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astrobydalia · 8 months ago

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Aquamarine. Gold. Lavender.Colors of summer... Astro Observations

work by astrobydalia

Your 9th house rules your gandchildren! 9th house is 5th from 5th so your kids' kids.

Also, if you are any of your parent's first kid look at their 11th house to get a glimpse at how they will perceive your fs. (11th house is 7th from 5th, so your first kid's spouse)

^^these are derivative astrology methods so you gotta use whole sign system

The scorpion actually represents the underdeveloped/young version of Scorpio while the developed version of Scorpio is represented by the eagle which to me is analogous to the phoenix. That's why you see an eagle representing Scorpio in the The World card (cause this card signifies fulfillment or completion in tarot)

I think the song 'Part of Me' by Katy Perry really illustrates developed Scorpio energy. Is not resentful or vengeful but rather transformative and empowering, you can't end their spirit just like you can't end a phoenix. Underdeveloped Scorpio energy allows pain, trauma and resentment to ultimately k!ll their soul which turns into self-destruction, think how scorpion's stinger actually points at them (and fun fact: scorpions can actually k!ll themselves when they feel cornered)

Being "different" or an "outcast" is not an Aquarius trait, it's a Leo trait. Leo is all about being yourself, being unique, the one and only and main character energy. Aquarius rules inclusivity, equality, social cohesion, FRIENDSHIP (aka people who get you) and public validation, that's why it is a strong fame indicator. Aquarius energy is relatable to others, its new and fresh, Leo it not relatable because it is unique, it shines among the crowd and burns just like the Sun. Aquarius can be unique too but the main difference is Leos feel ultimately they only have themselves while Aquarius will always have people.

Leos are meant to experience feeling "different" or outcasted because they need to learn to accept and express themselves no matter what, that's why it rules bravery and courage. They often either feel alone in their "greatness" or feel like nobody accepts their real self. Either way its more common for them than for Aquarius to experience loneliness and rejection just like the sun can't never have anything come too close to it

Aquarius does not rule uniqueness per se it rules innovation, authenticity and detachment from the ego. Aquarians that try hard to be different and separated from "most" people are underdeveloped because they're still attached to their ego and this is the n1 thing that kills their innovative potential. Aquarius doesn't do things to validate the self like Leo, it generates ideas on how humanity can better express itself and develop, that's why it rules over technology, science and activism and that's why they're known to be trend setters. Air signs are all about finding common ground, aquarians are not meant to be different from communities or groups but rather find new and authentic new ways to represent them (hence the inclusivity).

All the Gemini Venus I've met were very loyal in their relationships idk what you guys are talking about. They are the golden retriever person that is head over heals obsessed with their partner. It's not easy to get them to commit cus they need someone who has that perfect blend between goofy and mysterious, too much of either bores them quickly. They love in a playful and child-like way so I see how they can be flighty and non-commital sometimes but if they're genuinely intrigued by you oh boy they'll be ALL over you in every way pretty consistently

Harsh aspects (esp square) between Mercury-Mercury in synastry are a no-go when it comes to compatibility. The two people can get along well and like each other if the rest of the synastry supports it but they likely have NOTHING in common. Efforts to try and find shared interests or ideas might be misunderstood or feel forced because there's none 😭. Even if you do have shared ideas or interests, you will have vastly different ways of looking at them because the way in which you both think/communicate always clash so you never really see eye to eye. You can get away with having unharmonious connections between venus or mars in synastry but mercury? Nah.

When it comes to predictions specially, you need to have AT LEAST three indicators for an energy to stick. For example, having just one planet at 29º doesn't mean you're gonna be famous, you need to have at least three fame indicators to even consider fame in chart. Also, I can't stress this enough, you REALLY shouldn't need to dig too hard to find the indicators, they're usually evident and fit into the context of the chart, meaning there are no other things contradicting or neutralizing said energy.

Even though we often look at 7th house for marriage, you are most likely to consider marrying and settling down with people who have their placements in your 4th house and/or 10th house, or you just see them as marriage potential in general. 4th house creates a sense of home, security and familiarity while 10th house synastry points to shared goals, seeing a future together, etc. That's how you'll feel tho, to see if that would happen you gotta check composite chart

If you have fire in your big 3 I just know you love being unhinged and a little wild once you get comfortable

Natives with Venus-Chiron aspects tend to have... questionable taste in lovers or get in relationships that are not so promising (forbidden love, etc). Their love life is always a struggle, they feel like they can't find someone that truly loves them and when they do it's always "complicated". With hard aspects they tend to date people who blatantly suck (abusers, psychos, players, etc). With easy aspects this can happen too but I've noticed they are more prone to attracting people who are alright however deep down are very troubled and/or unavailable individuals so the native tends to be the one to heal or sooth their lover.

Scorpio Mars can have sadistic tendencies... It obviously does NOT have to go that far for everyone, in fact most of them are pretty tame but this placement really gets off on the reactions of others I've noticed. Their n1 superpower is catching you off guard and poking at you psychologically. They know exactly what strings to pull and are very aware of how anything they do or say can trigger and affect others. This can manifest as smart and punchy humor, teasing... or really toxic behaviors. Oh and you do NOT wanna see them genuinely angry 😶 If you have this placement im gonna kindly ask you to please use your powers for good 😭💀

Females with Libra placements could have experienced being 'the other woman' I've seen this a lotttt. Either that or they constantly attract situatioships. They have a tendency to not be taken seriously by the opposite sex, only being seen as a trophy or a pretty face kinda vibe. Unless they also have Cancer energy

Which is interesting to see cause even though Libra rules marriage, the kind of women who are mostly perceived as marriage material by men are Cancer placements not Libra. If you think about it, it makes sense tho cause cancer rules family and motherhood

Water venus people have a very approachable and understanding aura. Very diplomatic and tactful, they'll effortlessly make you feel comfortable around them. Equally accepting of others both in public and in privet, but you'll automatically lose them if you make them feel invaded

Fire venus motto is "it's impossible to impress me.... but let's see you try😏". They purposefully market themselves as hard to get cause they want to see what you got. Will constantly crave interactions with some fun and friction

Earth venus are a lot more harsh, they haven't even talked to you yet but somehow have already decided you didn't make the cut 🥱 Silent observers, they'll have a mental spread sheet of what they like and don't like about you

With air venus you don't want to come off too strong otherwise you'll activate their fight or flight response 🏃‍♀️ You'll never know where you stand with them but if you wanna get closer you need to keep it playful and give them space

Virgo Sun/Mars/ASC like to help others but they do it in such way that is also indirectly self-serving to themselves. Virgos are sidereal Leos, they secretly want recognition for their modesty and want their actions and efforts to ultimately shine back on them

Underdeveloped Pisces Moons are selfish and out of touch. I’ve noticed this placement is painted in a way too innocent light but they can have a nasty shadow too. They will not accept anything that does not conform to their delusional expectations about life and when things don't go their way they’ll isolate in melancholy and victimize themselves using the ‘misunderstood’ card. They can have a really twisted perception of reality, confusing the lines between right and wrong to accommodate their own narrative. Think Thanos from MCU, that character is a perfect example of underdeveloped Pisces Moon fr!! They tend to be very aloof and weaponize their empathy to appear innocent . Can use the “I can understand the world but the world doesn’t understand me” mentality to justify everything they do without ever feeling bad about it.

Another Return that brings a lot of karmic lessons aside from Saturn Return is your North Node return which happens every 18 years (Ages 18, 36, 54, etc)

Gemini risings have a fabricated or fragmented personality. They're often attracted to things like astrology, personality stuff, psychology, etc because it helps them make sense of themselves through abstract concepts. They also tent to define themselves through imitation or comparison like "I do that too", etc. It's very easy for them to convince themselves they're something they're not (gemini rules lies and deception), that's why they're often good actors (Pisces 10th house). They come across as very air-headed cause who they present themselves to be is based on who they THINK and SAY they are vs. how that translates in reality

Based on my life experience and also the responses in astro/observation posts, I've observed Scorpio placements respond relatively well to criticism. Not saying they don't care, but they can handle being villainized quite well because when developed they can have a really healthy acceptance of their shadow side and toxic traits. They also don't mind being misunderstood cause that means people can't pry on their business

CANCER, Libra, Leo and Virgo placements on the other hand are the most sensitive to criticism.... They can't handle not being seen as "the good one" all the time

Most Pisces suns I've met gave off huge xNTJ vibes for some reason like very deep thinkers, silent, sarcastic with a low-key threatening and unapproachable aura. Also VERY elusive and protective their personal stuff, they embodied the "mysterious" Scorpio stereotype fr.

However Pisces sun+pisces venus combo gives much softer vibe, more quiet and doormat-like, you'd think they're high 24/7.

The other bunch of Pisces suns Ive met had a very bubbly and dramatic personality. Can be emotional in a really performative way

Libra Mars people are SMOOOOOTH. Not only with their words but also their mannerisms, how they move and do things in general. You'll never see them triggered or stressed, they make everything look so effortless

The Pluto in Scorpio generation (millennials mostly) were the ones who started this mental health awareness wave. All this concern with anxiety, depression, mental and personality disorders was started by them. They’re the ones who started putting focus on the deeper effects of the dark psychology (Scorpio).

All the people that have scared me and traumatized me deeply for life had planets in my 12th house with no 8th house synastry in sight whatsoever…

>>> In my experience 8th house synastry is only intense in the moment but eventually you get over it fast once you stop entertaining the person/situation. It might be hard to let it go tho cause the connection is intense and this person will leave a lasting impression, but once it’s done that person is forever dead to you. 12th house synastry on the other hand is giving "I fight with you in my sleep", 12th house feels harmless at first but it deals with themes of sorrow and shame. It lingers and haunts you fr. Let’s remember that Saturn, the planet of permanece and lessons, finds its joy in the 12th house…

8th house venus/juno is NOT a sugar baby indicator imo. As per my observation, it is actually the 8th house native that ends up making a lot of money and their spouse/partner benefits from the native's income and success. I swear every person I've seen with these placements had "we could hang out in my yacht if you want😉" as their main flirting technique LMAO. Their own power (8th house) is their main source of seduction and attraction (Venus/Juno)

I believe 2nd house Venus/Juno is more indicative of sugar baby energy. They want that spoiled good life with little effort even if that means being financially dependent on someone else or using family's money

In contrast I've noticed 8th house placements are not really like that, they have a HEAVY entrepreneurial spirit. Super ambitious individuals

With that being said, be careful if your have natal 8th house placements (specially Venus, Moon, Juno, 7th house ruler), cause the people you bond with WILL benefit from YOUR income and success. That's why these natives are prone to experiencing betrayal, cause if you surround yourself with the wrong people they'll take what they want from you or cause chaos in your life and then leave, so use your intuition!!

With 2nd house energy you are good at keeping your resources and income safe, but this means they can lose value if you don't use or invest them eventually just like food goes bad if it just sits in the fridge. With 8th house energy you are prone to loss, debt, loans and other financial risks where you either lose it all or gain lots and lots of money, the all or nothing nature of plutonic energy.

I bet any virgo placement can relate to being a little bit of mess but something I’ve seen in particular with Virgo risings is they are surprisingly sloppy?? You really wouldn't in a million years think so given how they always end up presenting good results but once you know them deeply you notice they often miss out on important details in the process or get so caught up with short-term things that they miss the big picture. Either way, they often look like they got it all together but they constantly improvise a lot more that what it looks like in the surface

Aquarius Mars is a placement I've seen A LOT in celebrities, specially well-liked ones. They attract people to them just by existing, they don't even have to try too hard

I’ve noticed a lot of critically acclaimed actors have air moons

Sagittarius Part of Fortune have a vibrant and fun spirit, you can’t never kill their vibes but they can tend to be immature. It’s like they’re completely oblivious to anything serious

Libras are people pleasers due to a hidden inferiority complex (sidereal virgo)

work by astrobydalia

#astrology #astro #astro observations #astro notes #zodiac #birth chart #astrobydalia #astrology observations #astro community

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astrocafecoffee · 6 months ago

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•Alkeste (124) - goddess of love and beauty , in your Groom pc / Juno pc /Briede pc

❤️ FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY, ENJOY. ALL PHOTOS FROM PINTEREST ❤️

🥀 MASTERLIST

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✨ Alkeste (124) asteroid's presence in birth chart can indicate a strong connection to beauty , charm , love and romance. It can tell us what is most noticeable in someone's beauty/ outer look. Here, I covered alkeste in signs in groom/ briede/ juno pc.

🧡 Alkeste in Aries :

Aries is known for its vibrant energy and assertiveness, which would manifest in the person’s look as bold and attention-grabbing. Your fs might possess striking features that command attention, such as a strong, defined face with prominent facial expressions that convey confidence and enthusiasm. Their overall style is likely to be daring and original. They might favor fashion that is edgy or unconventional, reflecting their need to stand out and make a statement. Their choices in clothing and accessories might be influenced by their desire for immediacy and directness, often opting for outfits that are both eye-catching and purposeful.they might have a distinctive and energetic charm. Their beauty could be characterized by a kind of raw and magnetic quality that draws others in with its authenticity and fervor. This can include anything from a striking eye color or unique hairstyle to a vibrant and radiant skin tone.

🧡 Alkeste in Taurus:

Taurus, ruled by Venus, emphasizes a strong connection to sensuality and physical beauty. Your fs might have a calm, grounded presence that exudes a sense of stability and grace. Their features might be well-defined and harmonious, with a natural allure that draws people in without needing to be overly flashy.Their style often leans toward classic and timeless fashion, favoring high-quality materials and earthy tones that enhance their sense of comfort and luxury. They might be known for their appreciation of textures and subtle details, reflecting a sophisticated taste. Additionally, their beauty is often complemented by a serene and nurturing demeanor, adding to their overall charm. Their look can be described as understated yet deeply attractive, radiating a steady and enduring magnetism.

🧡Alkeste in Gemini :

With Alkeste in Gemini in groom pc/ juno pc your future spouse's beauty and outer appearance often reflect a lively and versatile charm. Gemini's influence brings an air of curiosity and adaptability, which manifests in a dynamic and ever-changing style. Individuals with this placement are likely to have expressive and engaging features, such as bright, inquisitive eyes or a vibrant smile that captures attention.Their style is typically eclectic and playful, characterized by a mix of different trends and accessories. They enjoy experimenting with their look, frequently changing hairstyles or incorporating unique, attention-grabbing elements into their wardrobe. This adaptability makes their appearance fresh and interesting, showcasing a blend of creativity and wit.

🧡 Alkeste in Cancer:

With Alkeste in Cancer, your future spouse's beauty and outer appearance often embody a soft, nurturing, and comforting quality. Cancer’s influence imparts a gentle, empathetic charm, making their features appear warm and inviting. They might have a round, soft face with expressive eyes that convey depth and sensitivity.Their style typically leans towards classic and cozy, with a preference for soft fabrics and soothing colors that enhance their comforting presence. They may choose clothing that reflects their personal and emotional connection to their surroundings, often opting for pieces that evoke a sense of home and security.their beauty has a tender and caring essence, characterized by a natural grace and an ability to make others feel at ease.

🧡 Alkeste in Leo :

With Alkeste in Leo, your future spouse's beauty and outer appearance often exude a regal and charismatic flair. Leo's influence brings a sense of grandeur and confidence, making their features bold and striking. They might have a strong, well-defined jawline, bright, captivating eyes, and a radiant smile that draws attention effortlessly.Their style is typically dramatic and eye-catching, with a preference for high-quality, luxurious fabrics and vibrant colors. They may favor fashion that highlights their individuality and flair, often opting for pieces that make a statement and showcase their unique personality. Accessories might be bold and glamorous, such as statement jewelry or eye-catching hats, reflecting their desire to stand out and shine.

🧡 Alkeste in Virgo :

With Alkeste in Virgo, your future spouse's beauty and outer appearance often reflect a refined, meticulous, and understated elegance. Virgo’s influence brings a sense of precision and attention to detail, making their features appear harmonious and well-balanced. They might have a clear, fresh complexion and features that convey clarity and neatness.Their style is typically characterized by classic, clean lines and practical yet sophisticated clothing choices. They favor well-tailored, high-quality garments in neutral or muted colors that enhance their natural grace without being overly ostentatious. Their accessories are likely to be subtle and functional, focusing on quality and simplicity.

🧡 Alkeste in Libra :

With Alkeste in Libra, your future spouse's beauty and outer appearance often embody balance, harmony, and sophisticated grace. Libra’s influence lends a natural sense of symmetry and elegance to their features, which may include well-proportioned facial features and a refined, attractive appearance.Their style is typically characterized by a keen sense of aesthetics and a preference for harmonious, well-coordinated outfits. They often favor fashion that blends classic and modern elements, choosing pieces that are both stylish and timeless. Colors are usually soft and harmonious, reflecting their desire for beauty and balance. Accessories are likely to be tasteful and complement their overall look, often chosen for their elegance and ability to enhance their appearance without overwhelming it.

🧡 Alkeste in scorpio:

Your future spouse's beauty and outer appearance are often intensely magnetic and deeply transformative. Scorpio’s influence imbues their features with a compelling and mysterious allure, which may include striking, intense eyes that seem to reveal profound depth and an enigmatic aura.Their style tends to be bold and dramatic, with a preference for rich, dark colors and luxurious fabrics that enhance their powerful presence. They might favor clothing and accessories that reflect their complex personality, often choosing items that convey sophistication and a touch of mystery. Their wardrobe may include elements like deep reds, blacks, and metallics, adding to their intense and captivating image.their beauty exudes a potent and seductive charm, marked by a strong sense of individuality and a profound emotional resonance.

🧡Alkeste in Sagittarius:

Sagittarius' influence brings a sense of freedom and expansiveness to your future spouse's look, making their features appear vibrant and expressive. They might have an open, engaging smile and eyes that sparkle with enthusiasm and curiosity.Their style tends to be eclectic and influenced by their adventurous spirit. They often prefer clothing that is comfortable, practical, and suited for a range of activities. Bright colors, bold patterns, and global or bohemian-inspired pieces might feature prominently in their wardrobe, reflecting their love for exploration and diversity.Accessories are likely to be unique and meaningful, possibly including items from their travels or those that tell a story.

🧡 Alkeste in Capricorn:

With Alkeste in Capricorn, your future spouse's beauty and outer appearance often exude a classic, refined, and understated elegance. Capricorn’s influence imparts a sense of professionalism and poise, making their features appear strong and well-defined. They may have a composed and mature look, with an emphasis on practical, sophisticated aesthetics.Their style is typically characterized by timeless, high-quality pieces that reflect their appreciation for structure and formality. They often choose well-tailored, classic garments in neutral or muted tones, highlighting their preference for a polished, no-nonsense appearance. Accessories are likely to be minimal but elegant, focusing on durability and subtlety.

🧡 Alkeste in Aquarius:

With Alkeste in Aquarius, your future spouse often gravitate towards pieces that break away from mainstream trends, embracing a style that reflects their unique personality and forward-thinking nature.they might opt for garments with unusual cuts or asymmetrical designs, combining different textures and materials in unexpected ways. Their wardrobe could include elements such as oversized silhouettes, metallic fabrics, or geometric patterns that reflect a futuristic aesthetic. They have an eye for integrating bold colors or unconventional prints that challenge traditional fashion norms.Accessories play a significant role in their style, often serving as the focal point of their ensemble. They might choose statement pieces such as sculptural jewelry, unusual hats, or accessories that incorporate modern technology or artistic design.

🧡 Alkeste in Pisces:

With Alkeste in Pisces, your future spouse's beauty and outer appearance often exude a dreamy, ethereal quality. Their style is typically soft, romantic, and fluid, favoring flowing fabrics and delicate, pastel colors that enhance their gentle, mystical aura. They might choose clothing with whimsical or artistic details, such as intricate lace, soft drapes, or patterns that evoke a sense of fantasy and escape. Accessories tend to be subtle yet enchanting, such as delicate, nature-inspired jewelry or items that have a bohemian or vintage feel. Their overall look often conveys a sense of otherworldliness and sensitivity, combining elegance with a touch of mystery. This placement suggests a beauty that is not only visually appealing but also emotionally resonant, reflecting an inner depth and an intuitive sense of style.

Thanks for reading, my lovelies 💕

- PIKO 💖

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windvexer · 26 days ago

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Simple Ward Against Spirits (and Other Varieties)

Forbidden peanut butter cookies

I've been very much enjoying working with a new style of ward. It's pertinent materia magica blended into air-dry clay, worked into small disks stamped with protective symbols, and hung up near doors and windows (or carried).

Sometimes I paint them; this time I just filled in the symbols with India ink.

The recipe is quite nice as you can make several little wards for the effort of one spell. And they work up pretty quickly.

The recipe:

3 substances aligning with intent (sets given below)

A small handful of air-dry clay

Paint or ink to decorate, as desired

Thread or cord to hang up, if desired

Clear-dry glue (modge-podge used in picture) to seal clay, especially helpful to block strong-smelling herbs

Steps:

Work over each substance individually to ensure they are carriers of power. Ensure each substance is empowered and aligned with its duties before moving on.

Blend all three substances into some air-dry clay (the clay itself is not worked with as a correspondence, but could be, if you're into it).

Divide the air-dry clay into individual balls and flatten them out into disks. You may have to add plenty of extra water to counteract the dehydrating effect of salt or herbs.

Poke a hole at the top of each disk (I used the back end of a matchstick) if you want to hang them up.

On one side of the disk, carve or paint any protective symbol pertinent to your faith. Pictured, an equilateral cross.

On the other side of the disk, carve or paint a symbol that expresses the specific sort of protection you're working (such as a very simplified sigil, or perhaps elemental or planetary signs you're calling on, or a minimalist animal, and so forth).

Once the clay is dry, coat with a clear layer of glue or modge-podge. This helps protect against moisture and minor chips but primarily is to stop the charm from having a strong odor if you use, say, garlic and dill.

Combinations of Materia:

Use perhaps an eighth of a teaspoon of each to start with; I find the clay can hold a lot of foreign materials, but expect it to significantly change texture and dry out. Of course, use any materials you prefer.

Use only dried herbs. Fresh will not do.

Against Evil

Dill (to perceive, forewarn, and shelter against against evil)

Garlic (to protect against evil)

Salt (to neutralize evil)

Against Unwanted Spirits

Garlic (to protect against the uninvited)

Red pepper (to set boundaries against the uninvited)

Basil (to guard against transgressors)

Against Unwanted Energies

Rosemary (to shield and shelter)

Clove (to create a barrier that limits energies)

Salt (to neutralize unwanted energies)

Notes:

The spell can "end" at any number of moments; you can seal it once you mark symbols, or only after it's dried and painted, or only after you've done knot magic to weave a special hanger, etc.

IME, a very powerful set of wards can be made by linking 4 such disks, each one to a different element, and hanging them in the cardinal directions as your path specifies; thus assigning an elemental guardian working in tandem with his brothers to guard those roads of egress. Try making a base formula shared between all four disks, and then adding a unique ingredient to each one of them that corresponds with the element.

Air-dry clay is fragile. These wards are not especially suited to be carried around, but can be carried in a pinch. If you like, the idea of a ward breaking when it's done it's job is very applicable to brittle clay disks.

You can work greater magic into them; knot magic for the hanger, earth magic for the clay, layering on more power if you paint, and so forth.

#witchblr #spellcrafting #protection spell #ward #beginner witch

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cvnt4him · 2 months ago

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“diety! Izuku x nymph! rea-” alr candie pack it up.

Izuku midoriya, the man that he was. A god, a highly praised and well worshipped super natural being. He was such a luminescent creature, to describe this angelic being would be to say quite a divine nature. His presence was calming and his power was unlike any other. Despite being such a thing he always finds himself doing quite... unrighteous things. For example, stalking a nymph he accidentally came across. Well, not stalking. He certainly wouldn't call it that, just admiring. All the time. He'd first seen you when he traveled into the woods for a breath of fresh air, admiring the beautiful sound of nature the way the breeze of air flowed more freely butterflies and dragonflies flying together in perfect harmony, the flowers coming many different colors yet clashing together so amazingly. The beautiful blue water, it was all so pleasing to be able to witness. Izuku scoffed in pleasant disbelief at this rare find, still looking deeper into the woods he heard singing from not too far, he had assumed he was alone but the further he reached the louder it got. And there you were, such an interesting and illuminating creature... You were free spirited and nothing short of stunning. You were beautiful being living freely without a care. He wanted to move closer...but his footsteps were soon noticed by you causing you to instantly stop and advert your gaze in the direction he was in. His green hair helped him blend in well with the bushes, however he wasnt exactly invisible. He blinked once, and you were gone. He was saddened by your disappearance but graced by your presence. He was glad he saw such a unique free spirited thing... With a sigh he expected to turn around and walk back to his home, however upon turning around he sees you wide eyes and staring directly at him. He screeched and fell back onto the grass, the flowers seemingly wrapping around his hands and up his arms as if they were holding him down. You got closer to examine such a glowing being, his breath hitched at how close you had gotten also getting on your knees to get such a close view of him. He was nothing short of gorgeous, those adorable freckles and wide emerald kaleidoscope eyes of his. He couldn't help the warmth reaching to his face, his cheeks reddening within an instant.

“ hello.”

Was all you said to him, you batted your lashes at him repeatedly awaiting his response. He gulped down unable to speak, you were so beautiful and different, so captivating and delightful he'd wished he'd spoken to you when he had the chance. Alas just as he was about to you both heard people calling it for him,

“ my lord! where have you gone!”

You gasp and instantly run into the trees behind izuku, his gaze follows you as he stammers in his words. He felt the flowers around his arms deep back into the ground allowing him to stumblingly get onto his feet as he attempted to chase you with a meer

„ wait!”

But you were gone. Vanished into the beautiful woods. The sun was so bright in the direction you ran in as if it absorbed you completely. He sighed, as people arrived bursting his bubble. The people were so fascinated with this divine space they insisted it be local, but izuku declined. There was a reason you, an astonishing creature was alone in such a peaceful place he'd never seen before. He'd wondered if it would disappear by morning.

The next day izuku was quick to sneak away to find you, trying his best to remember which way he went to find your beautiful voice. You weren't singing like you were the other day. It was quite hard to find you but he managed to. You were silent, petting a deer as it laid its head on your lap, butterflies fluttering around your hair. You were truly nothing he'd ever seen before.

He wanted to speak to you, to touch you but he couldn't...he was afraid to scare you off. It was clear you hadn't liked people so ... would you like him?

this is NOTHING I've ever written b4, I hope it's good.... @candiiee

#cvnts-post #mha #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #deku x reader #izuku x reader #izuku is so girlie pop #izuku midoriya #izuku #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya #midoriya izuku #midoriya izuku x reader #deku #deku x black!reader #black coded reader fr but also not labeled #gn reader #black reader #izuku x black reader

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ilovejungwonandhaechan · 26 days ago

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scented skies - hjs. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

pairing: scentshop owner!joshua hong x reader

trope: friends-to-???

summary: getting the first smell of joshua's new scents comes with the best friend benefits, but getting a full line of scents dedicated to you? that was not exactly a part of the deal.

🎧 1979 by the smashing pumpkins

word count: 2,926

a/n: happy belated birthday joshua!! not proofread lol

fic under the cut!

The shop was quiet now, a soft hum of the world outside the only sound reaching your ears. The last of the daylight had long since faded, and the warm glow of the scattered lamps gave the room a peaceful, almost dreamlike atmosphere. Shadows flickered across the shelves lined with jars, their contents a rainbow of wax waiting to be transformed into unique candles. The gentle scent of melted wax lingered in the air, adding a cozy layer to the ambiance.

You and Joshua were the only ones left in the shop. The front door had been locked, the customers long gone, and the usual hustle and bustle of the shop had given way to an intimate calm. Joshua's workshop, the create-your-own-candle table, sat in the center of the room, surrounded by an array of fragrance oils, waxes, and little glass containers. The low hum of a fan in the corner was barely audible, but the delicate warmth it radiated added to the shop's welcoming vibe.

Joshua placed two boxes in front of you on the table, the cardboard a little worn from use, but inside, the promise of something new. A freshly brewed coffee, still warm from the café down the street, sat between you two. Its rich, earthy scent blended nicely with the soft perfume of the shop, and for a moment, you just let the quiet and the coziness of the scene settle around you.

"I’m glad you're here," Joshua said, his voice almost conspiratorial as he leaned forward, excitement dancing in his eyes. "I've been waiting to show you our new lines of scents."

The first box Joshua opened revealed small vials, their glass smooth and cool in the dim light. The labels were minimalistic, hand-written with care. You could see the weight of each scent as it was revealed—a promise of new memories to create, new moods to set.

He pulled out the first bottle and held it up, a glint of pride in his eyes. You reached out eagerly, your fingers brushing against the cool glass before uncapping the bottle. As soon as the scent hit you, it was as if you had stepped into a tropical garden at dawn—sharp, sweet pineapple mingled with the fresh, zesty bite of bergamot, and the earthy undertones of cedarwood brought you back to the deep, rich scent of an old forest after rain. It was fresh yet grounding, evoking a sense of summer mornings and long, lazy afternoons.

"That's the first one," Joshua said, his tone soft with an almost secretive air. "I don’t have a name for it yet, but I was thinking something tropical, maybe even a little nostalgic."

The second scent you tried was more delicate, a warm embrace in a bottle. Vanilla, sweet and smooth, curled gently around a subtle hint of coffee—like an espresso brewed fresh on a chilly morning. A touch of pear added a crisp, juicy sweetness, and together, they created a fragrance that felt like the perfect rendezvous in a small, hidden café, the kind with dim lights and rain softly tapping on the windows.

The third scent was a complete contrast—deep, rich, and bold. A blend of almond, rum, clove, and vanilla, it was something undeniably masculine, reminding you of leather-bound books and old whiskey glasses, a dark room lit only by the glow of a fireplace. It carried a weight to it, an air of mystery, like a story that had yet to unfold.

You leaned back in your chair, the soft creak of the wood beneath you grounding you in the moment. The room, now illuminated by scattered lamps, seemed almost enchanted. The faint scent of wax and the lingering perfume of the oils mixed in the air, creating a heady atmosphere that invited conversation.

"You know what’s funny?" you asked, breaking the quiet.

Joshua glanced up at you, raising an eyebrow. "Not particularly."

You giggled to yourself before speaking again. "This is exactly how I imagined Baekhyun’s new album to smell." The words slipped out easily, the connection between scent and music obvious to you now. You didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to you before, but these fragrances had a way of capturing the essence of each track you'd been listening to.

Joshua's laughter echoed in the room, warm and rich, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world outside had fallen away.

"I’m being serious," you said, still grinning. "The first one is so obviously 'Pineapple Slice', the second one is so incredibly 'Rendez-Vous, and the last one is totally giving 'Truth Be Told.'"

Joshua let out a dramatic groan, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. "What, do you want me to name this new line of scents after your king Baekhyun?"

Your sarcastic laughter joined his. "Yes, Shua, I think that would be a great idea."

He shook his head, though his eyes twinkled with humor. "I will never take name suggestions from you. Ever."

The air between you both was filled with warmth and familiarity, the kind that only comes from years of friendship. The room, the scents, the soft glow of the lamps—everything seemed perfectly aligned, as though the universe had conspired to create this simple, yet unforgettable moment.

Joshua’s hands moved with a practiced fluidity as he pulled out the second box. It was a bit larger than the first, and as he placed it down in front of you, the lid came off with a soft scrape, revealing yet another set of bottles, each carefully sealed, their colors deep and inviting. The faintest glimmer of excitement flickered across his face as he began to unwrap the scents one by one.

The air in the room seemed to shift slightly, charged with anticipation, and you couldn’t help but lean forward, intrigued. The first bottle he lifted smelled almost cold, a crisp, fresh scent that immediately took you to the edge of a windy cliff, the sea below churning with frothy waves. You could almost feel the air stinging your cheeks. There was something sharp in the top notes—eucalyptus and mint—sharp and clean, like a sharp breath of air after a storm. Beneath it, a grounded base of moss and earth, almost like the feeling of standing in the middle of a clearing just after the rain, the grass still damp beneath your feet.

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply. “If this was weather…” You trailed off, eyes still closed as the scent wrapped around you. “This would be a cold, windy morning, the kind where the sky is cloudy and heavy with the promise of rain but it never comes. The air is thick with anticipation, and you’re standing outside, waiting for the storm that never quite arrives.”

Joshua leaned in, watching you carefully, a little smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I knew you were going to say something like that,” he said with a laugh, shaking his head affectionately. “Always reading the sky, huh?”

You shrugged with a smile. “I can’t help it. The world smells like weather sometimes, and my brain just connects the dots. Anyway,” you said, reaching for the next bottle. The second scent was much softer, warmer, a delicate mix of amber, warm vanilla, and the faintest hint of lavender. It was the kind of scent that made you think of the slow, steady descent into dusk, when the world is soft and golden. It was a soft glow, the fading sunlight kissing the horizon, and everything in the world seemed to slow down.

“If this one were weather,” you mused with a dreamy look in your eyes, “it would be a late afternoon thunderstorm—one of those brief, violent storms that rolls through, but then the sky clears up again, and everything smells fresh and soaked. The air’s still warm, but there’s this crispness that follows after the rain.”

Joshua’s eyes softened as he watched you, a knowing glint in his gaze. “That’s exactly it. I knew you'd say something like that.” He pulled out the next bottle, this one a darker, more grounding scent. It smelled like deep woods and earth, with notes of sandalwood and leather, wrapped in the comforting warmth of a smoky fireplace. There was something ancient about it, something you could imagine walking into an old cabin in the middle of winter, where the air is dry, the fire crackling, and snow falls silently outside.

You sniffed it deeply, your mind already wandering, and then laughed softly. “This… this is definitely a winter night. The kind when it’s snowing heavily outside, and the world is quiet and still. There’s a clear sky, so you can see all the stars, but the cold just lingers in the air. It’s peaceful but heavy, the kind of night that makes you feel small but also strangely at peace.”

Joshua leaned back with a grin. “I thought you'd say something like that, too,” he said, his tone affectionate but laced with something else, something that made the air between you feel thicker. He began pulling out the labels for each scent, one by one, placing them in front of you as though he couldn’t wait to see your reaction. As he slid each label toward you, your heart skipped a beat.

Each label was adorned with a photograph of the sky—clouds, sunsets, stormy horizons, or a deep, endless night sky—each one a text message you’d sent him over the past few years. There was the picture of the sunset you had sent last summer, with the caption: “The sky's a canvas right now. I swear it looks like the colors are coming alive." Another label had a photo of a thunderstorm, the caption: “The world feels like it’s holding its breath right before the storm hits. Can you smell it?” And the last one was a quiet winter evening you’d shared with him years ago: “The air smells like snow tonight. So still, so clean.”

You froze, your breath catching in your chest. As you looked at the labels, the realization hit you like a wave crashing against a rock. It wasn’t just about the sky or the weather anymore—it was about the connection between you and Joshua, one that you hadn’t seen for what it truly was until now. You hadn’t noticed before, not with this kind of clarity.

He was looking at you now, his expression soft but laced with a hint of vulnerability, something he rarely let show. There was a depth to his gaze, an unspoken understanding in the way he watched you now. The corners of his lips curled up in a quiet smile, but there was something different in the way he held himself, something that felt as though the entire room had shifted.

For a moment, you were completely still, your heart thudding against your chest. His dedication—the care he had taken to incorporate your thoughts, your feelings, your interpretations of the world around you into something so tangible, so beautiful—felt like a promise.

The realization struck you harder than any scent, any image, any word. You’d been falling in love with him for years—since childhood, really—but now, with the pieces of his heart scattered before you, the truth was undeniable. You didn’t know when it had started, or if it had always been there, waiting for the right moment. But suddenly, everything about your relationship with Joshua felt different. He saw you with new eyes. And for the first time, you wondered if maybe he’d always seen you this way—if maybe, all along, he had been falling in love with you, too.

You looked up at him, feeling a pang in your chest. There was warmth in your face, but a strange ache at the back of your throat. “Shua…” you whispered, not quite knowing what to say, but feeling everything at once. You blinked, not trusting your words to come out right.

Joshua didn’t say anything at first, just gazed at you with an intensity that made your heart skip. Then, as if testing the waters, he spoke softly, a touch of humor in his voice but something deeper beneath it. “You know,” he said, his voice almost too quiet, “I’ve always thought the sky is just as beautiful as you say it is. But now… I think I understand it a little more.”

His words, though simple, made the air between you two feel electric, like everything had just changed. And for the first time, you weren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or simply sit in the stillness of it all. But one thing was for sure: the landscape of your relationship had shifted forever.

The space between you felt different now, fuller, like an unspoken truth was hanging in the air, too delicate to name yet too real to ignore. And in that moment, the only thing that mattered was how everything—his words, his look, the way your heart seemed to flutter—felt like something new, something you'd both been dancing around for years without ever realizing it.

#joshua #joshua hong #seventeen #svt #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #joshua x reader #joshua hong x reader #joshua imagines #seventeen fic #joshua fic

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edenesth · 1 year ago

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The Painter's Muse

Pairing: painter!Wooyoung x princess!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

ATEEZ Masterlist

"Stay still, your highness."

You fidgeted in your chair, adjusting the satin dress to alleviate the stifling warmth within the famous painter's studio. The movement inadvertently exposed more of your skin, causing him to clear his throat and avert his gaze, a blush colouring his cheeks.

After enduring hours of posing, you finally voiced a plea, "Wooyoung, it's been ages. Can we please take a short break?" The subtle pout on your lips sent a rush of emotions through him, the desire to kiss you now more potent than ever.

Succumbing to your request, he nodded hastily, "Y-you're right, let's take a break. I apologise for losing track of time, princess."

In reality, both of you needed the pause to collect your thoughts and calm the rapid beating of your hearts. The artist grappled with the realisation that nurturing feelings for the princess was a forbidden path. Surely, you were destined for a match of higher societal standing, not with a mere painter. But your enchanting presence made it increasingly difficult for him to resist falling in love with you.

The intricacies of this predicament were not lost on him—the princess of Wonderland being his muse presented its own complications, especially when emotions became entangled in the delicate dance of artistry and affection.

Wrapping a robe around yourself, you opened a window to let in the fresh air while Wooyoung occupied himself with tidying up his paintbrushes and changing the water. Stealing a few glances at his familiar silhouette, you sighed, contemplating the possibility of a future with him.

Never did you anticipate that things would progress to this point. It started months ago during one of your occasional trips to the town, seeking respite from the burdens of your princess duties. The joy of blending in with the commoners, momentarily forgetting your responsibilities, was something you cherished.

As an avid art enthusiast, nothing brought you greater delight than your visits to the local art museum. Unaware of the lingering gaze fixated on your every move, you settled into your regular spot at the museum one day. Little did you know, the very artworks that captivated you were born from the inspiration drawn from you.

The painter had committed every nuance of your ethereal beauty and graceful gestures to memory from the moment you first graced the museum with your presence. While Wooyoung was no stranger to the allure of beautiful noblewomen, there was an indescribable quality about you that set you apart.

As he observed you engrossed in one of his favourite paintings—a celestial figure bearing a striking resemblance to you—he felt compelled to unravel the mystery of your identity. What had initially captivated him was your poised demeanour, but over time, his admiration had blossomed into something more profound.

You looked up, meeting his gaze as he gathered the courage to take a seat beside you, marking the first time he made his presence known. Returning his polite smile, you gestured toward the painting, "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

The artist nodded, a faint blush tinting his cheeks, "I agree. After all, it finds its full inspiration in you, my lady."

And that was how you met your favourite painter and how he discovered that his muse was none other than the sole princess of the nation. Despite the initial disbelief, he came to accept the truth, recognising the unique qualities that made you different—a true embodiment of royal elegance.

Since then, your visits to town have become more frequent, driven by the desire to spend more time with your new friend. As you grew closer, he gathered the courage to request the honour of painting you in person. Given your profound admiration for his work, you were more than happy to pose for his paintings.

Now, in one of your many sessions, there was tension lingering in the air. Both of you were acutely aware of each other in a different light as romantic feelings blossomed, leaving you both uncertain about how to address them.

Biting your lip, you shed the robe and settled back into your chair, frustration evident as Wooyoung deliberately avoided meeting your gaze. The awareness of mutual feelings lingered, yet the uncertainty weighed heavily. Both of you, usually playful and carefree, now trod cautiously, reluctant to overstep any boundaries.

It irked you—the palpable connection between you, the unspoken desire—yet the circumstances demanded a careful dance around your emotions.

Deep down, you pondered the unfairness of it all. If your brother, the crown prince, could marry a palace maid, why should there be obstacles for you and a talented painter like Wooyoung? Besides, he was no ordinary artist but a renowned one. Why should anyone else dictate who you could be with?

The resolve built within you. The opinions of others mattered little. No one can tell you what to do; you were the princess, and this is the man you love.

To hell with it. You're mine, Jung Wooyoung.

Opting to revive your playful side, you deliberately shifted around, purposefully trying to get on the artist's nerves. A smirk played on your lips when he emitted a tired sigh, "Princess, please, why are you being so difficult today?"

Your scoff echoed through the studio, "You're acting as if you don't already know what a brat I can be. Admit it, you secretly enjoy it."

He rolled his eyes, visibly uneasy as you continued your antics, causing your dress to ride up and reveal more skin, "Just sit still; we're almost done."

Crossing your legs, you shot him a defiant glare, "Well, what if I don't want it to be done?"

Frustrated, he set his brush down, reciprocating your glare, "I swear, princess, if you don't cooperate—"

With a challenging gaze, you interrupted, "And what exactly will you do about it?" Your taunt hung in the air as he shot up from his seat, advancing toward you, "Will you quit being a brat?" He growled.

You grinned mischievously, "Make me."

Unable to resist any longer, he muttered, "You asked for it, princess." Without a moment's hesitation, he leaned down, kissing you hard enough to leave both of your lips tingling and bruised. This was it; he was tired of feigning indifference, tired of concealing the depths of his love for you. The pretence was no longer sustainable; he craved to have you close to him every second of every day.

You smiled against his lips, reciprocating the fervour of his kiss. He pulled you close, orchestrating a swift turn until he was seated, and you straddled him on his lap.

Breaking the kiss, you both caught your breath as he rested his forehead against yours. Tenderly caressing his cheeks, you whispered, "I love you, Wooyoung."

His arms tightened around your waist, overwhelmed with emotion at finally hearing those words from you, "Are you sure, your highness? What would the people think?"

Cupping his jaw, you locked eyes with him, "It doesn't matter what they think; no one can stop me. Now, will you submit or stand beside me?"

Biting his lip, he responded, "I'll be on my knees, worshipping you for the rest of my life. I love you too, my princess."

By the end of the day, you found yourself subjected to endless teasing from your royal tutor. It seemed like a fitting revenge for your previous interference in his love life. Secretly, you relished the playful banter; it meant that what you and Wooyoung shared was real.

Holy crap, 400+ followers already?! Thank you all, my lovelies! <3

Also, this ended spicier than I planned HAHA only Mingi's part left to go and we're finished~

Tag list: @aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01 @evidive

#edenesth #ateez crazy form #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #jung wooyoung #ateez wooyoung #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x you #ateez fic #wooyoung drabble #ateez drabbles #ateez imagines #wooyoung imagines

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litrly-justagirl · 20 days ago

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Shed What’s Holding You Back to Build the Life You Want

Remember when we used to play The Sims? There was something so powerful about designing the perfect character—choosing their look, their hobbies, their personality. You could decide what their hair would look like every day, what their clothes would say about them, how they’d spend their days and nights. You’d play out their dreams, and somehow, it felt like magic when those visions started to come to life.

Now, it’s time to stop dreaming in pixels and start creating our own life. The game is over—this is our reality.

you have to let go of the past

It’s time to shed the version of ourselves that’s stuck in the past. Let go of the old narrative. The one that tells you you’re not enough, or that you can’t be who you want to be. The imposter syndrome has had its run, but it’s no longer welcome here. We’ve mourned the past long enough, and now it’s time to step forward.

We’ve been clinging to the old, but now we’re called to something greater. We’re destined to move forward, but we’ve held ourselves back by staying rooted in who we once were. It’s time to release what no longer serves us so we can step into the future God has waiting.

How to Let Go:

Release what God has rejected. It’s not a loss—it’s a redirection.

Resume your responsibilities. Pick up where you left off with intention.

Get ready for something better. God's next is always greater than what’s behind.

The Vision for My 2025

So, if I could build the perfect version of myself for 2025, what would she look like? This is my vision—a woman who radiates confidence, elegance, and a clear sense of purpose.

Wardrobe: She dresses with intention, like every outfit is a reflection of her inner world. She’s effortlessly classy—sensual, grown, and timeless. She gravitates toward eclectic pieces, each one telling its own story—a statement bag here, an asymmetrical top there. Her style is uniquely hers, and it turns heads without trying. Even when she’s dressed down, people can’t help but compliment her. Her wardrobe feels high-end, but it’s the simplicity and comfort that make it stand out. She loves colors—rich hues that pop against her skin, because she knows that her complexion allows colors to literally radiate from her. Red for date nights, black for a touch of mystery. Each piece is chosen with care, because she knows how to blend luxury and ease, making every look an experience.

Work Attire: She’s a force in the corporate tech world, mainly working from the comfort of her home. But when she steps into the office, she brings the same timeless style with a modest twist—effortlessly chic, like she’s walking through a boardroom runway. Every outfit is a statement, without saying a word.

Sleepwear: Even bedtime is an opportunity to feel like a goddess. Her pajamas are silky, feminine, and luxurious. Think chemise dresses—soft, flowing, and sensual—not your grandmother’s nightgowns, but an elegant nightwear collection she can’t wait to slip into. She’s drawn to soft neutrals like whites, creams, blacks, and delicate pinks, with a quiet confidence that she looks just as beautiful while she sleeps.

Makeup: Her everyday makeup is subtle yet stunning—accentuating her features without masking them. For special events, she goes bold: a deep red lip, or a smoky eye that demands attention. It’s always about enhancing what’s already there, never hiding. She knows the power of looking effortlessly put together, whether she’s headed to the office or a night out.

Diet and Fitness: Her body is a reflection of the life she’s building—strong, healthy, and active. She eats a balanced diet, focused on protein, fiber, and fresh greens. Nigerian dishes fill her plate, but she’s learned the importance of balance. She’s gaining weight to build curves, strengthening her body with every workout. The gym is her playground, and she wears colorful, flattering sets that make her feel unstoppable. Wednesdays are her chance to romanticize her life with pink workout gear, a personal touch to remind her that she is branding her life, on and off social media.

Community: She’s surrounded by women who don’t just dream—they take action. They are spiritual, entrepreneurial, and fiercely ambitious. They love Christ and believe in lifting each other up. They’re a community of beauty lovers, skincare enthusiasts, and fearless dreamers. Together, they make things happen. Their support is unwavering, and they inspire each other to live life fully—no holding back.

Home and Environment: She lives in a luxury penthouse with panoramic views that take her breath away every time she looks out the window. Think floor-to-ceiling windows, bathed in natural light, with a view of the city—maybe Dallas, her favorite city in Texas. Her space feels like an oasis—soft neutrals with deep textures, creating a balance of tranquility and energy. Browns, creams, greens, and touches of gold make her space feel alive and welcoming. It’s the kind of home that excites her to be in, a sanctuary for when the world gets too loud. Her furry companion, a little fawn-colored Shorkie, keeps her company as she reflects on her life.

Lifestyle: She’s the type of woman who enjoys the simple luxuries—brunches at her favorite spots, working from cozy coffee shops with the best ambiance, and discovering hidden gems in the city. She’s constantly inspired by the world around her. She takes time to do her devotions, and attends church regularly—on Sundays and Wednesdays—fully immersed in her faith. She wants to be more active, and has joined the women’s Bible study group at church.

Creativity: She’s rediscovering her creative side, embracing the things she once loved as a child—painting, pottery, and exploring new forms of self-expression. She’s letting go of the pressures to conform and is finally diving into what makes her feel alive.

now i want you to try!

Imagine waking up every day in a space that feels like you’ve stepped into your dream life. Your wardrobe reflects your confidence, your energy, and your purpose. You move through the world with intention, shedding the weight of what no longer serves you and confidently stepping into the person you were always meant to be. The path to this transformation is one step at a time, but each step is a declaration that we are no longer bound by the past. We’re building something new, something powerful, something real. So, let’s make it happen. The life you’ve been dreaming of is waiting to unfold—and it starts now. Together, we’re shedding what’s holding us back and building the life we want. Let’s bring this vision to life.

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forumda · 2 years ago

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Bosphorusshopping - Devasa+ (2)

It appeals to all tastes with its Turkish delight flavor. It has different varieties and is especially served with coffee. With its unique taste and perfect texture, it contains different fruit searches, whether with pistachio, hazelnut or walnut mixtures. Besides, Turkish baklava is indispensable for Turkish delicacies. Baklava comes to mind first when Turkish delicacies are mentioned. Layered with this special flavor intense syrup, it is at the forefront of traditional Turkish delicacies.

Turkish coffee provides different benefits with its excellent taste. It opens the mind and strengthens immunity. In addition, this special taste is recommended by experts. Herbal tea, another Turkish beverage, can be consumed at any time of the day. It is indispensable for Turkish cuisine, whether for breakfast or after dinner. It is definitely preferred with various dishes or desserts.

Iranian saffron flavor can be consumed either as a dessert or as a meal or beverage. Freshness is always preserved in carefully prepared packages. It is extremely useful. In addition, there are many Herbs and spice varieties in Turkish cuisines. There are many types of spices, bitter, sour and sweet. The real taste of the flavors in Turkish cuisine comes from these special spice blends.

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ijustmissyouraccenths · 2 months ago

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Town Pizza

A chance backstage encounter with an old friend reconnects Tessa with Mitch and introduces her to Harry Styles, sparking an unexpected connection that could lead to a new chapter in her life.

Part one of two

Word Count: 4540

Five Years Ago

Tessa was no stranger to late nights. As a dedicated college student balancing a full course load with endless study sessions, her days often stretched long past sunset. Once she wrapped up her classes and poured over her textbooks in the campus library, she would make her way downtown, where the familiar streets of Highland Park buzzed with life.

Her destination was always the same: Town Pizza, a cozy, inviting local restaurant tucked away just off the main avenue. With its weathered brick facade, glowing neon sign, and the mouthwatering scent of fresh dough wafting out every time the door swung open, it had earned a reputation as the best spot in town to grab a late-night bite.

Town Pizza wasn’t just a restaurant to Tessa—it was a second home. For the past two years, she had worked there as a hostess, greeting familiar faces and newcomers alike with a warm smile and guiding them to their seats. She knew the rhythm of the place by heart: the hum of conversation blending with the clatter of dishes, the rush of the kitchen staff calling out orders, and the gentle hum of the jukebox in the corner playing old rock ballads and soft jazz.

Even on nights she wasn’t scheduled to work, Tessa could often be found there, nestled in her favorite booth near the window, savoring a hot, dripping slice of their signature cheese pizza. The crust was perfectly crisp yet soft enough to fold in half, the cheese melted into a golden, bubbling blanket, and each bite was a comforting blend of tangy tomato sauce and rich, savory flavors. It was a simple pleasure after a long day—a reward she looked forward to during the toughest weeks of exams and papers.

For Tessa, Town Pizza was more than just a restaurant; it was a sanctuary. A place where she could escape the pressures of college life, connect with friends, and savor the familiar comforts of a meal that never failed to make her feel at home.

Over the course of the two years she had worked at Town Pizza, Tessa had crossed paths with countless people. Some were regular customers who came in like clockwork, ordering the same dishes and sharing snippets of their lives. Others were coworkers who drifted in and out of her life like passing seasons. Among the revolving door of faces, she had formed a few meaningful friendships, but none as important as the one she shared with Mitch.

Mitch was one of the cooks in the back—a tall, lean guy in his late twenties with scruffy facial hair and an easygoing smile. His long dark hair was always tucked beneath a well-worn baseball cap. He had a quiet, laid-back demeanor that masked a spark of restless energy, the kind that made you believe he was meant for something more than flipping pizzas in the dimly lit kitchen of a pizza restaurant.

Despite his humble job, Mitch possessed a rare talent: he was an exceptionally gifted guitar player. Music wasn’t just a hobby for him; it was his passion, his lifeline. On slow nights, when the restaurant was quiet and the staff had a moment to breathe, Mitch would sometimes bring his guitar and sit in the back, fingers dancing over the strings with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. The melodies he played were a blend of blues, rock, and something uniquely his own—a sound that could transport you from a bustling pizzeria to a smoky underground club in some far-off city.

Tessa had always admired his skill, watching from the sidelines as he lost himself in the music. She often teased him about his "double life"—cook by day, aspiring rock star by night. And though Mitch always shrugged it off with a laugh, she could see the truth in his eyes. He enjoyed making pizzas, sure, but it was a job, not a dream. His heart belonged to his guitar and the songs he wrote late at night in his tiny apartment he shared with a roommate, hoping one day someone would hear them.

So, it wasn’t a complete surprise when one day, Mitch walked into the restaurant with a different kind of energy—a nervous excitement that made his usual calm demeanor seem almost electric. He found Tessa near the front, organizing menus, and called her over with a grin that stretched wider than she’d ever seen.

"My roommate—you know, the one who works at the studio," Mitch began, a hint of excitement already creeping into his voice.

Tessa couldn’t help but laugh, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. "Your only roommate, Mitch. You make it sound like you’ve got a house full of them."

"Yeah, yeah, smartass," he replied, waving her off with a grin. "Anyway..." He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. "He got me a gig. A real one."

Tessa straightened, her curiosity piqued. "Go on."

"Okay, so there’s this singer—he’s recording his debut album at the studio. Big deal, right? Well, his guitarist bailed last minute, didn’t even show up for the session. Total disaster for them." Mitch paused for dramatic effect, his dark eyes gleaming with anticipation. "So, Ryan—you know, my roommate—he recommended me to fill in. Said I’d be perfect for the sound they were looking for."

Tessa’s eyes widened. "Wait... seriously?"

Mitch nodded, his smile stretching wider. "Yeah. The singer listened to my demos, and guess what? He agreed. Just like that. I’m in."

Tessa felt a wave of excitement wash over her, matching his energy. "Mitch, that’s huge! You’re actually doing it—you’re getting your foot in the door!"

"Yep," he said, his voice a mixture of pride and disbelief. "First rehearsal tomorrow night. Studio session after that. If it goes well..." He trailed off, but the implication hung in the air like a spark ready to ignite.

"If it goes well," Tessa echoed softly, the possibilities stretching out before them like a horizon. She could already see it—Mitch trading the heat of the pizza oven for the heat of stage lights, his music finally finding the audience it deserved.

What Mitch conveniently left out was a crucial detail—this wasn’t just some up-and-coming local artist trying to break into the scene. The singer in question was already well-established, a household name in the industry. This was someone who had spent years touring the world, graced the covers of countless magazines, dated a supermodel or two, and, oh yeah—had been part of one of the most iconic boy bands of their generation.

Maybe Mitch kept that little fact to himself because he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Or maybe—just maybe—it was because the singer happened to be none other than Harry Styles, the same Harry Styles that Tessa had been quietly (and not-so-quietly) obsessed with for years.

Mitch had heard her gush about him enough times to know how she’d react. The posters on her dorm wall, the playlists full of his solo albums, and the countless “what if” conversations they’d had over late-night slices of pizza. If he told her now, she’d probably lose her mind—or worse, start asking a million questions that would only make him more nervous.

But there was another reason Mitch held back. If things didn’t go well—if he bombed the gig or didn’t live up to the expectations of a global superstar—it would be a lot easier to shrug it off as just another missed opportunity. No harm, no foul. But if Tessa knew it was Harry Styles, the stakes would feel higher, and the sting of failure that much sharper. So, for now, he decided to keep it simple. No need to add extra pressure. He’d tell her—if it all went well. And if it didn’t? Well, some things were better left unsaid.

Present Day

To say it went well would have been a massive understatement. It didn’t just go well—it went immaculately well. Mitch didn’t just fill in for a session; he blew them away. His skill, his sound, his ability to seamlessly adapt to the music—it all clicked perfectly. By the end of that first gig, there was no question: Mitch was hired on the spot.

What started as a last-minute fill-in gig quickly turned into something much bigger. Within weeks, Mitch found himself on the road, touring the world with Harry Styles. He played sold-out arenas, stood under blinding stage lights before thousands of screaming fans, and soaked in the electric energy of cities he had only dreamed of visiting. When he wasn’t performing, he was in the studio, not just playing but co-writing songs—earning a reputation as a talented songwriter and collaborator.

His hard work and dedication didn’t go unnoticed. One day, a producer approached him with an offer he couldn’t refuse: the chance to record his own album. It was a dream come true—an opportunity to tell his own story through music, to step out of the shadows and into the spotlight as an artist in his own right.

Meanwhile, life was taking a turn for the better for Tessa, too. After years of late-night study sessions and hard work, she graduated with her degree and landed a job in New York City as an editor for a prestigious publishing house specializing in children’s books. It was everything she had hoped for—a creative, fulfilling career in a city full of possibility.

Though their paths had taken them in different directions, the bond between Mitch and Tessa remained strong. From opposite sides of the globe, they kept in touch—through late-night phone calls, postcards from faraway cities, and the occasional video chat. Mitch would regale her with stories of life on tour, while Tessa shared tales of the quirky authors and illustrators she worked with. Both of them were living their dreams, and in their own ways, they knew they had helped each other get there.

Tessa’s phone buzzed on the coffee table, cutting through the quiet hum of her New York apartment. She reached for it, glancing at the screen. Mitch. A smile tugged at her lips as she answered.

"Yello," she greeted playfully.

"Hey, Tess!" Mitch’s familiar voice came through, warm and light. "I’m sure you already saw my name on the caller ID, but, you know… just in case." He chuckled softly.

Tessa leaned back into the couch, already feeling the excitement in his voice. "What’s up, rockstar?"

"Well," he started, a hint of anticipation creeping into his tone, "I don’t know what your plans are tonight, but… I’m in town. Got a show. And, well, I’d love it if you came out. Met the band. You know, the band."

Tessa froze for a second, her heart skipping a beat. "Harry?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mitch let out a long, dramatic sigh, clearly enjoying the moment. "Yes, Tess. Even Harry. I might’ve told him a few stories about you, and now he’s insisting on meeting you."

Her eyes widened, and she gasped again, louder this time. "Wait—not the ones where we got drunk at Town Pizza, right?"

Mitch’s laughter boomed through the phone. "Oh, definitely those ones."

Tessa groaned, half in horror, half in disbelief. "Mitch!"

"Hey, don’t worry," he said, still laughing. "Harry thinks they’re hilarious. He said anyone who can keep up with me on tequila shots must be a legend."

Tessa shook her head, a smile creeping back onto her face. "I’m going to kill you. But fine—I’m in. Just text me the details."

"Perfect," Mitch said, the excitement clear in his voice. "It’s gonna be a night to remember, Tess. Trust me."

Mitch had sent over the details: the venue, the time, and who to speak with once she arrived. Just as he promised, it turned out to be a night she’d never forget.

Getting in was surprisingly effortless. She approached the entryway, where a pair of imposing security guards stood by the ropes. "I’m on the guest list," she said confidently, giving Mitch’s name as they checked their clipboard. With a quick nod, they ushered her inside, and before she knew it, she was being escorted to a private box with a perfect view of the stage.

The energy in the venue was electric, the air buzzing with anticipation. Then, the lights dimmed, and the crowd erupted as Harry took the stage. Tessa leaned forward, mesmerized. He had a presence that was impossible to ignore—effortlessly charismatic, commanding the room with every note he sang, every step he took. His voice was smooth and soulful, weaving through melodic verses that had the audience hanging on his every word. He moved across the stage with a natural grace, playful and confident, making it feel like he was performing for each person individually.

Tessa couldn’t take her eyes off him. It was one thing to see him in concert videos or magazine spreads, but in person, Harry was magnetic, larger than life. The way he engaged the crowd, the easy smile that never left his face, the glint of mischief in his eyes—it was impossible not to be captivated.

As the final song echoed through the venue and the applause thundered around her, Tessa felt her heart pounding with anticipation. Meeting Mitch again after so long was exciting enough, but the idea of finally meeting Harry Styles? It felt surreal, almost too good to be true.

After the show, a member of security appeared at her side and politely motioned for her to follow. They led her down a series of winding hallways, each turn taking her deeper into the labyrinth of the backstage area. The hum of the crowd faded behind her, replaced by the quieter, more intimate sounds of the post-show scene—distant laughter, the clatter of equipment being packed up, the low murmur of conversations.

As they passed through door after door, Tessa’s mind wandered back to Harry. What would he be like in person, away from the bright lights and roaring crowds? Would he be as charming in a quieter, more private setting? She imagined the warmth of his smile up close, the possibility of hearing his laugh firsthand.

She shook her head, trying to rein in her excitement. Of course, she was thrilled to see Mitch—he was her friend, after all—but meeting Harry? That would be historic. A once-in-a-lifetime moment. And as the security guard opened one final door, leading her into the heart of the backstage lounge, Tessa couldn’t help but feel that something extraordinary was about to happen.

The door swung open, and Tessa stepped into a spacious backstage lounge that exuded a laid-back, effortlessly cool vibe. Soft lighting bathed the room in a warm glow, and the hum of conversation mixed with the clinking of glasses and distant echoes of post-show laughter. A few members of the band were scattered around, chatting and unwinding from the night’s performance.

Her eyes immediately scanned the room, searching for the familiar face she’d come to see. And then she spotted him—Mitch, standing near a leather couch, a drink in hand, laughing with a couple of crew members. His eyes lit up the moment he saw her.

"Tess!" he called out, breaking away from the group and making his way toward her. He pulled her into a warm, familiar hug, the kind that instantly melted away any nerves she’d been feeling. "You made it!"

"Of course I did," she said, grinning as she pulled back. "I wouldn’t miss this for the world. The show was incredible, Mitch. Seriously, you guys killed it out there."

Mitch shrugged, a modest smile playing on his lips. "Thanks. It felt good tonight." He glanced around the room, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "So… ready to meet the man of the hour?"

Tessa’s heart skipped a beat. "Wait, he’s here?"

"Yep. He’s right over—" Mitch stopped mid-sentence, nodding toward a corner of the room. Tessa followed his gaze, and there he was: Harry Styles.

He was casually seated on a low armchair, one leg crossed over the other, deep in conversation with a couple of people. Dressed in his signature blend of vintage and modern—a tailored jacket, a loose, printed shirt, and rings glinting on his fingers—he looked effortlessly stylish, like he had just stepped out of a fashion editorial.

Tessa’s breath caught in her throat. He was even more striking up close. His hair, slightly tousled from the show, framed his face in soft waves, and his eyes—bright and full of life—seemed to take in everything around him with an easy charm.

As if sensing her gaze, Harry glanced in their direction. His conversation paused, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. Mitch raised a hand in greeting, motioning for him to come over.

Harry stood and made his way toward them with a relaxed, confident stride. Each step seemed surreal, like time had slowed down just for this moment. Before she knew it, he was standing right in front of her, towering slightly but with a warmth that made him feel instantly approachable.

"Tessa," Mitch said, the pride evident in his voice, "this is Harry."

Harry extended a hand, his smile reaching all the way to his eyes. "Hi, Tessa. It’s great to finally meet you. Mitch has told me a lot about you."

Tessa took his hand, her fingers lightly brushing against the cool metal of his rings. "All good things, I hope," she managed to say, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest.

Harry chuckled softly, a low, melodic sound that sent a shiver down her spine. "Mostly," he teased, casting a playful glance at Mitch. "Though I did hear a few stories about some wild nights at a certain pizza place."

Tessa groaned, shooting a mock glare at Mitch. "Oh, those stories. Great."

Mitch laughed, clearly enjoying himself. "Hey, I had to give him the full picture."

Harry grinned. "Don’t worry. I like a good story. Especially when there’s tequila involved."

Tessa couldn’t help but laugh, the initial tension melting away. "In that case, I guess you know all my secrets."

"Not all of them," Harry said with a wink. "But there’s always time for that."

For a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the three of them—Tessa, Mitch, and Harry. The noise of the room faded into the background, replaced by the easy flow of conversation and the palpable excitement of the moment.

"Come on," Mitch said, gesturing toward the lounge area. "Let’s grab a drink and catch up."

As they moved toward the couches, Tessa couldn’t help but marvel at the surrealness of it all. Sitting down with Harry Styles, chatting like old friends, sharing laughs and stories—it was the kind of night she never imagined would actually happen.

And yet, here she was, living it.

They settled into the lounge area, Tessa perched on the edge of a soft leather couch while Mitch took a seat beside her. Harry sat across from them, lounging comfortably in a way that made everything he did seem effortlessly cool. A server passed by, and Harry waved them over with a gracious smile.

"Drink?" he asked Tessa, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Sure," she replied, trying to maintain her composure. "Gin and tonic, please."

Harry nodded and placed the order before turning his attention back to her. "So, you’re an editor?" he asked, leaning forward slightly, his genuine interest evident.

"Yeah, for a publishing house in New York," Tessa explained, her nerves settling as the conversation shifted to familiar territory. "I work with children’s books—helping authors refine their stories, shaping the final product, that sort of thing."

Harry’s brow lifted, intrigued. "That sounds incredible. I imagine working with children’s stories must be a lot of fun."

"It is," Tessa said, her face lighting up. "It’s rewarding, too. Seeing kids connect with a story or a character—it’s kind of magical."

Harry smiled, his expression warm and thoughtful. "I’ve always believed stories have a way of shaping us. The ones we read as kids, especially—they stay with us."

Tessa nodded, surprised by how easily the conversation flowed. "Exactly. They help us understand the world, make sense of things that might be confusing or scary."

Mitch, ever the supportive friend, leaned back and grinned. "Tessa’s being modest. She’s brilliant at what she does. She’s already got a few bestsellers under her belt."

Tessa blushed, giving Mitch a playful nudge. "Stop it. You’re making it sound more glamorous than it is."

"Nothing wrong with a little glamour," Harry said, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, I think it’s impressive."

Their drinks arrived, and they each took a sip. The conversation continued effortlessly—touching on everything from Tessa’s life in New York to Mitch’s whirlwind tour schedule. They laughed over shared memories of Mitch’s early days, balancing late-night gigs with shifts at Town Pizza.

"So, Mitch tells me you were the queen of trivia nights back then," Harry said, a playful smirk on his lips. "Is that true?"

Tessa laughed. "I wouldn’t say queen, but I held my own. Mitch, on the other hand, was terrible at it."

"Hey!" Mitch protested, raising his hands in mock defense. "I wasn’t that bad."

"You thought Pluto was still a planet," Tessa reminded him with a grin.

Harry chuckled, clearly enjoying their banter. "Well, if we ever need a trivia partner on tour, we know who to call."

Tessa smiled, feeling a warmth settle over her. The nerves that had initially gripped her were long gone, replaced by a sense of ease. Harry was, despite his global fame, incredibly down-to-earth—funny, kind, and completely disarming.

As the night wore on, the lounge began to thin out. Band members and crew filtered out one by one, but the three of them remained, lost in conversation. Mitch excused himself for a moment to check on something, leaving Tessa and Harry alone.

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence, the hum of the city faint in the background.

"You know," Harry said softly, his gaze meeting hers, "Mitch talks about you a lot."

Tessa tilted her head, curious. "Oh? All good things, I hope."

"All good," he assured her with a smile. "He says you’re one of the smartest, most driven people he knows. And from what I’ve seen tonight, I’d say he’s right."

Tessa felt a flush rise to her cheeks. "Well, Mitch has always been a good friend. We’ve been through a lot together."

Harry leaned back, his eyes thoughtful. "It’s rare, isn’t it? To have someone who really knows you, someone who’s been there through all the ups and downs."

"It is," she agreed. "But I’m lucky to have him."

Harry’s smile lingered, and for a moment, Tessa felt like they were the only two people in the room. There was something about the way he looked at her—like he was seeing more than just the surface, like he wanted to know her story.

"Tell me something," Harry said after a pause. "What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t yet?"

Tessa considered the question, her mind flicking through possibilities. Finally, she said, "Travel. I’ve always wanted to see more of the world. Europe, especially. I want to visit the places I’ve only read about in books."

Harry’s eyes lit up. "Europe’s beautiful. You’d love it. There’s something magical about standing in a place with so much history."

"Maybe one day," Tessa said, a hint of wistfulness in her voice.

"Why not soon?" Harry asked, his tone light but sincere. "Life’s too short to wait for the ‘right time.’"

Tessa smiled, the idea suddenly feeling a little less distant, a little more possible. "Maybe."

As Mitch returned, the moment shifted, but the connection lingered. The night might have been winding down, but something told Tessa this was only the beginning.

The night continued with laughter and stories, but as the minutes stretched into hours, reality began to pull Tessa back. She glanced at her phone, the time glaring at her like a reminder of the early morning waiting for her.

"I hate to say this," she began, her voice reluctant, "but I’ve got to head out. Work calls, and my boss isn’t exactly a fan of late-night adventures."

Mitch frowned. "Already? Come on, Tess, you’re in New York! You live for this kind of thing."

Tessa chuckled, standing and smoothing her dress. "I do live for this kind of thing. But I also live to keep my job, and they expect me bright and early tomorrow."

Harry, who had been quiet for the past few moments, leaned forward slightly, a subtle crease forming between his brows. "You’re leaving?" His voice was soft, and there was a hint of disappointment in it that made Tessa pause.

"Yeah," she said, meeting his gaze. "As much as I’d love to stay and keep hanging out, responsibility calls."

Harry nodded, though his eyes lingered on her a moment longer. "I get it. Work comes first." He hesitated, then added, "But I’ve really enjoyed talking with you tonight. It’s rare to meet someone so… genuine."

Tessa felt a flutter in her chest at his words. "I’ve enjoyed it too," she said sincerely. "This has been… surreal, honestly. In the best way."

Mitch, ever the supportive friend, stood and gave her a quick hug. "You know I’m always a call away. Don’t be a stranger, okay?"

"Never," Tessa promised.

As she turned to leave, Harry stood as well, his hands slipping into the pockets of his tailored jacket. "Before you go…" He paused, almost as if weighing his next words. "Can we exchange contact info? I’d like to keep in touch, if that’s alright with you."

Tessa blinked, surprised but pleasantly so. "Yeah, of course."

They exchanged phones, fingers tapping quickly as they saved each other’s numbers. When she handed his phone back, she noticed he had saved her name with a little book emoji next to it.

Harry glanced down at his phone, a small smile playing on his lips. "Now, if you ever need a trivia partner or someone to discuss children’s literature with, you know who to call."

Tessa laughed. "I’ll hold you to that."

"Please do," he said, his tone light but his eyes earnest. "And next time you have a night off, maybe we can grab a coffee or something. No crowds, no backstage chaos."

"That sounds nice," Tessa said, her heart warming at the idea.

As she made her way to the door, she glanced back one last time. Harry was still standing there, watching her with a soft smile, as if he wasn’t quite ready for her to leave.

"Goodnight, Tessa," he said, his voice gentle.

"Goodnight, Harry," she replied, feeling a spark of something new and unexpected.

As she stepped out into the cool New York night, her thoughts swirled with everything that had happened. Meeting Harry Styles, connecting with him in a way she hadn’t anticipated—it all felt like the beginning of something she couldn’t quite define yet.

And as her phone buzzed with a new message from Harry—Safe travels. Don’t work too hard. :)—Tessa couldn’t help but smile.

Maybe this wasn’t the end of the night after all. Maybe it was just the beginning of a new chapter.

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rel124c41 · 10 months ago

Text

PSILOCYBIN AND HONEYCOMB. jade leech

There is something terribly wrong with the queen bee. Gentle and kind. Out of her mind. inspired by @merakiui dabbles and @pathosprit asks about god!floyd/cultist!reader

tags: alternative universe - cults, implied/referenced drug use, old gods, falling in love, blood and gore, beekeeping, fluff and smut, unhealthy relationships, thought projection, gentleness, inspired by psilocybin and honeycomb by harley poe, murder

word count: 11,895

When you are ten, round-faced and small, you watch the Reverend heat up the branding iron. He twirls it in the fire like it is a marshmallow, making sure the iron is covered evenly with a brilliant scarlet red. Gold dances over the thick, ebony gloves that the Reverend wears and shadows jump across the stone creases of his aged face. You watch the sigil rotate in numerous circles.

A foreign hand pulls up your dress, exposing your stomach and underwear. You keep watching the circle of iron and fire; as the speed of the Reverend's hands pick up, the two materials blend together in a racing whirlpool of a red and gold comet. Beautiful.

“It won’t hurt will it, Mom?” Your small voice is full of terror; your wrists tremble in the hold of the two adults pinning you down to the table.

“No sweetie, no it won’t.” Your mother, the unmarried woman who got pregnant, presses a kiss to your forehead.

When the Reverend presses the branding iron down on the skin on your hypogastric skin, right under your belly-button, it is the last time you know fear.

By the stream, God – The Odd One – calls and beckons and sings.

Hands fall idle in surprise. You were not expecting a summon from Him today. Raising your head from your task, you listen closely. It could have just been the snapping branch under a rabbit’s foot or the breeze blowing too roughful in a bush. You wait patiently for that divine melody to resume itself.

In the pregnant pause, a white dress rustles through the current of the stream. Its arms wave helpless. Under the water, the fabric mimics a dead gray hue.

There is no secondary call or beckoning. Holding your breath long enough, you fall back into your task.

White dress in hand, you scrub it with a mixture of mammal fat and lye. The cleansing agent bubbles and carries down the stream. If the heart of your God resides anywhere on land, it is here, your favorite place; in His heart, you do your laundry, domestic.

The Reverend would be appalled at that thought. You think with a smile. Water collapses from the dress as you wring it out. But it is an entirely true thought. The deeper you venture in the forest, the more you can hear Him. It is only when you reach for the robin egg blue dress does He come back, voice oscillating through nature.

A testing call? Dropping the garment, you listen intently, waiting to see where you can jump into the melody. After a beat, you find your place in the song. The construction of the deut sounds like this:

A stream sweeping in a downward incline, splashing in playful, petite waves as it tickles lower. It is bordered by plentiful grass. Like boats caught in a fierce storm, a handful of pine-cones freckled in the water move across the stream. Rocks break apart the smoothness of the water. The song emphasizes that the rocks give it a fresh uniqueness rather than damage the serenity of the stream.

The chorus is a bumble bee landing on a black dahlia. Silk, ebony petals curl off the center like a hundred thumbnails in a bouquet. In the light of nature, the black of the flower shines a red-violet. Nestled in the middle like an arrow in a bullseye, the bumble bee robs and rapes the center of the black dahlia, stabbing at the nectar with their needle-thin legs.

Carrying your voice higher, you sing about the breeze. The breeze puppets the leaves to give a graceful, continuous wave to the visitors of the forest. The bridge focuses on an earthworm. It is alone, red with speckles of earth. You take your voice past its limit when you find yourself singing about a forest fire. The ballad continues under two watchful, olive-brown eyes.

Unnoticed, the son of the village’s livestock handler watches you break your vocal limit for God. So devoted to him. Piety works itself over the tendons of your throat, pushing and pressing too hard, like a violin’s bow. As the unknown, dueting voice, Jade watches and listens to your consecrating voice, peeved.

Around you, Jade finds that his inhibition has been escaping.

He has been alive for numerous generations, witnessing patterns of human speech, human practices, and most importantly human fears. Fear is older than Jade. Older than the sediment on the ground that you sing to. Thus, innate fears often stay with generations – the fear of death, thanatophobia, is a prominent recurrence.

As the God of nature, Jade knew. He had felt men press their heads into the crust of the earth, begging for the other men chasing him to let him live. Felt people rack up dirt with fingers, feverishly pleading for the resurrection of a sick son or sick daughter. Felt fists pound the trees in frustration for the souls he collected and ate.

Even still, they worshiped him. Thinking they would be allowed into a paradise, ignorant that the old door death opened was a door made of teeth and tongues. Even with the false promise of paradise, thanatophobia reigned supreme and trumped all other fears in humans. In all humans except you.

You. How strange you are, altering the rules of humanity, since your tenth birthday.

You focus on nature; he focuses on you.

As you two sing together, he feels that familiar retreat of inhibition. All of it dissolves into the color and shape of nature like a technicolor sea, blending together. Everything he thought he knew about humans changes with a tiny paint splosh, ruining the masterpiece he made.

“Oh, look at you. All alone,” a voice breaks the song.

Rounding around, you glare at the intruder as God falls silent. You look at Jade as if you two were hunters and he had just scared off a deer you had been tracking. God galloping away off on hooves. Vexation like a gleam in your eyes.

“What do you want, Jade?”

Jade Leech is perhaps the most annoying villager in your town, sticking to you like his surname suggests. He had shown up with his mother and father about three years ago when you were twelve. Usually, outsiders did not join the congregation, but the Reverend spoke positively of them. You trusted your Father’s judgment until the boy proved to hold great interest in you and all the things you did.

“I was just checking up on my dear friend, (Name).”

He is not even respectable about your status. The village calls you ‘One’ for Chosen One. At ten years old, you lose your name like one loses a sock. Not Jade; he likes to call you by the name your mother picked.

“How kind of you,” sarcasm drips from your throat, sore with singing.

“You’re most welcome. You’ve taken to changing the spot where you wash your clothes.”

“Yes, I was hoping someone wouldn’t find me here.”

“It is very nicely secluded so I am sure that they won’t be able to locate it.”

I thought so too, your inner thoughts mourn.

“Though it might be a bit dangerous. So far off from the ocean and village. Why, who knows what kind of coyotes or animals could be wandering around in the thicket.”

“I assure you, I’m quite alright in the wilderness.”

It is a true statement. You were particularly blessed when it came down to manners of the environment and the animals which it housed. Call it divine intervention, call it confidence. Whatever it is named, you are spared a lot of trouble that could potentially come from inhuman footprints.

“Who knows? That unwanted company might seize the opportunity and attack.” Jade’s olive-brown eyes watch your back. Your shoulders move with the pattern of your scrubbing. Sweat latches tight to the curvatures of your visible skin. “Like right now, going for your jugular.”

“Try it, Jade,” you challenge, smiling – not in a friendly way.

Accepting the challenge, Jade stands back and watches your shoulder fall still. The smile on his face is not shark-toothed but it beams with the animosity of such a creature. You have other teeth to worry over. Fangs full of venom, a water snake has wrapped itself around your arm, sneaking up from its hiding spot under the dress and soap.

A copperhead snake twines itself up your forearm like an orange-brown vine. Immediate, your hand falls comatose, not waiting to disturb it. Here. Here is where the human pattern of thanatophobia should come into play. Jade waits eagerly for a shriek; copperheads are venomous, he is certain you know this.

You do not tremble with your actions. You do not tremble with your voice. Irking Jade further, you reach a finger from your opposing arm over the copperhead’s head. The snake does not acknowledge your stroke, continuing to squeeze, as you move down and grasp the tail.

“Jade.”

“Hm?”

“You should step back. This is dangerous.”

A fire of anger ignities on Jade’s shoulders. Cheek twitching, he glares at the back of you. You were concerned for his safety? There is a venomous snake acting friendly with the veins in your arm, yet you told him to stand back. So caught up in disbelief, he misses you successfully unwrapping the copperhead from yourself.

Which you proceed to throw in a bush, just a foot or two away from Jade is standing. “Bravo,” Jade says, unflinching. He stalks towards you.

“Told you to move.” You pull your clean dress out of the water, wringing it out.

“I do not see how you can be so composed in the grip of death. It is perplexing.”

“Death is always at our sides.” In the water, Jade’s shadow oscillates like a match’s sparkling flame. A quarter of it folds over your shoulder. “Why would I have any reason to be afraid of it?”

“You are the sacrifice of this village.” Jade puts a hand to his heart, leering expression painting itself on his face. Waits patiently for you to get frustrated with him. “I think it is natural that you would think about it more often.”

You look up at Jade, trying to decipher why the thought causes him qualms. Into your wicker basket, you lay the slightly damp dress. Task finished, you bring the basket to your hip as you stand up from the stream.

“I have no qualms over it.” Then the conversation dies as you walk off, nobody’s buttercup.

The stream babbles as you walk alongside it. Like a puppy barking at your heels, you two move in sync. Somewhere in the bush, you think you can hear the sound of the copperhead rustling. A person disinclined towards the very thought of death, that is who you are. Embracing it, you jump upon the fallen, precarious log that hovers over the stream.

You glance at Jade who watches you. Then, wicker basket in hand, you step with a note on your tongue. Walking down the log to the other side, you say with each footfall, “do re mi fa sol la ti do.” Your voice goes higher as your steps evolve into stomps.

You crash onto the other side, leaves crunching, as Jade asks, “What was that?”

“Something I’ve been orchestrating.” You challenge him with a look, separated by running water. “You should try it. You never sing at any of the entheogens.”

Before the village drinks the holy wine mixed with the holy mushroom of God, the entheogens ceremonies call for everyone to sing. You have never seen Jade’s mouth so much as twitch. Though, surprisingly, no one ever makes a fuss about it. The village turns it back on any of the blasphemous actions of Jade Leech.

“Unless you sing like a croaking toad … ah, then I suppose it all makes sense. It would be a disgrace to your parents if you sang. Unfortunate.”

Jade’s brows furrow. Got him. As he walks down the log, forgoing the stomping you did, he sings the rising scale, “do re mi fa sol la ti do.” He lands by your side, hopping off the behemoth log. There is a golden firecracker of satisfaction in his olive-brown eyes.

“I did not know you could sing like that.”

The firecracker sizzles out as Jade’s brows shoot up. He feels a light pink start to tiptoe up to his cheeks.

Your voice is soft like honey, full of awe. Your reticent inhibition around Jade melts at that moment. Like snow on spring ground, you warm up eternally – just a bit! – to the invading pest that is Jade Leech. Someone who has been like a mite in your otherwise well kept paradise. You take him in a different light: cropped black hair, slim face, and olive-brown eyes just a bit less obnoxious. You had only heard such a singing voice from –

“Come. Let us go unless that someone you want to avoid finds this spot.”

The thought disappears. Blinking, you watch Jade stalk off. When you regain yourself, basket in hand, you walk just a bit behind him. Like the stubborn child you are, you bite the inside of your cheek, thinking:

Jade sounds good when he sings.

You two continue silently back to the village, Jade leading. It is a content walk, not even many rocks or lifted ground to trouble the path. Nature sings around the two in a musique concrete of twigs, leaves, and dirt. It is only when you feel a small tug that you wander off.

Jade watches with knowing, incorrectly colored eyes.

Your eyes sparkle upon a holy sight. More than a dozen light brown and ivory white jellyfish caps stand up straight in grass off the path. Like toads in mud, they break through the dehydrated grass in poor camouflage. Psilocybin mushrooms. The mushrooms that your congregation holds in high regard; a mushroom on piety par with a cross or a clerical collar.

Like the winner of an Easter egg hunt, you go to collect the mushrooms. Prizes God had hidden from you so you could search and prove yourself. Carefully, you start to put them in your wicker basket, sprinkles of dirt landing on the top dress.

Shadow folding over you, Jade inquires, breaking the silent retreat, “How many more days until you die, (Name)?”

No one should ever smile at such an inquiry. Yet, here you do, proud of the psilocybin mushrooms in hand, you answer with a big grin, “1,746 days.”

“Jade Leech, you little thief! Get back here right now!”

You look up upon hearing those words. Four buildings away, you watch as a towel crack on the back of Jade’s spine as he walks out of the bakery. The head chef seems to be the one caterwauling at him, twisted towel weaponized like a claymore. A sly smile is plastered on Jade’s face despite the hit.

Idiot; no one steals from her and leaves without a tussle. She, the head chef, is caterwauling like a soaked cat. A smile still emerges on your face despite your previous trouble. Speaking of those troubles –

You turn back to your work. There are not many jobs for you to take in the village. As the ritual’s sacrifice, labor is something you do not need to concern yourself with as the Reverend says. Attending prayer services, purifying yourself, and connecting with nature are your top priorities. You stretched out the limitations on the last priority and managed to convince that soft-hearted Reverend to let you start beekeeping with two village elders.

If our God is in every mushroom, every flower, every faucet of nature, it must be alright for me to care for His holy insects too? : that pathos and ethos argument won you the rights to take up beekeeping.

Right now, you are troubled by your job. Hairy white sections are on the lower burr comb and cells. It festers on a block of the hive where the queen is. A sign of another pest within the hive. However, none of the other signs were present upon last inspection. Of course, the sign of incursion would be near the queen – the most sensitive and paramount part of the hive.

The queen bee eludes your gaze right now, worker bees swarming around. You go to see if you can get a few to walk on your hand when something breaks your line of sight. Your hand stills. Held out to you is a half-ripped piece of bread.

Not taking it, you look up at the smiling face of Jade. Far away, surprisingly not giving chase, the head chef shouts: “Little devil child! You pest!” The grin on Jade’s face widens, teeth flashing at you.

“If only she knew the half of it. Here.” Jade holds up the bread, trying to appear generous in his motives. “Freshly baked.”

“Freshly stolen,” you correct. You take it either way. Stealing is frowned upon by the congregation but you have no fear left to worry about consequences. A tiny bite leaves you pleasantly surprised. Sourdough. You go back in for a bigger bite.

Jade sits down beside you, eating his own share and looking into the broods. Glancing up from your piece, you say, “You did that on purpose.”

“Stealing is often a motivated task.”

“No. You got caught on purpose; you’re slippery enough to steal and not get noticed.”

“I assure you that I was trying my hardest to not get caught.”

“Ah I see,” you say, wholly unconvinced.

“Your mind is not at ease. Usually you smile more when attending to your bees.”

Like a chipmunk, you stuff your cheeks with sourdough to avoid answering. “It is unlike a person of your standing,” Jade continues. Your standing: your life’s merit as a sacrifice. The reason that everyone calls you One instead of (Name). The Chosen One connected to the Odd One through nature and, thus, nature’s creatures.

“Sumtin’ s ‘rong wit the quee.”

“Pardon?”

You swallow, “Something’s wrong with the queen.” You spear a crescent into the bread’s crust with your nail. Despondent, you explain, “There are signs of an infestation near her section. I also noticed the capped cells were full of holes and overall seemed frail. That’s a sign of Varroa but I haven’t seen a single mite or deformed wings.”

“Always the queen isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand why I can never raise a healthy queen. The cell caps of hers always appear healthy, but halfway through, she suffers from signs of unknown invasion.” Quarantining your bees is the most viable option but you would rather solve this matter before taking a drastic measure. If only you could locate her –

You jump when Jade presses his hand close to the honeycomb structures. “Hey, be careful! You need gloves!”

“You do not wear gloves.”

“That’s different!”

“Hush.”

At that word, you happily wait for him to get strung. With his inexperience, it should only take a short amount of time. Sourdough in hand, you sit back to watch the show. Bees crawl like pouring vinegar over his pallid hand, curious, and you huff at his gentleness. Any moment now. Any moment comes but it comes with Jade pulling hand away with the queen bee on his forefinger.

“How did you –”

“What, like it’s hard?”

“I hate you.”

Jade smiles wide at that. The queen on his finger flicks her wings as he moves his hand to hover between you two. She seems fairly healthy despite all the disturbance around her. “Trying to steal my job, Jade,” you ask when he passes her to you.

“Do not even entertain the thought. I do not particularly enjoy insects. They may be entertaining for an hour or so, but I am content with the thought of their entire colony going up in flames one day.”

“Monster.”

Jade smiles in his you-don’t-know-the-half-of-it way.

Jade stares up at the statue of himself, contemplative.

For five out of thousands of years, Jade has passed time wearing fake human skin. Fake pallid hands find themselves stroking his neck for gills no longer there. Those hands hesitate over touching his ears, feeling thick muscle and bone instead of a thin membrane of skin. His trepidation around looking-glasses has eroded over the half decade. But, Jade still finds himself not entirely accepting parts of the body he puppets.

Walking around in the wrong skin is like wearing clothes too small. It squeezes over him like latex, tightening when he moves a certain way and constricting when he looks at it too long.

His hands especially are wrong, lacking webbed structure and the correct hues. How his fingernails flush purple and his fingers red when it is cold … it disgusts him. How his veins are blue under sand toned skin … it is a sickening sight. The human body wrapped around his working brain and working heart, it is the most grotesque part of this trail. Sometimes, he wants nothing more to shed it off an amphibian.

Jade takes his vexed gaze off his hands and returns to staring at the monument. Cleaners are put on rotation to polish and scrub down the entirety of him, forbidding moss or dirt to lay upon him. They are quite meticulous about it too. Meticulous like how a mother bathes her child. They scrub behind his ears, over the ridges of his dorsal fin, under the extended points of his claws. He has seen real, palpable joy on the faces of those given the job.

The sculptor … died about 2,050 years ago if Jade’s memory is right.

Withstanding the test of time, here the effigy of his true form lies, propped up on a block of marble chiseled to look like a sweeping wave. His face is sculpted in a polite mien with the slightest hint of malice. Smiling with teeth yet not with all his teeth. Just the top row. In stone, his tail dips in backwards J and is hooked upward like the frozen neck of a screaming horse on a carousel.

If asked, Jade thinks he misses his tail most right alongside his hands. The only change that he does not mind is his hair. Living on a warm island with long hair would have been bothersome, especially on his neck. The cropped style is nice; his real hair would have made him sweat.

Then, staring down the effigy of himself, Jade realizes he made a mistake earlier. He knows he misses swimming the most. His tails and hands: they are mere tools to propel him when in the sea, so deep in his plunge that it feels like he is moving universe to universe with each wide stroke.

Only less than three years remain until your death. 819 days if his memory serves correct. And this time it does; he is as certain as stone is hard. But such a long time in fake skin feels like the lifespan of a human, dragging day by day. Each inhale of the sun and exhale of the moon feeds the bugs crawling on his skin, uncomfortable in this fake skin.

Jade wonders, scratching his forearm, if he should speed this sacrificial ritual as he watches you race across the field towards him. He glances down at your nude human feet. Quadriceps, sinew tendons, and bone propelling you forward until you skid to a stop in front of him – with a jar in your hands?

“Look what I have!” There is a big, prideful grin on your face. With a flourish, you raise up said jar. And Jade responses –

“Wow. A jar. How marvelous.”

Your expression flattens at that. As if retreating, you pull the jar to your ribcage, protective arms around it. “It’s not just any jar. It’s my – Itchy? I think we have some medicine in –”

Jade pauses his scratching to interrupt. “No, I’m quite alright.” The marks running up his skin are angry and red, yet miraculously not bleeding. “So,” leaning in, he grins with all his teeth and says, “what’s in the jar? Must be revolutionary with how fast you ran over here.”

“It is!” Pride relights your body. You unscrew the jar with flying fingers. Then, you hold out the open mouth of the jar towards Jade, waiting for praise.

“Ah, honey.”

“Not just any honey; it is the last flow of honey.”

“I see. There is no more honey after that. So we will eat pancakes without honey soon, correct?”

“You’re not getting it, are you?”

“Afraid not.”

“Hmph.” You bring the jar back to your chest as Jade ponders on why humans are so sensitive. “The best months to harvest honey are from July to mid-September, right? And it is mid-September, right?” Jade nods at both your inane questions. Still not getting it. “Honey is the sweetest and best when you collect the last honey flow. The nectar flow from this is the one they make in the summer! It is going to taste Godly!”

“Careful what words you use, (Name).”

You two glance up at the company you keep. Though his gray left eye and yellow right eye are the same hue of stone, they seem to shine. Something fierce and glowing breaking through inert expression. You smile mischievously. “I’ll make it up to him when I’m dead. Now. Taste this.”

With a roll of olive-brown eyes, Jade leans in to observe the jar which you are once more offering him. Inside, the yellow honey tilts like a slow avalanche with the degree you hold it at. Gold gleams like the surface of the ocean under sunlight, almost sparkling. I almost miss home, Jade thinks as he dips his index finger in.

Oh.

Finger in mouth, Jade does not want to admit it but you are right. This is perhaps the best honey he has sampled before. The nectar slides down his tongue, touches his throat, and slugs down to his stomach. It is almost an addictive taste.

It is an uncleaned sweetness that melts down his throat. Like blasphemous scripture.

Jade really should not show you his enthusiasm for it; your pride will only increase knowing he enjoys it and you will grow more annoying. Yet, as if pulled by strings, he sticks his finger back into the jar. Before tasting, he asks, “What did you say the difference with this flow is?”

“It is the last flow of the season. With the bees hibernating soon, you can maximize the honey you are collecting by being patient. But there’s really an entire system to it, making sure you don’t strike too early or late.”

“Would it not be the sweetest during summer when the bees are most active?”

“Nope. Patience is the key; beekeeping is a waiting game.”

A waiting game? He watches you stick your own finger in, feasting on the rewards of your patience. The later harvest yields a richer taste. How splendid of his sacrifice to say just the words he needs to hear to understand himself and motives.

Eventually, almost telepathically as if both of you know what your companion is thinking, you and Jade stare up at the statue. Your saliva-coated finger and dry fingers place the cap back on the jar, leaving it unscrewed yet lidded. Jade waits until you are enraptured with the sculpture before he turns his attention to you.

You stare, contemplative. The sun is three hours off from its peak. Thus piscine shadows of the statue fall onto awaiting blades of grass. The silhouette of his dorsal fin like a knife and the silhouette of his hunched shoulders, leaning in like he is going to burst to life any moment. He has this hardly contained enmity is his expression, upturned eyes too sharp and smile too tiny.

“Can’t you just see me and him, together in paradise?”

“You two will make a lovely couple.”

“Heh, that’s what they all say.”

Jade studies your profile. There is just a tiny droplet of animosity in your worshiping eyes that he is desperate to uncover the truth about. You are bitter about something. However, whenever Jade tries to peek into that hate circuit rivering itself through your cortex, he gets nothing.

He supposed he could ask; if he is going to bid his time in other realms, he has more time to analyze the ecosystem of your brain. You startle when he speaks. “(Name). If you were not the chosen one, what would you do with the rest of your life?”

The expression you give Jade is easy to read: confusion. “If I wasn’t the – why, I couldn’t imagine my life any other way.”

“But try to. Try to imagine your twenty-first birthday.”

“Stop being ridiculous, Jade.”

“I am as serious as death.”

You shake your head furiously. “There is no other choice to make, but I am using my choice and have chosen to be there. As the chosen one.”

Jade, with all his immortal life wisdom goes huh? at your verbal affirmation.

“Such a boy,” you mourn, frowning up at his statue. You shuffle your bare toes on the ground, feeling the dirt cling onto them and tune into the radio of nature for a bit. After a contemplative moment, you say, “I am nobody’s buttercup. But I must do something so I will do that.”

“I see.”

Taking your words as a challenge, Jade leans in. Your nose scrunches, thinking he is going to do something odious and ruin this perfect, honey-coated day. If you were built in the image of your God, you would want his teeth so you could snap at Jade’s nose. The sentiment grows when Jade flicks the lid off the jar — it frisbees through the air — and scoops up a handful of honey. Some of it doesn’t even make it into his mouth!

“Hey! No stealing from the chosen one!”

“You never said there was a time limit on the honey you offered.”

“Well, there is one now! We have to make this last until next September! I have only two Septembers left!”

Jade laughs, licking the honey off his wrist. He makes another grab at the jar as you rush away from him, trying to retrieve the lid. “Back! Back, you heathen!” And the smile Jade makes as he chases you around the field is a perfect copy of the expression that is carved into stone.

Time passes like it always does. Life is a constant stream that connects in the ocean of death, making itself the estuary of mortality.

Those two Septembers pass and twice more you successfully harvest the perfect honey flow. Even when Jade jokes all sinister that you should enjoy these last moments of good food, dipping sourdough into honey, you never even shake. At the apiary, all the jars are empty, trails of gold stubbornly clinging onto the glassware. You and Jade make the effort to scrub all the ones you used clean until they shine.

“You’re not afraid at all,” Jade asks, watching you scrub the remains of your presence from the world. All you are: congealing honey on a rag which you will dip into the nearby stream, which will carry you away to a water funeral.

“Not at all.” It must be true. Because under the winter’s sun, your hands are steady and determined. Because when Jade asks how many days are left, you respond with an unshakable voice. Because Jade thinks with some sort of thrill unlike any he has known, you have been waiting as patiently as he has.

It is only when the number of days decrease and shrink down to the number seven does Jade’s patience break.

There is no sunshine shining down on you but you are still as bright as ever. Under the silver moonlight, you twirl and run and even cartwheel in the open field. You have been forgoing any sort of sleep, utilizing all the hours in a twenty-four hour day until you pass out from exhaustion, nature as your mattress. No one in the village disapproves of it, seeing it as you embracing your God. Jade wishes someone would though. He has unfortunately been dragged out for the past seven nights by you, wanting his company.

And I still have seven more to go, Jade thinks, leaning against his statue. He never thought he would grow tired but even a human body has limits. Sleep addles Jade’s brain as his neck bends as if he is caught in prayer.

He snaps back up when you shout. “Jade! Jade look!”

Seeing that you have his attention, you launch right into it. You take a running start, hands up in the air. Cartwheel, cartwheel, cartwheel, ending with a front flip. Supernaturally energetic, you raise your arms up in your success, dress billowing around you, ready to accept the claps.

Jade manages a few light ones and says, “Well done, (Name).”

You smile happily. “Praise me more; this is the last week I’ll be alive to hear any sort of praise.” You twirl and watch the white of your summer dress puff up in a jellyfish shell. “Make sure they do not neglect to make mention of how good I was at cartwheels in the legends and stories.”

“I won’t, (Name).”

You fall back into it. Among the tall grass, you do a wide variety of different exercises and a variety of different dances. You move with the ease of an autumn leaf, trusting the wind. To the unheard and unsung song of nature and God, you gyrate around. Like God’s personal instrument, you bend yourself to the symphony that no one in your village has ever heard.

I’ll miss dirt, you think just as you blindly twirl into a patch of fireflies.

Fireflies explode around you like a firework. Wide-eyed and gasping, you pause with your hands raised up. Buzzing and rapid, the tiny comets of gold lift up from the flora and paint the night with tinier stars. Gripping the train of your dress, you rotate yourself to make room for the fireflies launching up to the west, laughing all the while.

Eventually, they dissolve into the sky, leaving your eyes chasing after them. They dissolve in dying breaths and dying heartbeats. You watch the last of them flicker out, finding a new patch to lie on or traveling too far for you to see them.

Oddly, an invisible bruise on your chest starts to ache.

Dirt encrusted feet carry your body before you comprehend what you are doing. Wildly, like something monstrous is at your heels, you run into the nearby thicket of trees, determined to reach the deepest part of the forest which surrounds the village.

“(Name)?” Jade squints at your fast-retreating form. “(Name)!” He picks himself off the statue as you rush into the forest, almost like you are in a panic.

“Catch me!”

The chase prematurely begins.

Jade dives into the forest after you. Pushing branches out of his way and jumping over protruding vegetation. Hundred elements of nature flicker across his vision as he runs and runs. Shadows elongate and distort under the occluding moon. He elbows his weight on a tree so it pushes him faster. Blanketed under nebulous black, the world beats with a thousand different songs.

All the while you are hollering and screaming. Screams evolve into frantic giggles and hollering matures into singing. Do Re Me Fa Sol La Ti Do, your feet race down the cliff slide in the pattern of the musical scale.

Your body is an instrument, Jade. Listen to it and you will be closer to God. Narcotic words you once said, deranged out of your mind. Narcotic words that you said while certain that patches of grass were growing from the planes of your skin. Narcotic words he had not paid much mind to. Closer to God, hm?

The crunch of leaves as you two run are like lyrics, right? Yet, the soles of his feet are like the percussion too? Guitar strings tendons pull with different frets and notes. Piano key fingers reach out and crush the branches in his way. His most powerful instrument is acting strangely though. His voice. That particular instrument is doing something it has never done before: laughing.

Is this what being human is, always running? He thinks this might be the faintest sniff of what it means to be a human: always running away from time. The epiphany is not about being human through sweet acceptance or love. His first taste of humanity is in the sweat of running and running while chasing.

Closer to God. Closer to humans.

At times, your aptitude is unreadable to Jade … that aptitude that guides you to never fear death. He wonders why there is such a wide gap between you and others when it comes to the terms of death. Closing in, he thinks: This Is The One. His fingers reach out, A0 from C8 scale running across phalanges. He could push you. With the momentum doubled with the rocks –

Still running, you turn to laugh at Jade. The pure joy on your face is blinding, hands up your shoulders and dress swaying. Your smiling face brightens at the sight of him (one close-eyed, titanic grin directed at him) before it winks away, flickering behind a tree. Jade watches as he loses you as you gather speed and sprint harder. Miraculously, you disappear from his sight, breaking the distance Jade had attempted to close.

God and human, you two run frantically through the forest. You throw out insults about his speed and he throws out his laughter in your duet. When the ground starts to decline, Jade finally figures out where you are heading to. He pumps his legs faster as the thickness of nature decreases gradually.

He breaks into the clearing by the stream, hoping to beat you, only to be confronted with the sight of you crouched by the water, twirling something between your fingers.

“Th-The forest is teething. I can feel it.” You pant like a dog. Jade watches the process of deflate and inflate; with each behemoth breath you take, exhausted and spent, your shoulder and ribs move with the hard work of your lungs. “It –” You choke around the salvia in your mouth, breathless. “It is the start of something here.”

“Teething?”

“Yes. Like babies do.”

I’m teething, Jade contemplates, unsure of what that word really entails. He knows little of human babies. It is only until you show Jade what is in your hand that he thinks he gets it.

“Look at this.”

From your hand, you present a black dahlia flower with a bright sunny center to him. The sunny center squeezes into a tiny circle then widens out in the average size. It is like a nostril, flickering and changing shape with each inhale and exhale. It is trying to breathe but as a flower it does not understand how to do that with a lineage of photosynthesis written in its body.

That flickering feeling of the beginning is so thick in the air. The start of something is here. It permeates in your bones. All through your skin, it permeates.

“It is certainly …” Jade trails off, not really used to seeing this side of himself.

“Beautiful,” you supply. There is a warmth in the space as Jade sits down besides you. The space between you is bright despite the midnight. “Can I tell you something? And you must keep it a secret.”

“Go ahead. I am as quiet as a church mouse.”

“I had this vision during the last entheogen.”

You still remember it. Swallowing the wine and, from within, bringing out the divine. Psilocybin on your tongue, you laid in a technicolor sea, holding up the receiver of your brain and waiting for that connection with God. You had a vision about the sacrament that is less than a week away. You look up to the sky as you speak. The moon is past the peak of midnight noon.

“I was at the ceremony. The sky was completely cloudless so you could feel the warmth of the sun. I was walking down to the slab bed. Dressed and ready.

“But when the Reverend told me to say my final prayers, I couldn’t.”

The black dahlia gives a sneezing breath at that. “Why couldn’t you?”

“My mouth was full of bees. I opened my mouth.” You look at Jade and decide to demonstrate. A fist moves up to your face before stretching fingers out like you are cupping a ball. “And blaaah, a hundred or so bees flew from my mouth.”

“The singer’s last ballad.”

“Odd, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps it is your mind rationalizing with the fear of your impending death.”

“Do not make me laugh.”

You are smiling, secondary to laughter. Returning attention to the black dahlia, you see the breaths have dwindled down to delicate stutters. It only stops breathing when you set it into the stream, watching it float and spin once. A dance in water, the revelation makes you grin softer. Your little theater show is only interrupted by Jade.

“What are your opinions on the ceremony? Now that it is so close, realer almost.”

You contemplate for a moment on the navel of the world, or as others call it ceremony. “I’m quite content with it.”

A picture paints itself: the stone rock, the slab bed, the omphalos alone in a field of psilocybin mushrooms, devoid of life beyond yourself. It is a bed you will eventually rest down upon and let the Father of your religion cut out the heart in your chest.

“I’m not going to die,” you whisper. Rejuvenate with that fact, you shuffle your body until your knees are tilted towards Jade. You lean in with flame eyes, a whirlpool of heat in them. Your next words cause the black dahlia in the stream to go breathless in surprise. “I’m going to find out if I’m really alive.”

“Th –” Jades breathes out a tiny laugh. “That is quite contradictory, (Name). Such an event would not inspire such a thought.”

“Well, it’s true so you have to deal with it.”

“I will burden myself with knowing it and trying to understand it.” He puts a hand to his heart in promise.

“Good. Agonize over it.”

You take to putting your feet in the stream as you reposition yourself. Spreading out your legs, you draw up your dress to your thighs. Dirt floats up and follows the path the black dahlia is being pushed away to as water cleanses your soles. The percussion of your heart beats through your toes as you wiggle them, trying to gather warmth under cold water.

You look like a high renaissance painting: ideal and perfect in Jade’s eyes. You blink your own eyes when your body is slowly moved. “I waited.” Before you question Jade’s harsh words, his hand on your chin, the start of something new blossoms and the forest sings.

You pull away from the kiss first. Eyelashes butterflying open, you gaze upon Jade with a fondness he has never seen. “How do I taste?”

If Jade will be your only kiss, he thinks it makes sense that you want to know what you taste like. He will not allow you to kiss another in the next six days. Considering it, his focus narrows to his mouth. Your bacterial corpse rests on his taste-buds, measuring and remembering the taste of you. Floral notes are encrusted with a sort of raw grime.

“Earthy and sweet.”

Giggling, you dive back in for another kiss.

You think this has been a long time coming which is why you can fall into it so easily. Your amygdala – once a ripe grape – is dried up like a sun-kissed raisin.

Cupping Jade’s face, you feel no indication that is the wrong course of action. Grass and dirt tickles your flesh, teasingly happy. Nature reaches slippery hands into your brain, infecting you with dopamine. This all feels so unnaturally right.

It takes about seven kisses in total before Jade’s hand starts to run itself up and down your thigh. Across a field of goosebumps, he draws his hand from the ankle freckled with water to the midpoint of your upper thigh. It is only when he moves up to the barricade of where you placed your dress that you grab his wrist. Partially in his lap, you squeeze the bones of his wrist.

“You’re not here for too long so what could go wrong,” Jade, eyes closed, asks the question towards your hesitation.

“Only two things are required of me in six days,” you kiss Jade to appease and because you want to. “That I die in six days on my twentieth birthday and that I remain a virgin.”

“Surely we can negate one of these constricting restrictions. I say that God is being a bit selfish.” Jade seethers inside, hiding it well with his returning saccharine kiss. Hoping to persuade and because he wants to. There is no possible way that his own rules are going to leave him with a painful stiff, is there?

“I think the man can handle one lapse of judgment from His prized singer. He knows you well. Say ‘oh dear God’” He vocalizes a facade of your frightful feminine voice, nipping at your ear. You giggle at the foreign sensation. “‘There is this awful, stealing, odious man down there and I. Fell. From. Grace.” Jade punctuates each word with a kiss. He moves down the musician’s scale of your throat, returning to his own deep timbre.

You shiver and, against better judgment, relax the hold on his wrist. “I do not fear the wrath of any man or God.”

The tune of acceptance, Jade thinks as he kisses down to your breasts. When he cultivated from the ceremony, it was only the human hearts he ate. This meal will be a new experience for both you and him. “Good. If you started being frightened, I would find you weak.”

“Is that so? I thought you were always veering for me to be more,” you gasp, toes frozen in the stream, as Jade cups over your sex. He lies his hand over it but does nothing more. “-- Veering for me to fear death?”

“Is this your death?”

“It could certainly be close to that.”

“Well, let this be the sweetest death you could ever know.”

With skillful fingers, he unties the back of your dress with only one hand. Though it comes undone quite quickly as if he has taken scissors to it. Strange. You do not focus on it long as tiny knives fall over your shoulder, removing the sleeves of your summer dress. Treading a hair through short black hair, you keen under his gentle, attentive touch. Jade sucks hard on your right breast.

The sensation sends a ripple of goosebumps along your arms. It feels sweetly blasphemous, all the attentive kisses pepper to your breasts. A taste of something new and at its peak. You twitch when you feel Jade’s blunt nails move from cupping your sex to trailing a finger over the space where hip and thigh meet.

“Wait,” you stop Jade. His mouth falls away, teeth sharpening a bit with annoyance. He looks up at you, big olive- brown eyes gleaming. “I’m – Well –” You glance down at his hand that is swallowed under your dress. “It’s not a pretty scar,” you whisper.

“I’m sure it’s beautiful like the rest of you.” Before you can protest, the rest of your dress is pulled over your head. He leaves you in only your panties, sitting in the dirt by the stream. Your eyes widen.

“Don’t,” Jade grabs the hand that goes to block his sigil. It has never looked so appetizing on a sacrifice until you. He licks his lips. “It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s still a scar.”

“Not to me,” Jade says, pressing his body against you so you lay down.

Delirious, like you are floating off a substance, you go to unbutton his long sleeve, wrestling your hand from him. Your skull is cushioned by your dress, bundled into a ball. The sharp point of sticks hit your skin. Wet sediment, a mixture of sand and dirt, clings onto you.

Under the ground, a foreign heartbeat drums. It hammers in a rhythm over your spine, bottom, shoulders, and soles. It is a mimic of the heart resting in your chest, syncing with nature in some incomprehensible way just like black dahlia managed to breathe. Chary thoughts dissolve from your head when Jade moves down to press a kiss to the sigil.

You manage to wrestle the shirt off Jade, using it as a rope to pull him, meeting in a kiss of tongue and teeth. Let go of your inhibitions, the forest beckons. Treading a hair through short black hair, you keen under his gentle, attentive touch. You float with the floating pine-cones as Jade presses himself against you.

“God,” you moan, breaking away from the kiss.

“Come now, you know my name.” Jade teases. He works himself out of his pants, patient in his motions. “Can’t you say it?” The head of his penis kisses the wet spot of your panties. His grin is so familiar like you've seen it somewhere else before .

“Jade.”

That is all it takes, panties torn by claws. A dozen frenzied thoughts crash into your mind when he pushes himself into you. You cling feebly to him like a caterpillar to a leaf. He thrusts in, starting slow and then fortissimo-ing the act. The sound increases, skin on skin, along with the speed, inch by deeper inch. It feels like your insides are being ripped out of you. I think I’m dying is your most prominent thought. Then, you cum, singing in moans.

It is, in all senses of sensations, la petite mort.

“Aaah — mmmmph my God aah!”

You push your hands against the trunk of a tree. On trembling, fawn legs, you stand with arms outstretched in a tight caress of the pine. Behind you, down the long arch of your spine, Jade presses kiss to each golf-ball indent of bone. Heat spreads like a virus to your shoulders, smoldering, as you feel his length lightly trace down the curvature of your bottom.

Butterflying eyelashes glance up at pine. Your head feels heavy like a whirlpool heat courses through it, scarlet and yellow. Salvia holds itself heavy in your mouth; stimulation – if pushed any further – will have you drooling from your blissed out state. Even disoriented, you recognize nature and the creatures it keeps.

Jade stills when he sees you moving your right hand off the tree. There is something on the tip of your finger. “Keep your hands there. You will need to keep yourself balanced.” He kisses your last vertebrae, eyes glowing, as you ignore his words.

“Cen-Centipede,” you manage to say, breathing heavily.

You hold out your finger to him. On your index, the orange legs of the arthropod flow like oil down your knuckles. With deep fondness, you watch it move. The same fondness is found in Jade’s eyes. He stills you look strangely beautiful: two leaves threaded in your hair, the streaks of dirt that birthed themselves on you when Jade plowed into you, and admiring a centipede in the middle of your third sex position change.

“Yes. I see.”

Jade says, resting his chin on your shoulder. Leaning over you, his length makes a pointed reminder of existing when the warmed blood of it hits and throbs on the center of your ass. “Pretty thing, isn’t it?” You nod before moving your arm down, letting it crawl off into the ground. Over your shoulder, you drag Jade back into another kiss. “Earthy and sweet,” he says, feasting on a taste he will have the pleasure of knowing for eternity.

Around you, the forest sings happily. Surrendering to that wonderful melody of nature, you put your hands back to the pine, using them to keep yourself upright. A slug of drool falls off your bottom lip as a soundless gasp exits you. You and Jade met; he presses himself into your cunt, two harvests of cum soaping and sucking him in easily.

The taste of you is entirely sweet like a honeycomb. The sensation of him is hallucinogenic like psilocybin. Earthy and sweet.

“S-Ssso deep.”

Your left leg twitches when Jade starts to move, experimenting with his speed. He was insatiable the first two rounds; he thinks he will test that beekeeping patience of yours. Yet, at only the first thrusts, Jade finds it a futile effort.

Your hand twitches on the pine at a foreign sensation. Where Jade’s hands rest on your hips, there is a difference in texture. There is silk between his fingers like some type of webbing. You startle at the odd sensation. Going to look behind you, you ask breathless, “Jade?”

“Cl – ugh – Close your eyes. Listen to … fuck … Listen to the forest.”

The thought of that strange texture of his hands is punched out when he finds a finger to your clit, rubbing in circles.

Fucked dumbed and drolling, you manage a “Fuck Jade!” before all your vocabulary burns itself from your brain.

“You have kept me up for the past week … (Na-Name) – uuk! –” Skin slaps in a thundering clap. Subconsciously, you tighten and moan. Summoning his breath, Jade leans in towards your ears, “I hope you can judge my next words fairly: I won’t stop until dawn. It will be a sleepless night for us.”

The night fills itself with the song of your moans.

“Men only think about the past right before their death as if they were searching frantically for proof they were alive.”

Like a bisque doll, you are washed by the village nuns. Two flank you on each side, one designated for your arm and the other for your leg. Assiduous, they move soapy towels down the length of your spidery limbs. Bisque dolls are beings without autonomy. You certainly do feel quite similar, disjointly watching a foreign hand lift your arm, twisting and rubbing soap on each finger with care.

Joints and skin do not belong to you anymore. A sterile hand lifts your left leg higher. Heart, not your possession.

Split into fourths like a filet, you try to remember who said those words: “Men only think about the past right before their death as if they were searching frantically for proof they were alive.” As you are being stewed and cooked into a gallimaufry, you find that the past is not what you think about.

You are thinking about the cloudless skies outside. You are thinking about what it will be like under real warmth, not the warmth of bath water. You are thinking about whether tomorrow it will rain or remain sunny.

“Is something wrong, One?”

The image of skies dissolves in your mind. You blink in surprise. Head off in the cloud, you do not know which of the four nuns spoke. Between all the pallid moon faces cloaked in black, you choose to look at the one cleansing your left arm. You two met curious eyes.

“Your face was scrunching up. I was wondering if you were feeling any discomfort, One.” Your right arm talks to you.

“I’m quite alright. Thank you.”

Your left leg chimes in, soapy brine slathered on it. “If you feel any sort of stress, please let us know.”

Now that silence has been broken, your right leg says, “I cannot imagine being stressed on such a wonderful day. Ah, I’m so terribly envious.”

“I am quite at peace on this holy day,” you smile as to appease the fear all your limbs display. Moon faces hum their agreement, tranquility only broken when you say softly, “but –”. You gaze at the bathhouse’s windows, glass blocking off where nature carols. “How much longer? I long to be outside.”

You glare at the shoes on your feet.

Flanking both your sides, the congregation sits in the village’s woodsmith-made chairs. Beyond you, the stone slab lies; behind you, the statue of your God. Yet, what is most vexingly is in front of you: the sight of shoes on your feet.

Each birthday, you were dressed in the ceremony clothes and made to practice. Each birthday, you gave no fuss over the attire. Letting them dress the bisque doll, you resigned to putting on the empire dress with the square cut to display your iron branding on your stomach. Down to the fiber of your being, now, you wish you could take off the blasted shoes.

Your pointless glaring only stops when a voice approaches, asking, “Did I ever tell you about your grandfather?” You turn to the Reverend with a smile. The ceremony is commencing.

With a soft voice, you answer. “Not often enough.”

The Reverend always walks the sacrifice down the aisle. You suppose this might be a bit more sentimental, considering who you are to him, which is why he talks to you. Gently, you two find yourself joined at the bend of your elbow.

“He was a religious man. Devoted in a way the others around him were not.

“He would go out in forests people were too scared to venture into. The villagers would find him, sketching things they could not see in nature. It frightened and delighted them too, his sketches. He would polish that very statue like each day it would bring him luck. Each day before he went out in the forests, that was his routine.

“When he died … he died saying it was all for vain.” Your lips press together tightly. “A man so devoted and so close to God, shaming it. It was perhaps the worst day of his sons and daughters lives. On his deathbed, he brought upon such … shame to his family. Men only think about the past right before their death as if they were searching frantically for proof they were alive.”

Ah, that is where you heard it. You remember finally, you had heard it in the future which is now the present. That was why you could not remember the speaker because he had not spoken those words yet. You did not think you would find the future in the entheogens; how curious.

You two start towards the stone slab. As nobody's buttercup, you keep your eyes straight and refuse to yield towards distractions. Devote unlike your grandfather. Devote unlike your unsourced father who knocked up your mother exactly twenty years and nine months ago.

“I tell you this because I am incredibly proud of you. I have witnessed such growth from you. Piety flows in your bones as if God has smiled upon you Himself. My child –”

You look towards the Reverend, curious.

“You have been good.”

Nature stirs. At least, this time, the queen bee in my honeycombs is healthy. I leave behind something good.

When you reach the sacrificial table, you part like droplets rolling off a leaf in opposite directions. You press your hands on the omphalos, kneeling down and bowing your head. Eyes closed, you listen to the words you have heard since your tenth birthday.

You cannot help it – your mind wanders back to the past. Not searching for the merit of life, simply remembering how you became the Chosen One. A decade ago … such a long yet short time, such a juxtaposition.

The ritual involves the ocean. The ocean in which that faithful stream bleeds into. Every twenty or so years, just after the sacrifice predating them dies, everyone below the age of ten is made to stay underwater. The one who remains the longest is regarded as the Chosen One. Time slipped from your fingers like sand, underwater. A minute is an hour, an hour is a minute.

When you walked out of the ocean, your mother ran to embrace and to collapse to the ground crying. You had been underwater for a full twenty-four. The villagers thought you got swept up a riptide and died like some three year olds and two year olds of the past. Blue-lipped and shivering, you told them you thought you were the first one out.

There is no way you should have survived and felt as fine as you did.

Since then, nature talks to you like a baby conversing with an adult. You can make some syllables, understand the babbles that make up baba mean dada, and read the unconcealed emotions clearly. Now, it sings along with the Reverend, soft and gentle … somniferous almost.

You know you shouldn’t but –

You glance, barely moving your head, at Jade. He is staring right at you. His eyes are different, tiger eyes of flaming black and flaming gold. Somniferous eyes stare at your soul. Promptly, you pass out.

You wake up.

Your feet are encrusted with dirt. A multitude of trees enter your eyesight and the sound of a running stream worms into your ears. You are standing by the river where you washed clothes as a young teenager; the place where you and Jade had sex seven days ago; the place where you broke God’s trust.

Yet, no fear is present. Chest unusually light, you stare at the familiar pattern of trees dotted across the opposing side of the river. To your limited knowledge, this is you facing divine judgment. Retribution must be collected for your only sin.

You can accept that.

Curious eyes fall across the wilderness as your vision clears. You can not really tell what song nature is singing; there is a disconnect between you and the world. Blocked from the majority besides a single instrument: buzzing. You hear the harmony of humble bees buzzing, which you search for the source of. When you find it, a gasp breaks apart your lips.

Spread across the planes of your two arms are a thousand octagonal holes. Skin drenched in a mixture of golden honey and scarlet blood, the only breakage is pitch black, tiny honeycomb structures dug in your flesh. The concave pits freckle the entirety of both arms.

From the inner elbow and wrist of your left arm, two bees emerge from two separate holes. From the radius of your right arm, another bee. The rest of the colony is inside your skin, tickling your nausea.

That is not all that summons that high-pitched gasp. Clenched in the Swiss cheese flesh of your hands is a knife covered in blood.

You watch as the once cement knife starts to vibrate back and forth the longer you stare at it. Whole body shivers rape your bones and the shining red knife trembles with the movement.

For reasons unknown, your parted lips spill out one last rhythmic note, “J-Jade?” The world goes black.

You wake up.

Black, directionless water swallows you. There is no end or no beginning, so you float in the abdomen of the universal ocean, body tilted and head heavy. No calamity stirs your buoyant bones. Quite peaceful, you exist like a free-roaming satellite, untethered and left to bounce alone in directionless galaxies. No light, pitch black.

This is what you have always wanted from death. No God paradise, just a nebulous space to drift. This is the ideal death. Body propelled and caressed by unsourced waves that rock you peacefully to infinite sleep. No stars, pitch black.

It stops being peaceful when you need to take a breath. Water instead of air travels in. You have no mouth or nose. Body manipulated, water goes in the waiting nostrils of the seven pairs of holes in your abdomen and the three pairs of holes in your thorax. And, suddenly, that tranquil black gains a blinding hue of pain.

Depressing, the water does not float around you but pushes onto you. It clings like you are a magnet. The tiny caves in your thorax and abdomen flicker with agony, gathering more water. It clings to you like spandex. You throw an arm and leg into the atmosphere, and the absence of everything (beginning and end) is no longer a comfort. It clings like a leech, suctioning itself to you and filling the spiracles.

Mouthless, your heart throws out an unheard scream. The world goes blinding gold.

You wake up.

The first texture you feel is the cold granite on your cheek. It is a welcome balm until the granite grinds painfully on your pelvic bone and the skin of your breasts. Disorientate, you push yourself away from the surface. The granite rumbles under your hands … no, the granite is soundless but there is a rumbling. Still sitting on the ceremony’s sacrificial slab, you open your eyes.

The village is on fire. There is no building left intact. Flames rumble and tremble, fueling their physical form with all that a house has to offer. Red and gold climb upon the outer walls and black climbs out from the pumpkin innards of each house.

Snip-snap-woosh-woosh. The conflagration’s volume drowns out any and all sounds of nature. Beyond the roar of fire, you hear absolutely nothing.

Irrational, you turn your head in the direction of where you know the bee colonies are. You cannot see them through the thick plumes of smoke, separated from you by several burning buildings. You knew you would not be able to see them; why even look in their direction? Regardless, you squint even more to try to catch a glimpse.

If the queen moves, they would too. Survival instinct would make them take flight, right?

On the verge of tears, you start to squirm on the slab, taking your hand behind yourself and moving it by your thighs, angling your body so you can lean closer and squint at the flaming barricade, one of your legs slides off the slab, perhaps there is time –

“(Name).”

You look behind and down at Jade Leech. He rests with his arms folded on the slab, knees in the dirt. On his index is the queen bee, walking around and around in circles on his nail.

Your heart falls in despair. “She’s sick … She has a parasite.” Even when vocalizing the issue, you do not want to accept your own words.

“She does; she has had it for a while.”

“Is there anything I can do for her?”

“I’m afraid not. Soon the egg in her stomach will hatch. And the pupae will break out of her throat and head. It is truly odd. Usually, when bees have parasites like these, the bees throw them out of the hive. They kept her though. Even when there was something glaringly wrong with her.”

“Because she’s the queen.”

“Precisely.”

You and Jade watch on in a moment of silence. The queen rotates on twitching legs. Zombie-like, her tiny legs will give out momentarily and she tilts on the perch of Jade’s finger before getting back up again relentlessly. Circle turning into an octagon as she stutters in her steps.

Your hand drags across your face, flustered. The single, heavy as an anvil tear spreads thinly on your cheek. You blink the rest away.

Jade glances up from the parasite-raped bee. “Are you afraid?”

“No … I’m sad.”

Jade considers that. Mourning is a human process when death happens; mourning is like kintsugi to the heart, repairing it layer by layer. In the face of death, one sheds a predictable tear. The queen bee twitches, losing her strength. Jade mourns that he might never see true fright on your face, like missing a piece in a chocolate heart-shaped box.

He falls out of his pondering when you gently press your finger to him. Under the light of dozens of suns, gold and red flickering over, you are ethereal. His eyes fall helplessly to his sigil. He allows you to move him at your heavenly will.

“What happened to the ceremony,” you ask, taking the queen from him. You cup her like she is the tiniest pearl or the fragilest shard of sea glass. “Do we still have time to complete it?”

You do not receive a verbal answer. Instead, Jade gently pinches your chin in his hand, pulling your focus away from the insect. A warm smile settles on his face, olive-brown eyes soft with admiration. Then, grip steady on your mandible, he turns your focus to the open field, on the opposing side of the burning buildings.

When his hand falls away, your mouth falls open with the loss of stability.

The attending nuns and villagers are dead. A deep cavern is cut like a mouth across their throats, blooming a million liquid roses that stain their white garments. In their chairs, their heads are tilted back to display the rings of muscles in their body. Dead eyes face up the heavens, ignorant of their God who is venturing on land and swimming in the oceans of Earth.

The Reverend though – he lies in the middle of the walkway. He is headless, body supine and incomplete at the shoulders. All that remains of an indication he had a head is red splattered upon the grass. This butchery is inevitable. A priest of your religion is not allowed to impregnate women, under your God’s vow of celibacy.

“Oh.”

Is this punishment? Life snuffed out from your devoted village, leaving you and Jade who had broken the rules. You look down at your dying companion; she is halfway through a rotation, legs trembling on a trembling hand. Nature feels disconnected from you and yet, simultaneously, you feel like nature nestles herself in you.

“Oh, look at you. All alone.” Jade purrs, almost singing.

“I – I’m assuming you did this. Or God did this.”

“You are correct on both parts.”

“Do not toy with your words, Jade.”

“I'm as serious as death. Here, let me show you.”

Raising his hands, Jade presses palms to mouth. As he tilts his head back as far as possible, he follows along with his hands, running them up and over. Upturned olive-brown eyes quell with the pressure. Cropped black hair trembles with the motion. And when his hands finally return to the granite slab, Jade stares at you with a new right eye that shines a honey gold. His hair is considerably different.

Different, not unfamiliar. Far from unfamiliar. You have seen that style of teal hair with a single black strand since birth. In paintings on your mother’s nightstand, in books shelved away in the school, and carved into a towering stone effigy.

You think you have always known, looking so intently into nature thus looking so intently into Jade as well.

The queen bee on your finger grinds to a halt and dies. Crushing down in enclosing fists, the ceremony narrows; all the world is lost to you besides God’s/Jade’s voice. Nature beckons. He beckons. The fists you make are a comforting caress.

“Are you afraid of me?”

“Never.”

“Prove it to me.”

“How?”

“Sing for me.”

Swallowing thick saliva, your chest puffs with air peppered with ash. You two stare at each other. Then … you sing.

Tongue volatile, you sing. It is not a melody that follows along with the rhythm of a river or the instrumental of an insect. You sing out your heart, sending it out on delicate honey bee wings.

#jade leech #twisted wonderland x reader #jade leech x reader #twisted wonderland

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