to throw him a quick glance though. 

See hurt in his eye. 

See his jaw tick in anger at your words. 

‘Thunder only happens when it’s raining’ 

‘Players only love you when they’re playing’ 

Now you understand why he wanted you to do backup vocals on his new songs. You feel so powerful as you make him sing your lyrics, a sudden rush of hubris getting the best of you as you steal a glance of him.

‘They say women, they will come and they will go’

‘When the rain washes you clean, you’ll know’ 

You’re disappointed to find him in his usual state, stoic face turned away from you.

The recent rage-filled, passionate tone his voice had adopted is gone. He sounds just as calm and precise as he usually does. 

‘Now here I go again, I see the crystal vision’

‘I keep my visions to myself’

‘It’s only me who wants to wrap around your dreams’

‘Have you any dreams you’d like to sell?’

‘Dreams of loneliness like a heartbeat drives you mad’

‘In the stillness of remembering what you had’

‘And what you lost’

Like the previous nights, you’re in a rush to get back to your hotel room as soon as the show ends. 

As are your bandmates; no one really enjoys the tension that seems to be a permanent feature whenever you are all in the same room. 

As you’re about to jump into a taxi with Helaena outside of the venue, you realise that you forgot the tote bag you keep your notebooks and music sheets in backstage. You tell her to go ahead and quickly make your way back to retrieve your forgotten bag. 

A security guard lets you back in and you spot your tote immediately, laying on one of the many cheap fold-out tables lining the walls of the room. As you make your way towards it, you hear someone clear their throat in the other corner of the room. 

You’ve no idea what he wants, but you turn around in an instance, leaving your bag on the table. 

Aemond is sitting by himself in a dark corner of the large room, stomping out a cigarette onto the silver ashtray he's holding in his left hand. He places it on the ground and leans back in his seat, 

“I never said that, you know”. 

His voice is low. He sounds tired. 

“Said what?”

You’re still sadistically disappointed by the fact that he’d acted so indifferent during your performance of ‘Dreams’, and it reflects in your voice. He has a talent of bringing it out of you.

“I never said ‘women come and go’, or whatever. The reporter said it” 

His voice grows more irksome with each word, matching yours. 

Sure, he hadn’t said it. But he might as well have. 

“Whatever, Aemond”, you sigh, too tired to engage in pointless discussion with him. You turn to leave, reaching for your bag, but he stops you once again,  

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t perform that song again”.

You let out a startled, joy-less laugh at his audacity, “Too bad”

“Then change the lyrics. It’s obviously about our… relationship” 

You can sense strain in his voice. He’s holding something back.

Maybe you finally got to him.

“So are your new songs”, you counter. 

He is such a hypocrite, it’s almost laughable. An unbecoming characteristic of his that reared its ugly head more frequently as your relationship got worse. 

“I never say they are though. You’re quoting me, hard to assume it could be about anyone else”

His voice is low and dark, you have to focus to properly hear him. 

“Thought you didn’t say that?”

You have to bite the inside of your lower lip to keep yourself from grinning as you add, 

“Maybe the song is about the reporter?” 

The provocation works. Aemond swiftly stands up, seeing eye dark and threatening as his voice grows louder, 

“My songs aren’t filled with blatant lies, you’re calling me names and shit” 

His nostrils are flaring as he breathes heavily, hand flexing in an attempt to stifle his rage. 

You’d got to him. 

“You can’t be for real, Aemond! Every fucking time you perform your new songs you're staring at me on stage, singing about how I can ‘go my own, lonely way’! You have no right dictating what I write or how I express myself”. 

He’d gotten to you too. You can’t hide your irritation any longer, a whole week being in his insufferable presence proving to be too much.  

It’s his turn to throw a condescending laugh your way. 

“Well, you’re the one who kept going on about how lonely you were”

Back when you were still together, when the fights had became a permanent, unavoidable recurrence, you had accused Aemond of never truly letting you in, leaving you feeling lonely in your relationship. 

But there’s a difference between feeling disconnected from your partner, and being unable to be on your own. 

“You couldn’t be alone for a second, Aemond, that’s how fucking lonely you are. How long did it take you to hook up with Alys? 3 days!?”

“Because you left me!”, he shouts back. 

And there it is; the anger that he pretends he doesn't have within himself. The ugly, raw emotion he thinks he’s too good to let overtake his senses. 

His voice isn’t cold anymore. 

His face isn’t indifferent. 

His eyes shine with heartbreak, but so do yours. 

“You chased me away with your fucking obsessive behaviour! You deserved to be left!” 

Sometimes when you fought when you were married, you’d hold yourself back, still trying to protect Aemond’s feelings to some degree by not purposefully hurting him just because you were angry. 

Not anymore. 

He grimaces slightly at your words and you feel a sick sense of satisfaction.

He deserves it. 

You can’t bear to look at him, and you can’t hear anything either, heartbeat thumping in your ears so loudly it’s giving you a headache. 

If you stay, and see that the fire in his eye has been extinguished by regret, you might cave in. 

You can’t. 

So you turn around, grab your bag in a haste and storm out of the door, rushing to get hold of a taxi on the busy street by the venue. 

You hold it together in the car ride to the hotel. You thank the driver and offer him a tip, you enter the building and go to the elevator, smile at an elderly couple who engage you in some polite smalltalk about the weather. 

It’s not until you enter your hotel room and lock the door behind you that you allow the tears to fall. 

They seem endless, and all you want to do is crawl into bed and sleep. 

Seeing the empty space, the empty bed, makes you feel so lonely a stinging pain goes through your chest. You're pulled back to the memories of living with Aemond, coming back home to him; sleeping in the same bed as him. 

You miss him so much it hurts. Not the person you’d just had a fight with backstage. You miss the Aemond he was before; your Aemond. 

You think about the Aemond in the museum, who’d tell you about the history of the Water Gardens and Prince Maron Martell.

You think about the Aemond that kissed your forehead before each show. 

You think about the Aemond that loved you. 

You go to your closet, stretch your arm all the way to the back, and search for what you know to be there. Your hand finds the soft sweatshirt and you pull it out from the dark corners of your hotel room closet, quickly pulling off all of your clothes until you’re standing in nothing but your underwear. 

Aemond’s uni hoodie still smells like him. You cry harder, uglier, as you put it on, burying your nose in the fabric and inhaling deeply. 

Maybe the Aemond you miss still exists in your dreams. 

You get under the duvet, nose still nuzzled in the soft fabric and body shaking from the violent sobs leaving your body, and fall asleep.

A/N: Before you ask, no. She doesn’t know if Aemond met Alys exactly three days after their separation. She’s exaggerating for emphasis, as one often does when fighting. The point is that he “moved on” suspiciously fast.

Planets of the Universe is a demo song that never made it onto Rumours, but it so good; very raw and real. TY for reading 🩵

[pupsmailbox]

GOTH ID PACK

NAMES︰ abby. ace. addam. alister. amelia. amoret. ange. angel. angelo. anubis. arachne. arch. archette. ash. aslan. aspen. astor. astoria. astrophel. atticus. axelle. azazel. azrael. bael. bat. batsy. battie. bella. bellatrix. blade. blair. blanchette. brahms. branwen. briar. cain. caine. callan. calliope. cannibelle. caskeite. casketta. caskette. caskieth. caspian. celeste. celestia. cemetrell. chaos. charlotte. cherry. chira. chiraelle. chiro. chirobelle. chiroptairre. chiroptelle. chiroptera. chiropteranne. chiroptira. choir. christian. circe. cofette. coffin. coffine. coffyn. coffyth. constantine. corbin. corpse. crimson. crow. crowley. damian. damien. demonesse. divina. dorian. draven. ebonyie. echoella. edgar. elatha. elijah. elix. elwin, elwin. elwood. ember. emmaline. etienne. eulalie. evan. evangeline. eve. faith. forest. forrest. frill. frille. frilleine. frilliette. frilly. genesis. ghost. gothita. gothitella. gothitelle. gothitess. gothitesse. gothlyra. gothorita. grey. grisveil. gwen. hades. hawthorne. hecate. hemlock. imortalle. imortella. iris. israel. jakob. jet. jett. johnas. josiah. judas. kain. kane. kedi. keir. kross. krosse. lacey. laciene. laciette. lazarus. leo. lilith. lilithe. lolita. lucid. lucien. lucifer. lucius. luscious. lynx. maeve. malice. mana. martyr. max. melancholy. merle. micah. michael. misery. mordred. morris. mors. morte. morticia. mortis. morvessa. mourge. mourgette. mourne. mournelle. mourveil. myrette. nightshade. noah. noctelune. noctre. noctrelle. nocturne. noir. obscurine. obsidian. oleander. omen. onyx. orion. orpheus. ozul. ozzy. prince. prophet. ransley. raven. ravenie. raveniette. ravenith. requiem. rogue. rook. rowan. ruby. saber. saint. salem. samael. samuel. scarlet. secrette. seraph. serenity. shilo. shiloh. silas. silver. silvester. skelly. skulliene. skulliette. skully. skullyfir. solanine. sorrow. sylvester. syn. thorn. thorne. thornyse. tobias. tommy. trix. umbriel. valkyrie. valo. velouryne. vervain. vesper vesper. victoria. ville. violetta. vito. vlad. woundie. zeon. zephyrine.

PRONOUNS︰ abby/abby. ae/aer. ash/ash. bat/bat. bleed/bleed. blood/blood. book/book. bug/bug. burn/burn. ce/casket. ce/cem. ce/cer. chain/chain. chap/chapel. chi/chir. chill/chill. claw/claw. cloud/cloud. co/cof. co/coffin. cob/cobweb. cof/coffin. coffin/coffin. corps/corpse. creep/creep. cri/cross. cro/cros. cro/cross. cross/cross. cross/crosse. da/dark. dae/dae. dae/daem. dark/dark. de/der. decay/decay. dee/dark. des/despair. devout/devout. div/divine. dust/dust. e/echo. e/eerie. echo/echo. edge/edgy. en/envie. fae/fang. fang/fang. fe/fear. fie/fiend. fog/fog. fri/frill. frill/frill. ghost/ghost. ghoul/ghoul. go/goth. gore/gore. goth/goth. goth/gothic. gra/grave. grave/grave. gri/grim. ha/haunt. halo/halo. hie/hiem. ho/holy. holy/holy. horn/horn. hx/hxm. hy/hym. ink/ink. lace/lace. lae/lace. lost/lost. mist/mist. moon/moon. net/fishnet. ni/night. night/night. null/null. par/parasol. parasol/parasol. pray/pray. pray/prayer. proph/prophet. ro/rose. rose/rose. rot/rot. rust/rust. sac/sacrifice. saint/saint. scar/scar. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. si/sinister. sie/sier. sin/sin. sku/skull. skull/skull. snake/snake. spider/spider. spike/spike. sto/storm. stud/stud. thiey/thiem. thorn/thorn. thou/thorn. thron/thorn. thxy/thxm. tom/tomb. tor/thorn. vae/vaer. ve/ver. velvet/velvet. vi/vile. vi/vir. vo/void. whis/whisper. whisper/whisper. witch/witch. wood/wood. x/x. xae/xaer. xi/xir. xie/xiem. xie/xier. ×. ♠️. ♣️. ⚰️. ⛓️. 🌑. 💀. 🕯. 🕷. 🕸. 🖤. 🥀. 🦇.

[porcelaininkpot]

XXIII. The Sea

In honour of the birthday of the one and only @porters-fangs , I present a Porter and Treasure fic inspired by the first thing we ever spoke about. Aster I adore you so much and I hope you enjoy reading this <3

Porter and Treasure break into an aquarium for a birthday date.

Word count- 5.1k

The sky of Dahlia lay strewn with the pinpricks of a thousand constellations, the tufts of ivory mist across it’s cascades of celestial fabric were the veil the moon hid behind as she watched the city’s gem stand statuesque at their balcony railing, the tired figure caught between the urban earth and starry sea. 

‘Treasure’ was a moniker they were growing indulgently accustomed to, and they found it amusing how a word that -hitherto- held no meaning to them had suddenly woven it’s way across their veins and into their very soul; they wondered idly if they would ever forsake their actual name for the endearment, the purr of a honeyed, accented, addictive voice echoing across the cavern behind their eyes said yes. 

Tonight however, no amount of turning the word over within their thoughts could distract from the ache of the sheer emptiness that blanketed their home and heart. Halls that once reverberated with laughter and joy had for three days lain achingly silent, as if in solemnity of their owner’s own solitude. Treasure sighed as they told themselves that it was after all, just another night, and let their gaze wander back to the stars, and back to him.

____

‘...what is this?’, The human asked, turning over the orb their vampire had placed into their palm. 

It was at once both corporeal and intangible, a marble of not-quite glass that seemed to hold within it a dried flower. Except upon closer look, it was nothing more than pseudo-flora. Veins of wrinkles upon deep indigo petals revealed themselves to be ravines of stars and light at a turn of the sphere, the liquid-sugar composition of the globe making the starry rivers entrap and reflect whatever light fell onto the thing, casting kaleidoscopes of cosmic-touched prisms across the walls of their very plain kitchen. A beam of scarlet red and silver squinted in mirth as it’s living counterpart spoke,

‘You told me you were loath of not being able to see the night sky in its true glory, my dear. This can pull the fog of pollution from the skies and let you see them as they are, let you see them as I do.’ 

Cursed be Porter Solaire’s charm. They tore their eyes from the wondrous enigma of reality and met his ruby-flecked silver eyes, lilted with that indecipherable look they always donned whenever he was around them, as if he was a child with a crush, or an emperor looking at his throne. 

‘That’s…I…This is too much!’, They stumbled over their words, the right ones stolen away by the divinity of this bubble of magic he had so casually brought before them, as if it was nothing so long as it was for them, as if they deserved even the slightest bit of it. 

Porter let his hand trail up their star dusted face, cupping their cheek. He tilted their head up to look at him and murmured, ‘One of these days, when I shower you in the gifts you deserve, you’ll say ‘This is too little’ instead of that sordid, worth-smothering sentence,’, and leaning in before they could voice further opposition said, ‘Until that day comes, would you please accept my gifts, and perhaps maybe the fact that you are worthy of this cosmos itself?’ 

‘...I’ll settle for just the gifts.’

‘For now.’ 

And an eye-roll sent waves of their iris’ enrapturing hues cascading across the room, and Porter could have fallen to his knees in reverence of this home turned sanctuary right there and then. 

‘So…what? Is there a spell to say? Do we have to perform some sort of ritual?’, they asked, rolling the marble over their fingers, scrutinising it as if by glaring at it hard enough, it would reveal all its little secrets. 

Porter’s voice took on a somber tone, face falling into seriousness as he spoke, ‘Oh yes my Treasure, this particular piece of magic is one of the rarest and most coveted, and requires the most intricate of rituals and spells, and only the most skilled of wielders may perform it, and even then their chances of success are miniscule.’, with those words, he plopped the orb into a pot of boiling water Treasure hadn’t recalled being there, the splash sending puddles flying across their counter as the thousand hues trapped within it exploded in bursts of light, as if they were iresome fireworks with a scorching vendetta against the human’s poor kitchen.

‘Oops’ 

Treasure looked at what had to have been magic butchered at the most grandiose of levels and exclaimed as they scrambled to salvage the mess with their sleeves, ‘Porter! Now what!? All that about rareness and skill and-’, They cut themselves off when they saw the corners of his lips trembling and his shoulders shuddering in barely contained laughter. 

‘It’s a glorified over-magicked teabag, isn't it?’, deadpan voice betraying their empty annoyance. 

Porter burst into bouts of cackling that made it difficult for even them to keep their straight face, so they resorted instead to elbowing him in the ribs before joining in. 

By the time the pair’s laughter had subsided, the orb had melted into a swirling, glimmering cosmos that seemed to stir itself within their pot, the sight was almost hypnotic in the way it’s deep amethyst currents melted into dazzling sapphire meteor showers, and suddenly they felt that their meager teapot was far too plain for something as magical as this. 

Porter’s voice was coated in that indecipherable emotion as he poured twin galaxies into equally far too plain teacups and cooed as he passed them theirs, ‘Bottoms up, Treasure.’ 

And past the taste of nebulas unravelling upon their tongue, and shooting stars dancing down their throat and making their every nerve burst into entirely new solar systems, and past how the sky now loomed over them with a majesty so vivid and clear it was as if they were up there with the constellations themselves, they tasted that indecipherable emotion. 

And it was undeniable as they looked into his devout eyes, 

Love. 

____

Knowing that they were seeing the stars just as he was, and hoping that he may be gazing upon the same ones at the same time they were gave them scarce consolation. So they instead opted to take their vexation out on the railing, subjecting it to an iron, white knuckled grip. 

They were frustrated, they were alone, they hadn’t seen their lover in over three days, and this day was supposed to be…not what it was. 

They wanted nothing more than a quiet night, and nothing more than solitude.

Both of those thoughts were lies, they craved something special today and most of all they craved- 

Him. 

And there he was. 

Standing below their balcony as if to serenade them, looking up at them with moonlight reflecting off his fangs, dastardly mouth curled into a dastardly grin that reached his dastardly eyes. 

In the time it took for them to fix him with a heat-death stare he had already reached their side, and now they got to look at his dastardly face up close. 

‘Where have you been.’ 

‘Oh my Treasure, I’ve missed how adorable you look when you glare at me like you want to bite my face off.’ 

The way the moonlight nestled itself into his hair, and soaked into his skin, softening his already dashing features made them feel very much like they did want to bite his face off - in which way though, they were much less sure about. 

He coaxed their hand off the railing to press a velvet-esque kiss to their knuckles, scouring their eyes as he did, as if searching for the piece of himself he left behind for safekeeping in their heart.

Treasure could only be vexed for so long. They tugged him into them and let themself sink into his skin, burying their face into his moonlight-rimmed neck and breathing in the scent they’ve so dearly missed. Only pulling back once they’d had their fill.

‘I missed you.’, they cooed, letting themselves fall into his scarlet-flaked pools of mercury.

‘I missed you too, my dear. I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long, I’ve been making… arrangements - of a sort.’ 

‘For your king?’, the word spearing the air as if it were a slur, and they felt pangs of regret when his eyes winced as they said it, followed by billows of curiosity as his eyes betrayed his signature look of mischief. 

‘No, actually, these were for something far more…to my taste. For you, actually.’

Treasure’s confusion made them cock their head before they could catch themselves. 

‘For me?’ 

Porter hummed as he answered, ‘Do you remember when I told you about the magical oceans? And about the host of elemental marine life that only makes itself visible to those touched by the same magic they’re woven of?’’

Treasure remembered the trail of his fingers against their skin that night as he told them tales of eels formed solely of seaweed and pollen, they remembered the way he massaged circles into their back and kissed their crown as he told them about manta rays of crystalline, glowing ice, and a menagerie of other animals that their heart pained at not being able to see. The softness of his voice as he whispered to them about creatures so mystic and unworldly they would shatter human comprehension if discovered.

Of all the fantastical beings he told them about, what they yearned for most of all, were the jellyfish woven of immortal flames, with tendrils of psychedelic, fiery, prisms; divine creatures supposedly so ethereal in their kaleidoscopic wonder that when they were in the presence of deep, true emotions, they erupted into colours and hues so unique they couldn't be found anywhere else on the planet. ‘Runaways from Aria’ Porter had called them.

Unworldly animals of enchanting, unparalleled beauty and elegance, adrift in glorious and everlasting transience, those were what Treasure ached to witness for themselves. 

‘What are you getting at?’ 

‘Well, the Verne Aquatic Conservatory has from its conception dedicated itself to the rehabilitation of marine life- animals affected by poachers and pollution. They’re one of the most highly secured establishments of our world, and strictly forbid any and all access to their enclosures.’ 

Treasure had an inkling of where he was going with this, but hummed their understanding and let him continue. 

‘Unfortunately for them, their current lodgings are simply no longer sufficient to hold as many creatures as they’ve undertaken, so they’ve decided to open another branch in Kennedy.’, The wicked glint that gleamed in Porter’s eyes gave away what he would next say before he even said it. 

‘Very unfortunately for them, there just so happened to be a terrible accident a few days ago at the aquariums at Kennedy they were planning on repurposing, and this accident just so happened to occur while the animals were already on their way there, and the enclosures just so happened to be travelling through Dahlia. And it's just quite coincidental really, there’s an aquarium here with just enough space to house them while Kennedy employs its finest earth and fire elementals to re-sculpt all the glass that so tragically decided to separate from itself and begin an acquaintance with the floor.’ 

‘And tonight just so happens to be the only full night they’ll be here before they’re on the move again.’ 

Treasure stared at him in absolute incredulity. 

An accident a few days ago,

And he’d been gone for three days, 

And tonight was the only night they had,

And tonight was also-

Oh.

Oh. 

‘Porter, tell me you didn’t-’ 

‘Oh but I did.’, And the devious grin on his face said that he’d do it again in a heartbeat. 

Treasure appraised their absolutely ridiculous, reckless, handsome, lovable vampire with eyes that betrayed they still couldn’t believe he’d gone to such lengths just for them. 

‘With that being said, my dearest Treasure’, and he slid into a coy bow as he extended an open hand, looking up at them through his fluttering eyelashes, ‘Would you grant me the honour of taking you on a once in a lifetime, private tour of every aspect of magical marine life your heart could ever wish for?’ 

And Treasure may have been a fool in love, but they would be a fool not to accept. 

‘I do, my dearest lover.’, and they took his hand. 

‘Then let us not allow a single second to slip by.’, with that, he scooped them up into his arms, let them kiss him with all the love under the moon, and jumped off the balcony to hit the ground running. 

Treasure would enact revenge for the heart attack that unwarned jump gave them later, for now, their focus laid solely on him and his devilish laughter as he carried them through a blur of city light, stopping only when the pair reached the periphery of what looked to be a derelict, shabby warehouse. Porter let his human down to let them see that It stood alone in a barely guarded clearing surrounded by looming trees, isolated save for a rusty pick-up truck parked just outside bent, broken metal that looked like it had some centuries ago been a shutter door. The place seemed so dead it made certain politicians look childishly youthful and spry by comparison. 

Although by now, Treasure had learnt better than to take anything the magical world had to offer them at face value. 

They wove their fingers through Porter’s and let themselves feel the stars only magic allowed them to see. And straining their eyes as they strengthened their grip on their lover, and felt him grip back in turn, saw the illusion flicker away for just a few moments before returning as they sucked in an exhausted gasp of air. 

‘You genuinely amaze me with everything you do.’, his words were laced in such admiration Treasure had to believe them to be true, ‘It’s no small feat for an unempowered human to be able to look past even a sliver of illusions and wards this strong, and yet I could feel you reaching out and tearing it down. You’re extraordinary, my Treasure.’ 

They felt a deep scarlet feather it’s way up their cheeks, and demurely turned their head away before replying, ‘It wasn't that hard, I had you by my side.’

Porter leaned in to kiss their temple, ‘Then lets undo this illusion together then.’

And they met his gaze as they felt his magic course through their veins, setting every nerve alight as it surged through their body; and they sensed streams of something flowing from them into him. Being able to feel him so intimately, as if their souls were one, and being able to hold his hand and feel their energies combine to be one, stronger force, was perfection. 

Existing with him was perfection.

And just like that, the rust flaked away to reveal pristine obsidian walls, and the desolate shack gave way to the most formidable of structures, growing and teeming and extending out into what they thought was just bare grass, rings of concentric fences and magical barriers coalescing into existence right before their eyes, until they realised that they were actually right up against the building. The eroded old pick-up morphed into a sleek, intimidating, impossibly large truck, the words ‘Shaw Security’ detailed onto its sides. While earlier the place looked devoid of all life, now they saw guards patrolling the perimeter of the structure, four to be exact. Two paced around each side of the aquarium while the other two were stationed at what looked like the back, peculiarly leaving the front gate unattended. 

‘This has to be some sort of trap, right?’, Treasure scrutinised, surely there was no way they’d just leave the front door unsupervised. 

‘Perhaps, but it may just be our stroke of luck. See, actually getting in through the back gate is much more difficult than the front, with three internal wards and quite the hefty physical security system in place, you’d be hard earned to get into any place of substance once you get past the door. The front entrance on the other hand only has one physical security system, a trip-wire, if I’m not mistaken. All of its magical boundaries are external, so there’s no hope of stalking up to it unless we want to waste the night covertly unravelling wards.’, He spoke the words with such attractive, astute, deliberation that Treasure hoped every future date could be a break-in. 

‘So what you’re saying is, if we somehow get in through the back gate and then make our way to the front without actually entering, we can avoid all the wards and get in no problem?’ 

‘Ever crafty, my astute Treasure.’ 

They felt licks of mischief scoring their way up their being, curling their lips into a delicious grin, ‘But how do we get past the guards and barriers?’ 

‘Leave that to me, my dear.’ 

And the two shared a chaste kiss before Porter renewed his grip onto their hand and the pair set off on a devious break-in. 

They felt his magic once again course through them, except now in place of bright, illuminating surges, they felt a low, smoky cloak overwhelm their every sense, and it was as if they themselves became one with the blanket of smoke. They looked over to Porter, who had turned nyxian in appearance, for they were able to stare right through him if they gazed long enough. They realised with exhilaration that they must look the same. 

He gave them a reassuring squeeze before stalking off into the shadows with them in tow, effortlessly ducking and dashing just out of sight, as if he were long acquainted with the shadows. 

Treasure had heard many of their vampire’s recollections of stealth and shadows, but seeing him and navigating them with him was something entirely different. They felt their heartbeat pounding beneath their skin, and weren’t sure they ever wanted the sensation to end. So long as the two held onto each other, his magic was theirs. 

The pair reached the first metal gate, and Treasure faltered for a moment. They knew of people with skills to pass through solid walls, but were certain they’d never be able to do it on their own. 

Another reassuring squeeze.

They weren’t alone.  

They were sleuthing around hand-in-hand with the most perfect man to ever grace this world. 

With him by their side, they could more than do this. 

And do it they did, leaping forward with him and passing through not only that gate, but the remaining few as well, until they were flush against the building. Being here, so close to creatures of such oceanic wonder, they swore they could feel them thrumming and floating just beyond that physical barrier. Their fingers twitched in anticipation, barely able to contain themselves anymore.

‘Are you alright?’, he whispered into their ear, concern lacing his words, ‘We can turn back if you-’

‘Absolutely not. I want to do this, and I want to do it with you.’ 

His shadowy cheeks swelled as he broke into a smile, ‘Almost there then.’ 

They stood right at the corner of the aquarium, metres away from the back gate, and metres away from the guards. Being so close, Treasure’s breath hitched as they got a better look at them. 

One was far taller than the other, and both had an air of seriousness about them, yet upon closer look, they could tell the two were familiar enough with each other to not be rigidly focused. All they had to do to hear their conversation was strain their ears just slightly…

‘-ya sure we can trust Chrissy with manning the front gate? Are ya sure we can trust him being here at all?’, the shorter one asked, to which the taller replied in what had to be the raspiest voice Treasure had ever heard,

‘I mean it’s literally the easiest post there is! I don't see how he could possibly fuck this up. So anyway I said to the big guy…’

They looked over to see Porter at the tail end of an eye-roll. All they had to do was get past these two guards and they’d be so close they could taste the saltwater in the air. And considering they were now talking about Espeon as compared to Vaporeon, they had faith they could actually make it. 

‘I’ll distract them, you phase through the part of the door just behind the short one.’ 

That threw them off, and suddenly their faith in themselves faltered,

‘You aren't coming with me?’

‘We stand a much better chance of getting in if they’re distracted. Don't worry, my Treasure, I’ll make the wall incorporeal just long enough for you to slip in, and I’ll be with you in the vents in a matter of moments.’ 

‘I…’, they trailed off, but one look at their lover’s features, sculpted in determination, steeled their resolve. 

‘I trust you.’ 

And with a silent kiss, he was off, and seconds later, a scream like a startled, oversized, wolf cub rang through the air, coming from just within the woods bordering the aquarium.

‘OH MY FUCKIN HEY CHRISSY’, the short guard yelled at the woods, the raspy-voiced one having quite a start at all the sudden screaming while the former had already taken off into the woods. 

This was their chance. 

They stealthed forward as fast as they could, and mentally screamed Porter’s name as they phased up and through the thick, obsidian wall and made a mental note to thank Chrissy if they ever ran into him later on in life. 

And just like that, they were in. In a rather crammed ventilation system, but in. 

And just like he said, Porter was there beside them in a matter of heartbeats, and Treasure wasted no time in making sure he was actually there by capturing his lips with theirs. 

The next bout of sneaking passed in a blur of exhilaration and climbing, they were in the vents, then with a drop, they weren't. 

Despite having landed into Porter’s arms, they were still stuck aloft within the air, for they dropped out of the vent and onto teeming, stretching rafters that overlooked the expanse from what had to be at least two dozen metres high, the beams criss-crossed and seemed to extend forever across the aquarium ceiling, and even the slightest misstep could send them falling to their death, but oh, what a beautiful death it would be. 

For unfurling beneath them in biomes of aquatic spectacles were enclosures of such diversity and number Treasure felt breathless just scouring over them with their eyes. In the dim light of the closed aquarium, each tank was aglow with shades of glorious, elemental bioluminescence, and the menagerie came together to form the most beautiful of kaleidoscopic collages. The scent of saltwater lay thick in the air, and it brought with it notes of smoke, earth and electricity. Treasure felt every nerve in their body swell and ebb in tune with the life beneath them. 

Porter Solaire gazed upon his lover as they lost themselves in reverence of this morsel of the ocean, even standing as high as they were, where there was no fathomable way their mortal eyes could see each creature in it’s full detail, and the exhibits must have seemed more like languidly flowing blobs, they looked at them with such adoration he saw the seven seas themselves reflected in their eyes. 

He would bottle the seven seas just to see them smile like that again. 

Painfully, he tore himself away from his own reverie to fetch their attention.

‘Would you like to go see them up close?’ 

‘I would like nothing more.’ 

A construct of sloped rafters lay some distance away from them, where the beams creeped down onto the floor like hollow, metal-skeletoned stalactites, getting down would be a simple matter of carrying Treasure across the precarious beams and slowly letting them drop to the floor from there. 

Treasure seemed to have other plans, and those plans included enacting that revenge they swore they’d have.

For instead of walking into his arms and letting him gently carry them down, they leaped across one of the many gaps in the rafters and turned back to stick him with a coy smirk. 

‘Treasure! Be careful, you could fa-’, and they took another cavort, this time fixing him with a bow mirroring his own.

Oh. So they wanted to dance. 

Porter peered at them incredulously, and the devious look in their eyes was all the reminder he needed of the kind of person he had fallen inexorably in love with. 

Very well then, let’s dance. 

And the two flitted across the beams in a tango of thrill and laughter, and gravity itself held its breath as the two danced across the framework holding the expanse up, twirling and leaping and taunting, the forces of nature be damned, they were caught in each other’s gravity.

Many times did Porter come close to catching them, only to have them dodge his advances every time, and Treasure only relented when they had reached a part of the rafters low and just atop the very edge of a sizzling, electric green tank. They beamed up at their lover as his arms finally entrapped their waist in a vice-like, unrelenting grasp, as if they would once again turn into smoke and slip through his fingers for good shall he even think about letting go. 

Porter caught his breath as he caught them, ‘You know, If I let go of you, you’d fall right into that tank of lightning-laced sea bunnies.’ 

‘If you let go, I know you’d jump after me in less than a second, and then we can both give our lives to the lightning-laced sea bunnies.’ 

Porter ducked down to steal another kiss, before turning and dropping down -with his love in his arms- onto the ground just outside the sea bunny enclosure, and it was almost as if the two could feel the sea bunnies sadden at having lost their chance of two new legged tank mates. 

He set his Treasure down as they lost themselves to the swathes of oceanic beauty before them, for now that they were on ground level, and entirely eclipsed by clusters of aquatic wonder that seemed to flow into each other and teem so high above their head they may as well have been at the ocean floor itself. 

All about them life itself cascaded through the space in a thousand hues of pure enchantment, creatures that lived only the pages of fairytales were now swaying and dancing before them as if in pride of their very existence. 

Treasure was sure they had forgotten their breath up in the rafters as they trailed fingers over glass blurred with undulating aquatic flora, a living, breathing ecosystem that moved of its own volition, shifting and grouping and dispersing as if underwater land given life, and it was only when Treasure honed in on the glowing, soft orbs strung across the lithe bodies that formed the bed of gaea did Treasure realise what they were looking at. 

‘Swamp-sunset eels’, Porter whispered behind them, voice laced with the same awe coursing through their body, and it was an apt name, bubbled through their viney seaweed bodies were marbles of pollen that mimicked bottled sunsets. 

Their gaze shifted over to a tank just ahead of them, where slabs of ice were gliding gracefully across water so frigid they felt goosebumps prickling their skin despite standing well away from the enclosure glass. No, not slabs of ice, impossible, wondrous manta rays of crystal glaciers. They created an underwater blizzard as they soared through the water, so pure in their magnificence Treasure could see them prism and refract the light cast onto them by the hundred other tanks that surrounded them. 

Treasure was so enraptured by the sight before them, they barely remembered what they were, and what the nature of these mystical beings was. 

‘Only those touched by the same magic they’re woven of can see them’, they echoed Porter’s words from earlier that night, ‘So how can I…’ 

One look at the vampire beside them was the answer, all this time, he had been reaching out to them with his magic, coaxing them into the world they thought they were entirely alien to, when they accepted him into their heart all that time ago, they accepted the wonder he brought with him. When he gave them a drinkable galaxy so that they may see the stars just as he did, when tonight he extended his shadows to them, and they accepted his darkness so readily, and countless other times, when he had pulled them into his world without them even realising it. 

And in that moment they knew, they were home.

A roaring spectrum of colour reflected off the crystalline rays however, and reminded them of the one thing they had been yearning for most of all, but Porter had his hands above their eyes before they could move. The let him guide them as he walked a slow pace and leaned back into his touch as he spoke, 

‘Treasure, I know you wanted tonight to be special, and I know you’ve been let down by so many others. I know you feel as though you don't deserve the things you absolutely do, so please believe me when I say that you deserve this. When I’m around you, I feel whole, as if the storms within me have quelled, and given way to something complete. In your embrace I am bare, and I never in my life thought I’d feel safe being bare until I felt your touch. You make the shadows bearable.’, They felt him come to a stop. 

‘All this is to say, Happy Birthday, my Treasure.’, and he let his hands fall, and before the two of them erupted a cosmos of the most divine jellyfish Treasure had ever seen. Light flowed from them in prisms of pure, absolute magic that somehow beat in time with their own heart, casting colour richer than the rarest of gems that into liquid crystal across their eyes, encapsulating them and their lover in a cascade of infinitely-hued constellations.  And as their wonder swelled, so did the jellyfish’s emanations of what could only be described as godly ambrosia. Treasure was all at once enraptured in their astral tides, and they could have lost themselves in the sight forever. 

Yet turning away and pulling Porter Solaire into a kiss so passionate it sent blasts of galaxies across the entire aquarium, and the words that followed came to them easier than breathing. 

‘I love you, Porter.’

‘I love you too, my Treasure.’

[alwayschasingrainbows]

My little quest to find the most iconic dresses for Montgomery's girls.

None of the pictures is mine. They are all from Pinterest. They may be historically inaccurate. They are also not ideal :).

Valancy Stirling:

"She got a pretty green crêpe dress with a girdle of crimson beads, at a bargain sale, a pair of silk stockings, to match, and a little crinkled green hat with a crimson rose in it." (The Blue Castle).

"She had a little smoke-blue chiffon which she always put on when they spent the evening at home—smoke-blue with touches of silver about it." (The Blue Castle).

My idea of what Valancy's (borrowed) masquerade dress MIGHT have looked like.

"Once they did go to a masquerade dance in the pavilion at one of the hotels up the lake, and had a glorious evening, but slipped away in their canoe, before unmasking time, back to the Blue Castle." (The Blue Castle).

Emily Byrd Starr

On the left: "It is to be of shot silk, blue in one light, silver in others, like a twilight sky, glimpsed through a frosted window-pane—with a bit of lace-foam here and there, like those little feathers of snow clinging to my window-pane." (Emily Climbs)

On the right: "An arrow of rhinestones in her dark hair—she had hair that wore jewels well—lent the necessary note of brilliance to the new dress of silvery-green lace over a pale-blue slip that became her so well." (Emily's Quest).

On the left: "it was a pretty crepe thing, of a pinkish-grey—the shade, I think, which was then called ashes-of-roses—and was made collarless—a great concession on Elizabeth's part—with the big puffed sleeves that look very absurd to-day, but which, like every other fashion, were pretty and piquant when worn by the youth and beauty of their time." (Emily Climbs).

On the right: "I want you to wear harebell blue gauze over ivory taffeta for your bridesmaid dress, darling" (Emily's Quest).

Anne Shirley:

"Oh, how pretty it was—a lovely soft brown gloria with all the gloss of silk; a skirt with dainty frills and shirrings; a waist elaborately pintucked in the most fashionable way, with a little ruffle of filmy lace at the neck. But the sleeves—they were the crowning glory! Long elbow cuffs, and above them two beautiful puffs divided by rows of shirring and bows of brown-silk ribbon." (Anne of Green Gables).

"In her light dress, with her slender delicacy, she made him think of a white iris." (Anne of Island).

Rilla Blythe

"Miss Oliver, shall I wear my white dress tonight or my new green one? The green one is by far the prettier, of course, but I'm almost afraid to wear it to a shore dance for fear something will happen to it." (Rilla of Ingleside).

Pat Gardiner:

On the right: "Pat slipped into the house and flung a bright-hued scarf over her brown dress with its neck-frill of pleated pink chiffon. She always thought she looked nicer in that dress than any other." (Pat of Silver Bush).

On the left: "Pat had on her blue linen afternoon dress...which, incidentally, was the most becoming thing she owned."(Pat of Silver Bush).

And bonus:

Robin Stuart

"She wore a dress of pale yellow taffeta, with a great rose of deeper yellow velvet at one of her beautiful shoulders. Jane thought she looked like a lovely golden princess, with the slender flame of the diamond bracelet on the creamy satin of her arm."(Jane of Lantern Hill).

"[M]other came in to kiss her good night, cool, slim and fragrant, in a dress of rose crêpe with little wisps of lace over the shoulders. Mother's blue eyes seemed to mist a little."(Jane of Lantern Hill).

"She wore a green dress the first time I saw her...well, if any other girl had worn the dress, it would have been a green dress and nothing more. On Robin it was magic ...mystery...the robe of Titania. I would have kissed the hem of it." (Jane of Lantern Hill).

Another bonus (because her style is so iconic):

Ilse Burnley

"Ilse in a yellow silk gown the colour of her hair and a golden-brown hat the colour of her eyes, giving you the sensation that a gorgeous golden rose was at large in the garden." (Emily's Quest).

"Ilse, a glorified shining creature in torquoise-blue taffeta, looking the queen with a foam of laces on her full bosom and rose-and-silver nosegays at her shoulder." (Emily's Quest).

Hope you enjoyed this little compilation:) Feel free to add more ideas!

[lakenscorner]

Day 9: Accept

James hadn’t spoken to the Countess in days. After a few weeks of nightly dinners, she simply disappeared. She ignored him when he went to ask why, leaving the ghost alone. He spends most of his time wandering around the hotel, watching guests, judging Iris and Liz’s decorating. The hotel had changed a lot since he was the owner. It’s technically none of his business, he supposes, how they decorated. But truly it’s still his hotel and he’s allowed to cast his judgement.

               Liz’s newest marketing scheme confuses James. Allowing some college students to stay in the hotel for free for a year all because they won some stupid essay contest? It will lose the hotel money! And they’d probably throw parties and disturb the other guests! Lord knows he makes his concerns known. Liz and Iris just put him in charge of looking through the essays, growing tired of him bothering them. He’s supposed to pick 25 out of the 100 essays sent in. None of them catch his eye. But then he picks up his next one. The name on the top of the page reads ‘Y/N L/N’, and the title intrigues him. “Why I Find Comfort in the Horrifying”. He finishes with one essay in the ‘yes’ pile and 99 in the ‘no’.

The day the students move in he lurks in the lobby. People trickle in, and still no sign of the one that interested him so much. But then he hears the name. James perks up, whipping around to see what the mystery person looks like. He watches them sign in. He admires the way the silver of the person’s rings contrasts their dark skin. James finds himself longing to touch their curls. He looks away, shocked at the thoughts in his mind. But James had to meet Y/N, talk to them at least once.

It takes Y/N a while to unpack. He organizes and reorganizes his closet, dresser, and bathroom counters until everything fits in a way that won’t piss him off later. It’s hours before he finally collapses on his bed. He tries not to think about the grocery shopping he’d have to do to fill the kitchenette. Instead, he thinks about how much he needs a drink. He drags himself downstairs to the bar.

               “All unpacked?” Liz asks.

               “Yeah I am, finally” Y/N hands Liz his ID “Can I get a dirty Shirley?”

               “Coming right up” Liz says before pausing “You wouldn’t happen to be Y/N L/N, would you?”

               “That’s me, why? Am I in trouble already?” He chuckles

               “No, nothing like that. Someone just left a note for you.” She holds out a note written on a fancy letterhead. Textured paper with gold patterns on the edges, the hotel’s logo at the top. The writing, a neat cursive, only added to the flair. Y/N rests his elbows on the bar and reads the note.

Dearest Mr. Mrs.

Y/N—

               Ever since reading your essay I cannot seem to get you out of my mind. I simply must speak to you. I will admit your appearance confuses me, but I’m sure I can look past that in time. Would you do me the honor of sharing a meal with me?  I’ll treat you to a proper six-course meal, which should give us plenty of time for us to talk. Meet me in room 215 at 7:00 sharp.

See you soon

—JP March

               Y/N stares at the note for a few minutes after reading. Not even a full day here and some fancy dude is asking him on a date?

               “Well then” Y/N lets out a breath “I guess I don’t have to plan dinner, free meal!”

               At 4:30 Y/N comes to the realization that he has no idea what fancy rich people wear on dates.

At 4:35 he opens Pinterest, searching for ‘fancy goth outfits masc’.

At 5:00 he stares at his collection of body mists before settling on a basic vanilla.

At 5:05 he nearly slips in the shower.

At 5:30 he tries his best for a fancy outfit, not so bad if he says so himself.

At 6:40 he falls on his ass trying to put on a pair of platform boots.

By 6:45 Y/N’s on his way to the room on the note.

               After a few weeks, James grew tired of Ms. Evers’ constant begging for him to re-employ her. He keeps her at arm’s length of course but he allows the woman to serve him again. He puts her to work preparing courses worthy enough to serve him and his new interest. He sits at the table, mind racing. In his time a person of Y/N’s color wouldn’t get the time of day from a man like him. He’d taken the time to unlearn the beliefs of his time, of course, but the obsession with Y/N still surprises him. And the fact that he can’t tell whether the object of his obsession is a man or a woman. Would it be rude to ask?

               James is snapped out of his thoughts by the bell’s ringing. He stands quickly, adjusting his suit as he walks to the door.

               “Y/N! You look” James pauses, searching for the right word “radiant” he offers his arm to Y/N.

               “Thanks” Y/N takes his arm, allowing the man to lead him to the table “I take it you’re JP March?”

               “Call me James, my dear” He pulls out Y/N’s chair and pushes them in. He lets his hand move to Y/N’s hair, stroking their head a few times before moving to the other side of the table “Thank you so much for joining me tonight it’s an honor to have you across from me”

               James rings a bell, summoning Ms. Evers. James’s eyes never leave Y/N. The way their eyes widen as the hors d'oeuvre was served, the way their hand hovers over the forks like they’ve never used more than one in a single meal, the way they turn red when they catch him staring.

               “Dear, if you don’t mind me asking” James reaches over and guides Y/N’s hand to the correct fork “Are you a man or a woman? I do hope that’s not rude to ask”

               “Man-adjacent” Y/N’s cheeks turn a bit redder at the touch “he/they pronouns”

               “Ah, yes” James smiles softly “In my time we didn’t have all those different pronouns. And if my father ever saw me speaking to someone of your color, he’d beat me”

               “Racist parents, I get that. I’m just glad you’re unlearning that shit.”

               James let’s out a chuckle. Of course, Liz failed to mention his ghostly condition. It’s for the better truly. He wouldn’t want to scare Y/N away. James steers the conversation toward Y/N’s writing. He watches fondly as the college student talks, occasionally stopping to take a bite of food. He reaches out, resting his hand on Y/N’s.

               At the end of the night Y/N swore that he’d never eaten so much. He yawns, the rich food making him drowsy.

               “Tired, dear boy?” James gives their hand a squeeze. Y/N nods, mumbling out apologies. “No worries, I’ll take you back to your room”

               James offers Y/N his arm, the younger man takes it. James smiles, talking about anything and everything as they walk. Well, anything but his hobby. He chuckles at Y/N’s sleepy demeanor and pats their hand.

               “Y/N, I had a wonderful time talking with you tonight” He squeezes their hand before bringing it to his lips “I hope that you will consider seeing me again”

               “Are you asking me on a second date already?" Y/N pokes James’s chest, earning a chuckle.

               “I suppose I am. Same time tomorrow?”

               “Same time tomorrow.”

@fluffbruary

[fruitchouli]

any funeral fragrance recommendations? xoxo

funereal fish ok.. i’ve been thinking how slay lily of the valley is in a goth context bc it’s so out of style and is associated with young virginal innocence and isn’t sweet or sexy at all so it’s like scary courtney love in a little girls communion dress.. so i’d go with a really high quality LotV like

my friend is a basic witch so he said lutens de profundis, which is always the first to come to my mind when i think of funeral perfume bc of . how it’s marketed. chrysanthemum is the funeral flower.

also my friend reminded me that luca turin said iris silver mist also from lutens is what u wear to a poet’s funeral

[underachievers-please-try-harder]

Track of the day // Jenny Hval - To Be A Rose

From the album Iris Silver Mist, out May 2nd on 4AD.

[consolecadet]

Things I’ve looked up for NaVS, day 74

Serge Lutens Iris Silver Mist

Stopping a motorcycle in a cool way is called

Motorcycle helmet flip up

Body visualizer

Body visualizer that can actually do fat people

Instep

Total words written: 97,526

Words written today: 1,045

Excerpt from today:

Greg – Greg, really? This whole time she thought The Rabbit was some cool-ass girl, Cereal Killer with pigtails and tiny glasses, Trinity in her leathers or something – Greg pushes the lobby button for them.

[persolaise]

Serge Lutens Iris Silver Mist Review - The Favourites - Maurice Roucel; 1994

My thoughts on one of the most haunting - and mysterious - scents ever made: Serge Lutens Iris Silver Mist, by Maurice Roucel. #perfume

[Serge Lutens Iris Silver Mist review based on a sample obtained by me.] My memory of this may not be accurate, but I’m fairly certain that in a biography of the Pet Shop Boys, which I read a couple of decades ago, there was a passage discussing the key line in their song Rent. The lyric is “I love you. You pay my rent,” and the discussion in the book focused on whether there should be a word…

[noactofcharitygoesunresented]

Fairy names in different languages part 1: movie fairies

(Disclaimer: I’m not fluent in all of these languages (not even proficient in some), so a native speaker may be able to correct my translations. Also I did find the voice cast lists in Chinese, Japanese and Korean but sadly because I have pretty much zero experience with the characters I don’t feel confident enough to put that up here. Feel free to add on any language you’re missing/correct me on the ones you speak!)

I got this information from reading/watching/playing the books, movies, video games, magazines, colouring books etc. in different languages. For some languages I have more resources than others, which is why some languages may be featured more prominently here.

Brazilian Portuguese, English, Latin American Spanish, Turkish: Tinker Bell (I know in the movie logo her name is stylised as TinkerBell, which I personally prefer. But the official spelling from the books and J.M. Barrie is with a space in between, so I’ll keep that here.)

Czech: Zvonilka

Danish: Klokkeblomst

Dutch: Rinkelbel, Tinkelbel or Tinkerbel. Both mean something like jingly bell, so it’s not too far from the English name. In the Peter Pan-era Tink was called Rinkelbel, which was later changed to Tinkelbel when Disney Fairies became a thing and even later to Tinkerbel, likely to minimise the difference between her Dutch name and the original English one.

Finnish: Helinä-keiju

French: Clochette. Translates to little bell (cloche = bell; the suffix -ette makes it little).

German: Tinkerbell. Note the lack of space and capitalisation of the Bell.

Italian: Trilli

Hungarian: Csingeling

Norwegian, Swedish: Tingeling

Portuguese: Sininho

Romanian: Clopoțica

Slovakian: Cililing

Spanish: Campanilla

-----------------------------------------------

Brazilian Portuguese, English, Finnish, Portuguese, Latin American Spanish, Turkish: Fawn

Czech, Romanian: Fauna

Danish, Slovakian: Faunia

Dutch: Fauntje or sometimes Faun. Could be derived from either faun or fauna, both words meaning the same in Dutch as in English -- so the latter seems the most logical option. The suffix -tje means little (rather like -ette in French), and is not uncommon in names, especially in the North.

German: Emily, a name originally derived from the Latin Aemilius, meaning rival.

French: Noa, a name originally derived from the Hebrew נֹעָה (Noah), meaning motion.

Hungarian: Gida

Italian: Daina

Norwegian: Fie

Polish: Jelonka

Swedish: Vinka

-----------------------------------------------

Brazilian Portuguese, English, Latin American Spanish, Turkish: Silvermist

Czech: Mlženka

Danish: Silvia

Dutch: Zilverdauw, meaning Silver dew. I don’t really know why she couldn’t just have been named Zilvermist, as the word mist has basically the same meaning in Dutch as it has in English, but well. At least it’s close and makes sense.

German: Silberhauch, meaning something like Silver breath or Silver breeze. Still logical. At least here I understand why they couldn’t name her Silbermist: in German the word mist roughly translates to shit.

Finnish: Silver

French: Ondine, meaning wave.

Hungarian: Ezüstcsepp

Italian: Argentea

Norwegian: Sølvdugg

Polish: Mgielła

Portuguese: Neblina de Prata

Slovakian: Strieborná hmla

Swedish: Silverdagg

-----------------------------------------------

Brazilian Portuguese, Danish, Dutch, English, German, Finnish, Italian, Latin American Spanish, Norwegian, Romanian, Slovakian, Swedish, Turkish: Rosetta

Czech: Rozeta

French: Rosélia, a name which is derived from the Latin rosa (rose), just like her original name.

Hungarian: Rozetta

Polish: Różyckzka

Portuguese: Roseta

-----------------------------------------------

Brazilian Portuguese, Danish, Dutch, English, Finnish, French, Italian, Norwegian, Portuguese, Romanian, Slovakian, Latin American Spanish, Swedish, Turkish: Iridessa

Czech: Iris

German: Klara, a name derived from the Latin name Clarus, meaning bright.

Hungarian: Szivárványlány

Polish: Iskierka

-----------------------------------------------

Brazilian Portuguese, Czech, Danish, Dutch, English, French, German, Finnish, Italian, Latin American Spanish, Norwegian, Romanian, Slovakian, Swedish, Turkish: Vidia

Hungarian, Portuguese: Vídia

Polish: Widia. The standard 32-letter Polish alphabet does not have the V.

[pupsmailbox]

MYSTERY ID PACK

NAMES︰ adler. aeris. agatha. aiden. aisha. akakios. alec. alistair. amadio. amos. anastasia. andie. annika. ansel. arden. ariel. aspen. atlas. auda. audr. august. augustine. augustus. aventurine. avery. barett. beau. belladonna. benedict. bentey. bentley. bian. blanc. blythe. bonaventura. bradley. briony. buenaventura. calix. caper. casey. castle. cebba. chance. chanceline. chancey. charis. chase. cipher. claude. cleo. cliff. clu. clue. clyde. colette. columbus. conan. constance. cora. corbin. cypher. daley. dalton. damon. daphne. darcie. darcy. darnell. darwin. dean. deanna. declan. dee. delia. devin. dex. dice. dot. dottie. doyle. duncan. edith. edmund. edric. edward. eivor. elmer. elysium. enigma. fog. fortuna. fortune. foxglove. gizem. godid. hannah. harley. harlow. harper. haze. holmes. indigo. iris. juke. jules. kasper. keme. king. leto. lilith. liraz. locke. maya. mist. morana. myst. mystery. nancy. neil. noir. noire. obscure. odilia. onni. ophelia. ortun. otto. pandora. poe. poirot. quinn. river. rivers. runa. rune. runfrid. sam. scarlet. selma. sher. sherlock. silver. sitheach. spy. sylvi. sylvia. tec. tyche. tychon. veil. veila. velma. vera. verity. vesper. vesta. watson. widow. wisteria. zero.

PRONOUNS︰ analyze/analyze. book/book. caper/caper. case/case. chance/chance. cipher/cipher. claw/claw. clu/clue. clue/clue. code/code. crime/crime. crime/scene. cypher/cypher. deal/deal. detect/detect. detect/detective. detective/detective. en/en. end/end. enigma/enigma. evidence/evidence. eye/eye. fate/fate. file/file. find/find. flaw/flaw. game/game. glass/glasse. grit/git. hidden/hidden. hide/hide. hint/hint. hunt/hunt. hypo/hypothesi. inv/investigate. invest/investigate. investigate/investigate. it/it. justice/justice. lore/lore. luck/luck. magni/magnifying. magnifying/glas. murder/murder. mys/mystery. myst/myst. myst/mystery. mystery/mysterie. mystery/mystery. noir/noir. note/note. obscure/obscure. per/perplex. poi/poison. private/private. psych/psych. puz/puzzle. puzz/puzzle. puzzle/puzzle. que/question. read/read. rid/riddle. rob/rob. rob/robbery. rpg/rpg. scene/scene. search/search. search/searche. sec/secret. secret/secret. see/see. seek/seek. sight/sight. sleu/sleuth sleuth/sleuth. sol/solution. sol/solve. solution/solution. solve/solve. spot/spot. spy/spy. stake/out. stake/stake. step/step. stole/stolen. story/storie. tape/tape. thon/thon. threat/threat. track/track. watch/watche. ⚰️. ❓. 🎭. 🎮. 🐦‍⬛. 💉. 💊. 💡. 📁. 📖. 📚. 📹. 🔎. 🔐. 🔑. 🕹️. 🗃️. 🗝️. 🗞️. 🚬. 🧩. 🧬. 🩺.

[nation109]

"Iris Silver Mist" by Serge Lutens (1994)

[namelessghoulsfacelessblogs]

Eye of the Storm

So, this amazing art and hc by @kabukiaku (here!) REALLY piqued my interest, and I just let my mind run wild.

Aaand.. Well, here's my interpretation of Mist's summoning after seeing the art.

Alternating POVs between what Omega and Mist see/experience!

Warnings: Drowning, panic attack, slight nudity, mentions of death and zombies/poltergeists/ghosts.

The moon was full above the still waters of Lago della Morte, shimmering off the ripples only created by wind. Two men stood aside the lake, one dressed in extravagantly beautiful robes and a mitre, a book of incantations in one hand and a beaded rosary in the other. His black and white painted features seemed to glow in the dark, along with the one white iris. The other, green, was lit up by not only moonlight, but determination. He turned to the other, a much taller, imposing figure, sturdily built with a gleaming silver mask. Bright, glittering blue eyes met the mismatched eyes of the shorter man, and he took a breath.

“You’re sure you want to do this? We have another month, another chance to find a different location.”

“No, no. Here. It has to be here. I had many dreams of this lake, amore, of someone coming from here.. Our newest Ghoul must be found here. I know it!”

“But Terzo-”

“Omega.” He gave him a look, one that the taller man knew meant he was set on this, and would not deviate. A heavy sigh came from Omega, and his tail flicked before he nodded.

“I understand, amore..” He placed a hand on Terzo’s shoulder, then pressed their foreheads together.

The Satanic Pope smiled at his Ghoul lover, and held his hand, lacing their fingers. “Good. Now, you know what to do?” Omega nodded and moved to the side of the lake, a few steps back. Terzo flipped the book open and took a breath, then began chanting, voice soft at the beginning, as was usual for his summonings. He would call for Lucifer, voice kind while the weather and environment allowed, and would grow louder as he got further into the ritual, the summoning. Omega watched him for a moment before his gaze shifted to the lake before him, the water still calm.

Lago della Morte - the name the Ministry had given to the lake just past the edge of their property, in a clearing just past a ring of trees in the forest, as though the plant life avoided it. Even the grass seemed to try and grow away from the water. It was an assumed portal to hell, and a site of a number of deaths, ranging from supernatural causes to human, and with causes from accidental drownings to suicides to violent murders or even dumped bodies.The spiritual power from that alone was surely nothing to sneeze at, not something Omega or any Ghoul took lightly. It was part of what fueled his hesitation and anxiety. His mind was filled with concerns, worries, fear for Terzo’s safety, and for the Ghoul who was being summoned. But he couldn’t back away now. He looked up at his lover again, Papa Emeritus Terzo, as the man chanted, calling out to the forces of darkness, to Lucifer. He wanted to make sure this worked. And Omega would make sure he was able to do this. He would make sure that this ghoul came through.

Beneath the surface, despite the calm waters above, something had begun stirring underneath. A hairline crack split in the depths, and as Terzo’s chanting continued, it spread. It began to heat up, red hot and bubbling the water. Slowly, the cracks became a large fissure- large enough to open a hole, and a clawed, webbed hand shot up from it. A dark, horned figure with hair spread around her in an infernal halo pulled herself up part way, shining eyes looking up towards the sound. 

Above water, the wind had picked up. Omega could see the shift in the water. There were rough waves on the surface, and bubbles rising.. But the shift in the energy was far greater. He could sense the infernal presence, the energy of the being being birthed through the mud and detritus below, but the spirits.. Tens of voices he could hear carried on the wind, screaming, begging to come home, or to be allowed rest, to be released- but then he heard one.

A body.

They knew the summon was there now.

Down below, the figure had finally pulled through, and stood on the murky floor of the lake. Eyes looked up, spotting the moon’s light. They reached up, then kicked off the floor- before a hand reached for their ankle. Skeletal, bit tight gripped. They felt something- their gills, the ones on their sides and their neck seemed to seal, and they gasped. But now, rather than being able to breathe clearly, they choked.Their throat filled with water, their lungs seemed to fill, and they nearly shrieked. More hands grabbed their naked form- both their ankles, then thighs, their tail, wrists, hands- They struggled, thrashing, panicked. What was this? What was happening? A new sensation gripped their heart, their mind, and their being.

Omega’s eyes widened. “Terzo-” He tried to call out, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t let the portal close- it could cause it to fail. He looked between the water and his love, and his heart twinged- but when he felt just how panicked and terrified the new summon was, he couldn’t do it. He dove in. He swam down, down, fast, and his pupils narrowed to slits as he went deeper. He saw them- their hands fighting dozens of cadaverous others and their eyes wide with panic. He grabbed them, and flooded them with his intent- to save them. They gripped him, and they tried to cry out. He shook his head before he grabbed them, forcing the hands away, and he kicked off a nearby elevated rock. He pulled them close and swam up to the surface, dragging them up and out of the water, coughing, sputtering. He heard them gasping too. They gagged, vomiting up a large mouthful of water, panic setting into their body, and he held onto them. “Terzo!”

The Papa had stopped, panicked as soon as he had seen Omega go under, When he’d come up, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and he’d tried to calm down, but now, he saw this poor creature, who was screaming with fear and scampering away from the water. He returned to his texts and finished the ritual, closing the portal and extinguishing the infernal presence inside the lake before he grabbed for the simple white robe he’d brought for the new summon. He approached them and gently held his other hand out. “Per favore, stai fermo- I will not harm you. I promise. You have my word, on Lucifer, that I will do you no harm, and no harm will come to you.”

The new summon whimpered and stared at him with large, scared eyes, and Omega shifted, gently holding a hand out as well. The ghoul reached for him and clung to him when he held her close, then gently took Terzo’s hand. He helped the new summon slip into the robe, holding them close and trying to use his abilities to soothe her. It took a long time, but when their breathing finally began to calm, they looked up, and Omega gently smoothed their hair. “You’re safe..”

Terzo moved and reached to grab the mask they’d gotten for them, and gently handed it to Omega, who showed it to the summoned Ghoul. He then showed how he was wearing one, showing his face before putting it back on, then handing them the new one. They began to slip it on, and as they did, Omega and Terzo stood. The Papa reached his hand down to them once they could see, and when they took his hand, he helped them stand.

“And what is your name, new Ghoul?” His voice was kind and tender as he spoke, and he met their eyes.

They let the words come naturally. “I am Mist.”

Terzo smiled, and his eyes softened even further. “Ah, che bello. And are you..?” “Female. I want to be female.”

The two gazed at her softly, smiling.

“Eccelente. You’ll be my first Ghoulette, Mist. I will help you get acquainted with my other Ghouls.”

Mist looked to them both, eyes glowing from inside the mask, first to Terzo, then to Omega, then back to Terzo.

“That.. That would be nice..”