#as icarus loved the sun : threads

[goyouku]

tag dump.

[mochinomnoms]

"I want all of you. Every piece of you" + Sunlight with azul please! Fluff/nsfw

🦩

azul ashengrotto x gn!reader [tags] — nsfw-ish, fluff, lots of reference to the myth of icarus [wc} - 910 prompt 15: “I want all of you. Every piece of you.” song: Sunlight (Hozier, “Wasteland, Baby!”) note - idk why but i had a hard time with this one, so it's more romantic that nsfw. it's more alluded to it than explicit francesca (1k event)

“I had been lost to you, sunlight / And flew like a moth to you, sunlight, oh, sunlight / Oh, your love is sunlight”

Growing up in the deep sea, the only light was provided by bioluminescent algae shaped into lanterns. Not from sunlight. Growing up in the deep sea, the only warmth Azul experienced was from the embrace of his mother. Not from sunlight. 

So the early day sun peaking through the roof opening of the grotto over his eyes was still foreign, despite his time living on the surface. The warmth of the light was pleasant, however, it was currently blocked by something, or someone. 

“Azul, love?” you spoke softly as he sunk deeper into the water until only his eyes were visible. He felt a warmth in his cheeks as you admired him. 

“Come on, let me see you. My pretty, pretty boy.” 

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this, but you’d only seen his merform once during his overblot. Azul wasn’t fond of the idea of letting you see him in his natural form, though. He spent so much time specially curating his image as a human, someone sleek, neat, and confident. Not this…squishy, wriggly, clumsy form he was born with. 

He was a creature suited for nothing but the dark, cold spaces of the deep sea, only seen by the bioluminescent patterning on his skin. 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t want to go back to the docks?”

He flinched as he heard a splash, hiding behind a rock as he felt you move through the water. Azul rested his forehead against the cool surface of the stone, sighing and closing his eyes. 

“Please, Angelfish, are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want to scare you…”

The sound of water alerted him to your movement again, though he couldn’t make out where you were without 

“I want you.” A soft hand threaded through Azul’s hair, making him open his eyes and look up at your form. You were sitting on the rock he rested against, leaning down as your hair fell over your shoulders the closer you came. The sunlight peering through the cave roof shone over you like a halo, you looked like a painting an artist made of an angel. 

“All of you. Please? My love?”

Despite his mind screaming at him to back up, to not let you touch his slimy, squishy skin, his tentacles had a mind of their own. 

One of his arms curled around your hand, another around your waist, two more around your hips, drawn to you. Drawn to your affections that you so freely give to a greedy man like he. Azul sighed again. 

“You’ve taken the water-breathing potion, yes?”

“Mm-hm, just a bit ago.”

“… Good.”

You gasped as Azul dragged you into the water as he sunk backwards. The water under the grotto was dark, almost black, except for the rays of sunlight turning the water into an ethereal green. Once again, Azul found himself beguiled by your visage, hair and clothes floating around you…his arms tightening his grip at the sight. 

They truly had a mind of their own, drawing their energy from Azul’s true thoughts and urges. And how could he resist when you so freely offered yourself, love and body, to him.

Azul tangled himself in your embrace, claiming your mouth with his, drawing your tongue into his mouth to suck and explore. He reveled in the whimper that left you, tightening his hold as his tentacles slithered under your clothes, groping and suckers leaving behind marks. 

“Mmmh, Azul…” You gasped, exposing your neck for him to suckle marks, trailing down your body. Several of Azul’s arms gently pushed your clothes and undergarments off to have easier access to you. His suckers attached themselves to your sensitive area, shivering in its taste. 

“I almost forgot the benefits of being in this body… I can feel and taste your entire being with more than just my tongue. Your pulse drums beneath my grip, the salt on your skin floods my senses, and the sweetness down here.”

One tentacle with a spade-shape was brushing over your hole, pressing in slowly as you clenched onto Azul’s shoulders at the sudden stretch. 

“S-slower, Azul please, it’s too much—AAAH~”

Pressing his tentacle dick into your heat, Azul nuzzled his nose against your own as he fell deeper into desire. He shuddered at the surrounding tightness, getting drunk at the pleasure of your being, at the kisses you fluttered against his face, at the thought of permanently mark you as his with more than just his seed. 

Like Icarus reaching for his love Apollo, Azul would gladly risk flying too close to the sun, and feel the intense burn of its fiery gaze. Unlike Icarus, the way you looked at him like he was the celestial body itself made him certain that you’d never burn him and cast him back to the dark sea. 

Perhaps it was the intoxication from the sybaritism in his veins, bringing him and closer to an orgasm, that would let you two see the god. But he had no need when you were before him, his warmth. The Apollo to your Icarus, the root to his pleasure.

The cry you let out as he brushed against a particularly sensitive spot, throwing your head back as the sun shone on you like a heavenly being, reaffirmed you as his own sunlight.

comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷

[carpkoinobori]

[❣︎] casual — huh yunjin x reader

[𖤐] 0.5/3 [next] [please be aware this is all fiction! none of this is real and idols behavior is not accurately represented.]

song(s): casual - chappel roan | runaway runaway - mars argo | HOT TO GO - chappel roan |

summary: you and your best friend made it to produce 48 together— what led up to the fallout? who is it you’re singing about? what do you do when the stress boils over?

pairing(s): trainee!huh yunjin x trainee!fem!reader

tags: angst, imagined unrequited love, eventual happy ending

wc: 1.1k

cw: implied sexual content, internalized homophobia, period typical homophobia, mentions of dieting.

ex: 135 notes.. thank you all so much!! i didn’t expect anyone to really like it. i hope you enjoy this backstory :-)

also, this is an au, not following real events— y/n and yunjin are 18 and 19 in produce48, yunjin debuts three years later at 22, and y/n at 21.

(not beta read ����)

you didn’t expect a survival show to be so stressful- now, you were well aware how difficult it’d be, you knew you would have to practice, and sing, and dance, and diet- but, you didn’t expect the constant stress of the possibility of being eliminated every day.

but, you chose this, right? all for her, all for your sun.

“y/n! Come on, let’s practice this final part, yeah? I think I figured out the footwork-“ yunjin mumbled, rambling about something or other. you were distracted by her face, she was soo pretty-

“y/n, are you even listening to me?” she said, grinning. your face turned a pretty shade of red, and you spluttered. “What? No, no! I was totally paying attention, I swear— something about.. footwork?” You guessed, desperately.

“it’s fine, just, come here- I’ll teach you,” she smiled, and it took all you had to not just fall right there.

after one particularly harsh judge had humiliated yunjin, she slammed the door of the room you shared with about two other contestants. they weren’t there, at the moment.

yunjin angrily began to rummage through her things, and you sat up. “jen? What’s wrong? I mean, I know what the judge said was mean but- you know that’s not true, right?” you began, getting up and starting to walk over to her before she whipped her head around, glaring at you.

“It IS fucking true, y/n, just because they always let you fuck up ‘cause the fans love you doesn’t mean you’re suddenly qualified to give advice-” she spat, standing up from her spot on the floor, her fists clenched as she jabbed her finger into your chest harshly. “You probably think you’re so much better than me, don’t you? I bet-” you cut her off, cupping her face in your hands. “jen- jen, I don’t think that, and you do not get to talk to me like that just because you’re mad,” you began, words steady and stern, and when you watched your best friends eyes glaze over, a bit, felt her gaze flicker down to your lips, felt your face flush and felt her lean in—

well, it was all you could do to tug her closer, kissing her, tasting the stupid citrus lip balm she’s used for years, that you’ve thought about every single day of your waking life—

and if someone asked, was it all worth it? the pain, the exhaustion, the work, just for this?

“well,” you’d reply, “oranges were always my favorite fruit.”

you cupped her face with one hand, threading your fingers in her hair with the other, pushing her onto your bed, and it was all teeth, you biting her lip, you moving your hands down, her speaking incoherently.

“please,” she’d breathe out, the words just whispers on the wind. and you’d always been the one under her mercy, begging her to love you- and now here she was, begging for you to touch her. you’d always dreamed of touching the sun. you’d always think of Icarus, in these moments. your wings were yet to melt from the heat and warmth, though, so you figured it was fine.

and, well, the fall would hurt, but it was all you could do, to fall into eachother, again, and again.

waking up was always worse. your dorm mates still weren’t back, they had a penchant to pass out in the practice room. you kinda thanked them, for that.

sometimes you’d wake up in the middle of the night, just so you could see her sleeping. just so you could see her before she would leave in the morning.

yeah, you lived together, but come 8 in the morning, she’d be gone. except for the first time. except for before you fell asleep.

“..y/n?” she asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

“mhm?” you hummed, half asleep in your bed.

“this didn’t mean anything, right? im not mad at you, im sorry. i was just stressed, and frustrated- and- we can still be friends, right? it won’t change?” she whispered, and it was the only time you’ve ever seen her this nervous around you. the first time she had really been vulnerable since you both got on this stupid show.

what changed? was it the having to compete against each other? yeah. it was probably that.

“yeah,” you mumbled, feeling your chest constrict, your heart fracture, tears stinging your eyes, and you were so glad she couldn’t see your face. “yeah, jen- it’s casual. we’re still best friends,” you reassured, giving a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. why were you smiling, anyway? she couldn’t see you. she’s never seen you. “okay, y/n. good night. i love you,” she mumbled, turning to the wall.

“goodnight, jen. i love you,” you whispered, turning your back to her, and staring at the empty bed across the room. wasn’t it poetic that she was in your bed, and you’d never be in hers? you laughed inwardly, no humor in it. you were so, so bitter.

this stupid game kept up, you kept giving in to it, and you kept losing- atleast it gave you writing material, right?

“y/n,” your dorm mate- chaewon, you think? “you should stop,” she murmured. you stared at her through tired eyes. “stop what?” you said, playing dumb. “you know. I think- I think it’s.. it’s not good for you,” she mumbled, uncomfortable. “I appreciate it, but I’m fine,” you assured, giving a well-practiced smile. “Thanks for caring,” you nodded, slipping out of the chair you’ve been sitting in for an hour and a half— instead of sleeping, you’d either be with your “best friend”, or writing about her- god, you were such a lovesick fool. Crumpled paper took up the majority of your desk, and you left it all splayed out, in front of Chaewon, slipping away to go practice till you dropped. The trainee life, you’d think.

“you said/ we’re not together/so now when we kiss/ I have anger issues,”

chaewon stared at the paper, vaguely. she couldn’t read english, obviously, and was half tempted to put it in a translator, but she just turned around, leaving the room as well to go practice.

“and I try to be the chill girl/that holds her tongue and gives you space/i try to be the chill girl/but honestly/im not,”

and then she got eliminated. and you broke down. and you lived in that practice room. and your roommates would stare at you in pity, and you hated it, you hated being something pitiable.

you hated loving your best friend. your fall hurt like hell, your stupid wax wings broke. you didn’t fall into her, no— you fell into the sea, cold, salty, rough— you hated the cold. but maybe you’d get used to it.

hundreds of texts unsent:

“jen, I love you,” [delete]

“jen, I miss you,” [delete]

“jen, did you love me? do you miss me?” [delete]

“I’m so sorry,” [sent]

“are you okay?” [sent]

“will it be okay?” [delete]

“will you catch me?” [delete]

“why won’t you talk to me?” [sent]

[reply] “I need some space,”

[reply] “I can’t take the reminder,”

“okay, I’m sorry. I love you,” [sent]

[you can not reply to this conversation. message unable to send]

and nearly 7000 miles away, there is a girl crying in New York City. because she loves her best friend. and her best friend said she didn’t mean it.

and nearly 7000 miles back, there is a girl crying in Seoul, because she loves her best friend. and her best friend (will) not love her back.

hi! backstory to good luck babe. i hope you all enjoy this, I wasn’t expecting so many notes on the last post… thank you all for reading! please feel free to send anons or reqs or just tell me about your day.. hope your day is great! :3

[fandomwriterstuff]

Call it What You Want

James Potter x Fem!Reader

Words: ~1k

Heavily inspired by Call it What You Want by Taylor Swift.

My castle crumbled overnight

I brought a knife to a gunfight

They took the crown, but it's alright

Brown leaves crinkling beneath your feet, you made your way back to the place you used to call home one last time. You used to love this place. You used to love this castle with its endless hiding spots, the abundance of life and personalities within, the things you learned. But this year was different. 

The sun was low in the sky, and you sighed with a visible puff as you walked slightly behind the rest of the seventh year Gryffindors. In previous years you’d walked with your friends, a group of witches and wizards from different houses mingling together. You were well loved, a Gryffindor who cared about more than the house cup, pranks, and house rivalries. You had good marks in class, a wide variety of companions, and the respect of your professors. 

You didn’t realize how fragile all of that was, how quickly they would all turn on you. In the last month of sixth year you lost it all (save your good marks, nobody could take our hard work away from you). You would give it up any day though for what you gained.

All the liars are calling me one

Nobody's heard from me for months

I'm doing better than I ever was

You spent the summer by yourself, only writing letters to your sweet boy. You couldn’t bear the thought of not writing to him, and having to face those pretty puppy dog eyes day one back at Hogwarts. You thought you’d be walking with him and his friends today, maybe you would feel less alone. 

Alas, James had interned during the summer with the Ministry of Magic and was coming back to school a day later than everyone else. 

If you were being honest, without the pressure of maintaining a dozen friendships, pretending to be perfect all the time, being obedient and well-behaved… You were doing better than ever. 

Sirius brought out your mischievous side that you hadn’t indulged in since your youth. Peter was your homework buddy and gossip partner. Remus listened to you and anchored you when you felt like you would float away. And your James. James brought out every shining golden thread of love and affection you had within you (a seemingly never ending supply when it came to him). He was there for you when everyone turned against you. He was there for you when the last of your friends stopped trying to spend time with you. He introduced you to his friends when it seemed like you had none left. 

'Cause my baby's fit like a daydream

Walkin' with his head down, I'm the one he's walkin' to

So call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to

James was the sun in the sky and you were sure you were stronger and smarter than Icarus. You could withstand his glow. You were his partner.

“What do you mean you haven’t seen her?” His voice was clear once he’d breached the entrance to the common room, and you perked up at the sound.

“We couldn’t find her on our way in, we looked, promise,” Sirius was pleading, and you sort of felt bad. You were busy wallowing the day prior to notice that the other three marauders were looking for you. 

“And she wasn’t at breakfast or lunch today either,” Peter’s timid voice reached your ears and you unfolded yourself from the cozy chair you’d spend the afternoon in.

“Jamie?” Your voice was soft and you only had a second to bookmark your page before you were wrapped up in those muscley arms. 

“Baby, I missed you,” he peppered your flushed face with kisses. “I was worried about you,” he murmured only for you to hear and your chest tightened. He was so good to you. 

“Sorry I worried you, sweetness,” you whispered, breaking out of his grasp to sheepishly look over his shoulder at your three friends. “Hello, boys.”

“And where have you been?” Sirius mock scolded you and a laugh bubbled up in your chest. “We were looking all over for you.”

“We were worried when we didn’t see you at breakfast or lunch,” Remus added and you shrugged guiltily.

“I was reading?” 

“You shouldn’t skip meals to read, love. You know that,” James chided you with soft eyes. 

“But they’ve finally realized they’re in love I just had to read another page and-”

“And another page, and another. Merlin you’re a nerd,” Sirius chuckled before heading up to their shared room. 

“We’ll see you two later,” Remus then dragged Peter up the stairs and you were left in your corner of the common room with James. There were other students there, but none paid you any mind. Nobody paid you mind anymore. 

James plopped himself down into the cozy chair you’d spent most of the afternoon in and tugged you down into his lap. 

“Tell me about your book.” 

All my flowers grew back as thorns

Windows boarded up after the storm

He built a fire just to keep me warm

All the drama queens taking swings

All the jokers dressin' up as kings

They fade to nothin' when I look at him

James was better than anyone you’d ever known. After you were broken down from losing all you ever knew and you built up walls where once there was openness, James was the one to build a door. He didn’t try to break your walls down, he didn’t try to force you to be happy. He was caring and understanding, he was patient and he loved you. You couldn’t care less about everyone else's drama when you were in his arms.

Masterlist

[forestdeath1]

I loved you as Icarus loved the sun — too close, too much // or “poor James”

@prongsfoot-microfic

***

“Dance with me,” James feels Sirius's warm breath on his ear.

Amidst the Christmas dinner now turned dance, couples whirl around the Great Hall, their hair and robes catching enchanted snowflakes to the tune of lively music.

“What, did everyone turn you down?” James asks, not lifting his gaze from his pumpkin juice, spiked with firewhisky.

The heat in the hall seems to intensify, the candles burning brighter. Isn't anyone supposed to control the temperature here?

Sirius flops down beside James, propping his face in his hand, an air of casual elegance about him.

“Just thought it might liven up the place. Imagine the professors' faces,” he suggests with a nod towards the teachers' table.

“Actually, I was about to get some fresh air,” James replies, and it's true; he plans to, just after finishing his drink. “It's hot in here, isn't it?”

No, James isn't running away from Sirius's odd suggestions.

And really, there's nothing odd about them.

Boys dance with each other all the time. Well, at least in theory, it's not forbidden, right?

“Very hot,” Sirius remarks with a cheeky smile. He reaches for James's glass of pumpkin whisky and takes a sip, gazing intently at his friend.

James grabs his drink back, downs it in one go, then immediately gets up and heads towards the hall's exit, leaving Sirius chatting with Moony and an exasperated Marlene, lamenting the perils of dancing in heels.

The cold air outside is a relief, the crunch of snow underfoot a stark contrast to the warmth inside. He walks a bit away from the castle's exit, standing under a winter-bare birch, and leans back against the stone wall. He breathes heavily, trying to calm his heart so it wouldn't pound so loudly in his temples.

James closes his eyes, trying not to think about why Sirius's breath on his neck felt so charged and tense all of a sudden.

“You'll freeze here, fall ill, and die,” suddenly, James hears Sirius's voice. “And what would we do without you then?”

James opens his eyes. Sirius is standing right in front of him, illuminated by the moon's silver light. The night suits Sirius; he's woven from the night, and even that detestable Slytherin-coloured robe doesn't spoil him.

James feels like hitting him.

“Can you give me a moment's peace?” he says, voice tinged with annoyance.

“I gave you five,” Sirius smirks, stepping closer. “Actually, I've come to give you your present.”

The four friends had exchanged Christmas presents in the morning, but Sirius said he'd give James his later. Not that James was waiting, he'd nearly forgotten about it – one more present or one less didn't matter. What mattered was that they all had each other.

“A collector's set of Christmas dung bombs?” James tries to deflect with humor. “Could've given it in front of everyone. I'm sure Pete would've died of jealousy.”

Sirius merely shakes his head.

“Got a belt on you?”

“What?” James asks, bewildered.

“A belt. Take it off.”

James blinks.

“Are you out of your mind?”

With a sigh and an eye roll, Sirius retrieves a red box from his robe pocket and opens it to reveal a belt.

“Remember, you liked my belt?”

Indeed, James remembers one evening when Sirius, out of boredom, had devised a transfiguration spell to weave silver threads into his belt, creating an intricate design of a man with large wings soaring towards the sun.

“Beautiful,” James had said then, watching Sirius work over his shoulder.

“You like it?”

“Very much,” James had smiled, giving Sirius a friendly pat. “You're quite the craftsman.”

“Yes,” James answers.

“I made one for you. Even better. More detailed,” Sirius looks intently, raising an eyebrow questioningly. “May I?”

“What?”

“Unbutton your robe.”

James sighs heavily, but can't refuse Sirius, especially when Sirius has gone to the trouble of making him such a gift.

After all, it's just a gift. James will now remove his belt, put on Sirius's gift, and they'll head back to the Great Hall together. Calmly. As if nothing happened.

As James starts to unbutton his robe and reaches for his belt, Sirius's hand covers his, a gesture so deliberate that James finds himself yielding without protest.

“Allow me,” says Sirius.

Suddenly, he kneels before James, a move that steals James's breath. He feels Sirius unfastening his belt, and tries not to look down at him now at James's feet. The touch of Sirius's fingers seems accidental as they brush against James's waist, and his hand lightly grazes the center of his trousers while threading the belt. James suddenly realizes the heat has intensified. He hopes Sirius didn't notice.

James catches Sirius's glance — wicked and innocent at the same time — and he swiftly diverts his attention to the night sky, seeking distraction in the celestial bodies above, in an effort to clear his mind of the vivid image.

Sirius stands, his hand seemingly brushing unintentionally along James's body from the belt to the collar of his robe.

“Breathe, Jamie. Otherwise, you'll suffocate,” Sirius whispers into James's ear, fastening his robe. “Merry Christmas.”

James meets Sirius's gaze, taking a deep breath to calm the sharp and overwhelming tension that's gripping him.

“Hey, what are you two doing? Everyone's looking for you!” Marlene's voice cuts through, offering a moment of relief and drawing them away from the peculiar tension that had enveloped them. “We're about to start hide and seek. Come on!”

“On our way!” Sirius cheerfully responds, tossing a wink at James before darting off towards Marlene. He swiftly reaches her, playfully scoops her up, and twirls her in the air, her laughter mingling with the night air.

Bloody Black.

[lightzriel]

I actually did this on June 26 so...

( It's in thread form, so it might look weird)

✶ Regulus Black and Icarus myth ✶

"Humans don't have wings, so we have to make one, so we can fly" - Dédalo

Icarus always was the representation of freedom, because he built his own wings to fly to the infinity of the Greek sky.

...

Regulus wished he could be like him, that he could make his own wings and fly away from everything, that he could be free like he once had the chance to.

...

Icarus built his wings with Linen threads and wax, but when Regulus did, he built his ones with love, with hope, the feeling that only two persons give him in different ways.

....

As James Potter was the sun.

Regulus black had to be the water. And he feared he would end up like Icarus, because for the first time he didn't had the fear to live.

When Regulus was with James, his Brother and their friends in a beach, he was happy, he thought at least for five minutes that everything would end well, that when he looked at the sea reflecting the sun's rays he didn't find himself and James in it, that never would have a fall

And there he was, "always too close but never close enough", he thought he had seen it coming, that it would hurt less if he knew what happened next, and with everything happy, it has to end wrong, because if you get too close to the sun

You Burn.

....

With burning wings and sad tears, he realized that he WAS Icarus, and the closest to the Sun that he ever got, was in that brown eyes and gold skin.

The sun loves James The water loves Regulus But they would never love each other at the same time as James and Regulus did

As Regulus predicted, he was falling with destroyed wings and nothing but fear, because he failed again, he failed like Icarus did, he got too distracted with the happy times and the good things, that he wasn't even scared of losing all.

...

When James looked back, Regulus wasn't there, he was falling even more, but this time in the sea, drowning like he always thought he would end up like.

He lost his Brother, his love, his friends, his life.

...

Icarus never regretted the fall because he was free

Regulus did, because he lost everything that was freedom to him.

But even dead, he would always look for James as Icarus looked for the sun.

[eirianerisdar]

Hiiiii I’ve only just seen it but if youre still doing the directors commentary thing I was gonna ask about Icarus? :) and the ⭐️ for whatever part you choose

(and just wanted to say your writing is so beautiful, I’m loving reading it so much thank you for sharing <3)

Oh ye I'm going to go on an absolute rant about Brocedes

An excerpt from chapter 30 of Icarus, when Lewis has just strained his newly regrown wings on a highly unadvised first flight after having grown out his primaries again for the first time in sixteen years, and runs into Nico by chance on an old clifftop haunt of theirs above Monaco. It's purely mutual pining in that uniquely Brocedes way

For the uninitiated, Icarus is an F1 wingfic that covers most of the grid, with the theme of wing trimming as a representation of unhealthy practices in motorsport forced upon drivers.

=====

A shape appears out of the rising sun, brown-white sparrowhawk feathers silhouetted against the dawn.

Unlike Lewis’s haphazard landing a minute earlier, Nico’s is elegant and precise; he comes out of his dive twisting in a perfect diagonal to the clifftop, one wingtip brushing the ground and the other pointed towards the sun, and lands on silent feet. He is wearing a tailored flight-suit that fits him as well as his race suit used to; the small backpack slotted between his wings has a molded plastic shell for better aerodynamics.

Nico folds his wings, and stares.

“Lewis?” he says, shocked. “What are you doing here?”

Lewis is suddenly all-too aware of the dirt ground into his skin, smeared over his t-shirt and ratty running sweats. His wings are caked with sand and grime from his less-than perfect landings; his palms are smarting with a dozen shallow cuts from hauling himself back up onto the clifftop.

He finds his voice. “What are you doing here?”

It comes out more accusing than Lewis intended. Nico’s face closes; his sparrowhawk wings flatten against his back.

“I come here often,” he says. “I fly up here every morning.”

Lewis doesn’t miss the implication that he is the intruder here, not Nico.

Lewis doesn’t know why that hurts so much. Maybe because he shouldn’t feel so out of place here, in this little sanctuary tucked against the Monaco cliffs where he and Nico had watched the sun rise and set so many times.

Nico ventures closer. His eyes are on Lewis’s wings. “You really did it,” he says oddly. “You grew out your wings.”

Lewis sets his jaw, raises his chin. “Yeah,” he says challengingly. “What about it?”

Nico flinches and looks away. His chest rises and falls faster than usual.

It would seem that even after all this time, Lewis still knows how to get a rise out of Nico. Lewis should feel vindicated, but he doesn’t. Something about the way Nico is holding his wings makes Lewis feel sick.

Nico crosses over to a flat-topped rock a careful distance away and sits. The two of them face the sunrise like they have done so many times years ago. The wind that ruffles both their feathers brings with it the scent of the sea.

Lewis closes his eyes. The sun sears his skin, turns the backs of his eyelids orange-yellow. There is so much he wants to say, but he doesn’t know where to begin. He could start at Abu Dhabi, at that awful Sky interview. He could go back to 2021, when he had finally admitted to himself and to the press that he could have been a better teammate to Nico.

He could go back to Barcelona 2016; the ache in his shabby wings in the garage, and the brief moment of blessed, cool relief when Nico had brushed a hand through Lewis’s wing.

It was the last time either of them had touched each other’s wings. Their crash and DNF at Barcelona had snapped the last threads that held them together as flock.

Lewis waits for Nico to say something, but Nico stays silent. It stings.

Lewis sneaks a glance at his former flock, finds Nico already looking at him – not at his dirt-smeared face or messy braids, but at his wing plumes, pooled carelessly in the dust at the base of the rock he is seated on.

In the dawn light, Nico’s clean, well-brushed feathers are painted in peach and ochre. Lewis bristles, waits for Nico to make an unsavoury comment.

But Nico just clasps his hands together in his lap, tight enough that the knuckles go pale. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Your wing plumes are longer than I remember,” he says hoarsely.

Oh. Lewis looks down at them, at his draped double-cloak of gold, white, and maroon.

“Yeah,” he says. A gust of wind blows dirt over the end of one of his plumes; he nudges it carelessly with the toe of his trainer, but only succeeds in matting the feather ends with even more dirt.

Nico makes an abortive motion towards Lewis.

Lewis looks at him sharply, watches Nico fold his hands into fists on his knees. Nico’s face is pinched.

Lewis breathes through the bitterness. He knows he is intruding on Nico’s space by being here. It’s just that a part of him thought that he would still have a place here, where they had shared so many happy memories.

He can’t even leave; his wings still hurt too much to chance anything other than a glide.

Nico’s feathers rustle as he stands. “I’m going to head back,” he says quietly. “You coming?”

Lewis shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “I’m going to sit a while longer.”

The flight muscles of his right wing ache dully; he shakes it out carefully, fighting a wince.

Nico is suddenly standing within arm’s reach, blocking out the sun. “Your wing,” he says, frowning. “You’ve got flyer’s cramp.”

“It’ll pass,” Lewis snaps, folding his wing back against his spine even though that makes it hurt worse. “I’ve got it handled.”

“You shouldn’t fly back alone,” Nico says seriously. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll even let you get there first.”

Lewis tenses at the implication. He hates competition not treating him seriously – Nico most of all.

“I’m fine,” he says testily. “It’s just the thermals. I rode them up, I’ll find a way between them to glide back down again. I’ll manage.”

“The thermals?” Nico frowns over his shoulder at the dizzying drop down towards the sea. “Where did you fly here from?”

Lewis works his jaw. “The beach,” he says.

Nico turns on him instantly. “The beach?” he exclaims. “Are you fucking – you can’t have unsheathed your feathers more than a few days ago!”

Lewis doesn’t reply, but Nico reads him anyway.

“Oh my God,” Nico stares. “It hasn’t even been a few days, has it? This is your first fucking flight.”

Lewis jerks his chin. “What about it?”

Nico puts his face in his hands. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Are you insane? Who flies up a cliff for their first flight in sixteen years? Do you want to die?”

Lewis hates to admit it, but laying it out like that puts it into perspective. He isn’t usually one to take such risks. He let his hunger for freedom override his common sense.

“That’s it,” Nico says. He jerks his head towards the cliff edge. “I’m making sure you get back without killing yourself. Let’s go.”

Lewis looks at the edge of the cliff. The wind has picked up even more now that the sun has fully risen; bits of rock and dirt swirl in the wind to tumble off the lip.

He doesn’t want to name the feeling that roots him in place.

Lewis Hamilton has never been one to admit fear.

Nico strides over to the cliff edge, draws a sharp line in the dirt with the toe of his flight boot. “Come on,” he snaps. “I’m not leaving unless you’re with me.”

Something about that phrase twists Lewis’s stomach, uncovers a bitter wound.

Because Nico had left. He’d left Lewis to race on alone.

“What is it?” Nico says. “Is your wing still cramping?”

Lewis shifts his wings. “No.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Lewis opens his mouth, closes it again. Looks away.

If there’s anything he hates most in the world, it’s looking weak in front of Nico Rosberg.

“I don’t think I can make it,” he admits.

Nico stills. “What?”

Lewis breathes a bitter laugh. “I know what it sounds like,” he says, looking down at his dirt-splattered wing plumes. “But I’m gonna be honest with you, man. I don’t think I can make it.”

Nico doesn’t respond. He looks like a statue stood on the cliff edge, his golden hair a halo around his head, his wings of carven marble.

Lewis runs his scraped palms together. “I don’t know the thermals,” he says, swallowing the shame. “They’re so different from what I remember. I keep getting pushed higher. My flight muscles aren’t strong enough to fight my way out if I get caught in one.” He gestures at himself, at the dirt ground into his wings, his clothes. “I barely made it out of the clouds and back here.”

Silence, save for the cry of gulls in the harbour below and the whistling wind.

Flight boots stomp against dirt and rock as Nico stalks over, grabs Lewis by the collar, and shakes him, hard.

Lewis’s hands come up automatically, but Nico has already let go. Lewis watches as Nico turns in a flare of sparrowhawk feathers to pace the dirt of the clifftop.

Nico snaps to a halt, glares down at Lewis. “I can’t fucking believe what I’m hearing,” he hisses. “You’re not some damsel in distress. You’re Lewis fucking Hamilton.”

Lewis stares up at Nico’s furious face. This isn’t what he expected at all.

“Lewis Hamilton doesn’t back down from a fight,” Nico snarls. “What the fuck happened to you? You always said you could do anything as long as you pushed hard enough. So get up. Push.”

Lewis bristles. “Easy for you to say,” he spits. “You’ve had six years to learn the air patterns and train up your wings. Don’t pretend we’re on equal footing.”

Nico’s face whitens. For a moment Lewis thinks Nico will punch him; but Nico only exhales and looks over his shoulder at the cliff edge.

“It’s not as complicated than it looks,” he says abruptly. “It’s just that new building down where the road splits, and that paved road cutting through the trees there. It breaks up the current that used to flow down from–”

“Thanks, Nico,” Lewis says sarcastically. “I’m sure that’ll be really helpful when I’m trying to navigate something I can’t see.”

“Just–” Nico closes his eyes briefly. His voice softens. “Just stay on my wing,” he says quietly. “I’ll guide you down.”

Lewis looks at the cliff edge. He swallows.

Nico’s eyes are a clear, intense blue. “I won’t leave you,” he says. “I promise.”

Like that fucking meant anything the last time you said it, Lewis thinks. Some of his thoughts must show on his face, because Nico’s eyes shutter.

Lewis grits his teeth. He feels like an arse.

He feels the wind run through his still-aching wings. “What if I fall?”

Nico’s face hardens. He looks for a moment like he did when he met Lewis’s eyes across the garage as they got into their cars in Abu Dhabi 2016. It is a look that says try me, and I will prove you wrong.

“Then I’ll fucking catch you,” he spits.

The promise settles in Lewis’s bones.

Nico’s anger and determination is something Lewis knows too well. This, he can trust.

Nico’s straightens. The sun suffuses his hair, outlines his wings with gold. He holds out a hand to Lewis.

“Come on,” he says. “We’ve got this. Clear air all the way down.”

Lewis looks at Nico’s hand before him – the familiar grooves of his palm, the finger-webs turned pink in the sun. The hand that Lewis had once thought nothing of holding in his own.

He reaches up, and takes it.

======

Director's Cut:

I had this scene planned very early; I held on to it for a solid four months before the plot progressed to the point that this happened. The thing I most wanted to get across in this scene, the first proper scene where Lewis and Nico are properly speaking face-to-face instead of just pining, is just how much they both care about each other even if it all comes out toxic.

The way I planned this conversation is that every single thing that comes out of Nico and Lewis's mouths is misinterpreted as hostile. Even body language is misinterpreted.

A few examples:

1. When Nico says, “I come here often. I fly up here every morning," he means I often return here, to this place of good memories with you, because I miss you.

Lewis takes this to mean that Nico thinks that Lewis is in his space, and that Lewis doesn't have a right to this shared space they used to have as teenagers.

2. Nico ventures closer. His eyes are on Lewis’s wings. “You really did it,” he says oddly. “You grew out your wings.”

Lewis sets his jaw, raises his chin. “Yeah,” he says challengingly. “What about it?”

Nico flinches and looks away. His chest rises and falls faster than usual.

It would seem that even after all this time, Lewis still knows how to get a rise out of Nico. Lewis should feel vindicated, but he doesn’t. Something about the way Nico is holding his wings makes Lewis feel sick.

Nico's trying to find some common ground here. He never thought Lewis would give up speed to regrow his wings. Nico had been harbouring hope that maybe they'd be able to heal if both of them weren't dead-focused on racing anymore; but Lewis is so used to Nico using everything as an insult he takes it badly.

But he still cares about Nico enough that he can tell when he's gone too far. Nico at this point in the story has gone through a full wing crisis because of Lewis, and Lewis isn't aware of it.

3. But Nico just clasps his hands together in his lap, tight enough that the knuckles go pale. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Your wing plumes are longer than I remember,” he says hoarsely.

Oh. Lewis looks down at them, at his draped double-cloak of gold, white, and maroon.

“Yeah,” he says. A gust of wind blows dirt over the end of one of his plumes; he nudges it carelessly with the toe of his trainer, but only succeeds in matting the feather ends with even more dirt.

Nico makes an abortive motion towards Lewis.Lewis looks at him sharply, watches Nico fold his hands into fists on his knees. Nico’s face is pinched.

Lewis isn't used to having full-grown bird-of-paradise plumes. He nudges them with his foot because to him they're just his feathers; he'll go and clean them later. for Nico, he's positively screaming to preen Lewis's wings. He's sitting there going insane with yearning while Lewis mats his feathers in dirt.

4. Nico turns on him instantly. “The beach?” he exclaims. “Are you fucking – you can’t have unsheathed your feathers more than a few days ago!”

When Nico finds out Lewis has got flyer's cramp and that Lewis isn't sure if he can make it back home without falling, he defaults to anger. He's actually furious because he's terrified that Lewis could have fallen to his death, but Nico, like Lewis, defaults to anger to mask his fear. Lewis does the same.

5. Flight boots stomp against dirt and rock as Nico stalks over, grabs Lewis by the collar, and shakes him, hard.

Lewis’s hands come up automatically, but Nico has already let go. Lewis watches as Nico turns in a flare of sparrowhawk feathers to pace the dirt of the clifftop.

Nico snaps to a halt, glares down at Lewis. “I can’t fucking believe what I’m hearing,” he hisses. “You’re not some damsel in distress. You’re Lewis fucking Hamilton.”

Lewis stares up at Nico’s furious face. This isn’t what he expected at all.

“Lewis Hamilton doesn’t back down from a fight,” Nico snarls. “What the fuck happened to you? You always said you could do anything as long as you pushed hard enough. So get up. Push.”

This is something integral to Nico Rosberg: he has absolute faith that Lewis Hamilton will back down for nothing. That no matter what the world throws at him, Lewis Hamilton will push. All Nico's anxiety about Lewis still hating him or overstepping and snapping this fragile connection that's forming evaporates because this is Lewis fucking Hamilton who Nico knows through and through and Nico will die before he lets Lewis be anyone other than himself.

6. He feels the wind run through his still-aching wings. “What if I fall?”

Nico’s face hardens. He looks for a moment like he did when he met Lewis’s eyes across the garage as they got into their cars in Abu Dhabi 2016. It is a look that says try me, and I will prove you wrong.

“Then I’ll fucking catch you,” he spits.

The promise settles in Lewis’s bones.

Nico’s anger and determination is something Lewis knows too well. This, he can trust.

This is Nico saying I'm with you until the end of the line. It's a declaration of if you fall I will fall with you. Lewis doesn't fully get the emotion behind it yet - there's still too much ingrained hurt there - but he can see Nico's anger and determination. The same anger and determination that allowed Nico to beat him in 2016. This, he can trust.

7. Nico straightens. The sun suffuses his hair, outlines his wings with gold. He holds out a hand to Lewis.

“Come on,” he says. “We’ve got this. Clear air all the way down.”

Lewis looks at Nico’s hand before him – the familiar grooves of his palm, the finger-webs turned pink in the sun. The hand that Lewis had once thought nothing of holding in his own.

He reaches up, and takes it.

I swear I had this section planned out almost word-for-word for four months. The image of Nico with his blond hair and sparrowhawk wings offering a hand to Lewis, offering to parlay, offering to help. It's the first time neither of them have been fully alone. It's the first moment that shows there might be a possibility of healing.

Clear air. Flying in formation, like they used to drive in formation on victory laps. Nico is Lewis's guide back to flight and freedom. They'll push each other higher, like they did when they raced each other.

Lewis lets go of his hurt and bitterness for the first time this whole conversation. He lets himself trust again. He reaches up and takes Nico's hand.

I wanted above all to show how toxic and hurt their dynamic was, but how enmeshed it was - how if both of them decided to take a little step forwards, healing was possible.

It's just the first little step towards the healing we've been seeing in the rest of the fic.

You can read more Icarus here.

Send me an ask with a scene or set of lines from any of my fics and I'll give you a director's commentary! Or, send in a ⭐star⭐ to have me select a section I've been dying to talk about!

[fairytalesofthewind]

And flew like a moth to you, sunlight, oh, sunlight (The Fall of Icarus)

A Sunlight by Hozier x Daedalus and Icarus by Ovid x Jegulus fic

Read on Ao3 

961 words

Regulus hated his life with his parents, even more now that his brother was gone. He longed to join Sirius in his self made exile. He couldn’t imagine a world without his love, but it had now been closed off by the seas between them. 

But even though his parents, the seas, land and waves obstructed his path to Sirius and happiness, he would find another way. The land and the seas may hinder him, but the skies lie open. His mother might control many arts of magic and with that also people, but she did not possess, nor did she control, the sky. 

Regulus knew he had to resort to unknown arts, magic not even familiar to his terrible mother. A type of magic that was hidden in the deepest part of their Black library. A magic that would allow him to change his nature. 

The freckles on his shoulder blades, of which the Black brothers always claimed looked like constellations, were replaced by feathers in rows. A warm and foreign magic placed small feathers connected by thread on his skin, before adding longer ones. Then wax joined in such a way that eventually beautiful wings were created. 

He was already standing near the window of his room. Isolated from his family, sent without food after the smallest of disagreements. He looked at the picture of Sirius, grinning at him from his dresser. He was unaware of Sirius’ peril on the other side of the seas dividing them, but aware of the urgency of his freedom. 

Regulus admired the miraculous work of this ancient magic, and moved his thumb over the yellow wax. He let out a beaming smile, he could finally be free. 

Regulus, however, was still a reasonable boy. He knew not to fly too low, for then the waves would weigh down the feathers. He knew not to fly too high, lest the sun burns the wax off his wings. He would find the golden middle course, which was already very familiar to him after years of mediating in the Ancient and Noble House of Black. 

He also knew not to get distracted by other destinations, but to fly straight to Sirius. He knew he had to follow the path the magic paved for him; a dark purple string of stars. 

As the magic seized the way, Regulus did not doubt his plan any longer. He threw himself out of the window with the unfamiliar wings, and with the fear of falling and failing, his cheeks grew wet. His hands trembled, but he blamed the strong winds. Underneath the night sky, he felt the stars kiss his cheeks, until the sun greeted him again hours later. 

At first, Regulus felt like a young bird that jumped unknowingly from a high nest into the even more unknown skies. But with the magic guiding him, he soon flew like an experienced albatross, master of soaring flight.  

He did not only see the night sky turn into a colourful and hopeful morning, but he saw the lives of those familiar with the sea. At night he saw many glowing jellyfish along the shore, before the fishermen took over in the early morning. He saw how the large whales avoided the big ships moving towards the docks. He did not only see the fishermen, but they also saw him. They believed him to be a god with his graceful flying. 

Regulus, now more confident, deserted the path the magic had paved for him. Instead, he noticed another strong magic. Not purple and guiding, but sparkling and desperate. He was attracted to the desire to follow it, but the closer he flew, the more tired he became. However tired, the less distance there was, the more warmth his body received. The desire for that safe warmth spread from his fingertips to his heart. 

The vicinity of the source of this wonderful magic overwhelmed him. After hours of flying he once again felt his entire body tremble. After the long journey, he felt the wax chipping away, the feathers following also. Feather after feather fell, until it was only his bare arms and a little bit of magic holding him in the air. It did nothing to halt him, especially not after seeing his destination. He shouted their names, first in glee, but then in fear. Until the sea right before them all took their names from him. 

Both men startled into action. They found feather after feather in the waves, but not Regulus. Until one of them looked back to the shore, where a body lay protected by a purple mist made of stars. 

It was not his brother, but another man, who reached Regulus first. In the most gentle way possible, James took Regulus in his arms. The stars danced around them in approval before they dissapeared into the sea’s gentle waves. 

James felt immense relief as the boy breathed softly against the hand holding his cheek, and he felt his own tears brush over his cheeks. He felt his hands trembling before Sirius joined the embrace. Three of them shared tears of relief. 

As Regulus met James’ eyes it was not his body that took flight, but his heart and soul. Like the stars just moments before, it was as if they danced around them. 

Regulus had been a rational, reasonable boy, and had not flown too close to the sea nor the sun, but he knew that he had flown to his own sunlight. He flew like a moth to James. 

His soul, like his heart, felt like it was filled by sunlight. A soul that was born in the cold and rain, was now surrounded by the love of his brother and the burning flame called James Potter.

[myosnt-underscore]

i need you to imagine Circe, daughter of the sun himself, goddess and enchantress alike. a woman who – with love and misplaced trust – caused her and her loved ones to be put in danger, to be hurt. Circe, bright and resplendent, reduced to a spark.

what must that do to someone with such a great presence?

it makes her burn, burn bright enough to turn cold. if she cannot control who comes to her island, she can control if they leave it. she perfects her craft and does what she must to keep everyone safe; just as Icarus tried to touch the sun, the men who would do harm to the people of Aeaea would suffer at the hands of their own pride and lust. whatever it takes.

and then comes along a man, just like any other.

a man of many ways favoured by the gods, a boy far too cocky and cunning for her liking. she thinks him no different from the rest– a slave to his desires, no better than his transformed crew. she thinks herself far more powerful than he will realise, and yet, there was a tenderness to him that she didn't want to trust.

before the puppeteer was no puppet, but a man who had spent far too much time away from home.

a man desperate to do almost anything to get back to his family.

almost.

she thinks of kindness – a dear niece and her lover – she thinks of wrath – a sea-prophet and his unrequited love – and sees a husband before her, with quite the journey ahead of him yet. letting her threads fall away, Circe outshines the very sun she was borne of.

'Maybe showing one act of kindness / Leads to kinder souls down the road'

[a-chinese-doll]

Random brainstorming

I was planning to write a story on this...but meh...still unsure on what to do, yet the extract came out well. :3

Calloused hands glided down shapeless curves, fondling the decaying flesh of unpleasurable breasts. The sound of skin colliding echoed through the room, voiceless moans piercing his ears like the anguished wail of a Banshee. Each movement, a macabre dance, played out between the sheets. Choso Kamo had been with the most beautiful women over the past few months, yet they all felt to him like lifeless, cold corpses.

He wasn’t seeking pleasure or trying to satiate his untamed desires; he was desperately searching for a way to forget the only woman he had ever loved: YOU.

Gorgeous—those women were gorgeous, expertly pleasuring him and matching his handsome appearance. Yet none of them had an identity, a face, or a name, because they were not you.

Choso’s growls filled the air as he took his last date doggy-style, feral and brutal, on the edge of the bed, thrusting into an anonymous drenched core. He ached for release, to finally cum, hoping his memory of you would wash away like his seed, buried in the recesses of his mind as he buried himself in that unnamed cunt. But every single time he neared his climax, his imagination betrayed him, painting the canvas of his mind with your image—your eyes, your nose, your mouth, your smile were the only visions that could unravel him completely.

Yet, like the bold Icarus, so eager to touch the sun only to plummet into the depths of the sea after his fall, Choso experienced a fleeting, deceptive bliss, only to be devoured by the abyss of the most absurd despair.

As soon as he opened his eyes, the enchanting vision of you had vanished, replaced by the gratified yet insignificant face of a stranger. Why was he here? What the hell was he doing? Tangled in sheets that smelled of sweat and regret, feeling the weight of emptiness that gnawed at his insides?

He had wanted you to be his first, his only, his forever.

And all those women wondered why he would disappear after such intense sexual encounters, after those fervent nights of passion. The truth? That intensity, that ferocity, was merely an expression of how deeply he craved you—your body, your soul, your love.

It would have been different with you. He would have claimed you slowly, with the most graceful movements his body could muster, savoring the blissful sight of you coming undone beneath him, your bodies intertwined like the softest threads of silk, a beautiful tapestry of skin and desire, a symphony of sighs echoing through the air as he lost himself in the depths of your essence.

He refused to kiss the girls he met; the tenderness of his kisses was reserved for your honeyed lips alone. He didn’t even look them in the eyes, instead blankly staring at the wall as he pushed into them in a mating press. The only eyes he wanted to meet were yours—sweet, adoring, and fluttering with those long lashes as they held his gaze.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," each thrust was a desperate outlet, a futile attempt to rid himself of the pain at the thought of not being able to have you.

He wandered desperately in search of someone who could soothe the void slowly pulling him under, hoping for a remedy that could heal his aching heart. But nothing—nothing—could compare with you.

Yuuji was always by his side, the poor boy, supporting him when he needed it most, listening to his drunken ramblings in a booth at the bar as he pleaded his love for you and cursed the day he decided to be human.

Being human sucked, and it sucked even more when faced with the harsh reality of unrequited love.

[crush-like-that]

you are Icarus??

I AM Icarus reincarnated.

Yall gotta know the story of Daedalus for this to make sense tho.

Daedalus lived with his nephew, Perdix. Perdix was something like an intern or apprentice for Daedalus. One day, Perdix was showing one of his new inventions (either the compass or the saw) to Daedalus who, because of his hubris, became jealous very quickly. Daedalus tricked Perdix and let him fall off the Acropolis. Daedalus was tried for his crime and was forced out of the kingdom, leaving him to flee to the court of Minos. There Daedalus builds a wooden bull for queen Pasiphae, wife of Minos. He then builds the labyrinth for Minos to trap the Minotaur, born from Pasiphae. THEN he shows Theseus the ball of thread he needs to escape the labyrinth and go off with Ariadne. Minos, upon finding out that Daedalus allowed the Minotaur to be killed and the labyrinth to be escapes, traps Daedalus and his son Icarus in a tower over the labyrinth.

Everything that happens to Daedalus is some misfortune of his own work. But it’s self made. It’s not a curse or a punishment from the gods. He does everything to himself because of his pride.

So now we have Daedalus and Icarus trapped in this tower, over looking the labyrinth on terrible horrors. Icarus is a child strung along in his father’s punishment. But he doesn’t know that, he loves his father. So day and night, while Daedalus works, Icarus plays. He looks out the window of their tower, up to the sky, because looking down would mean looking directly into the labyrinth. Icarus watches the sky, the sun. His father detests the gods and their power, Icarus knows that, but he still asks his father to tell him stories. Tell him about the sun.

Icarus, trapped in that tower, with his working father. Egotistical father, with all his greatness and pride. He has endless stories of the great things his inventions have caused, yet Icarus’s favorite stories are those of the sun and the creatures of the sky.

And then they are able to escape, able to fly. Of course, Icarus is delighted. After years of those stories, now Icarus is free, now he can live. Is there any reality in which Icarus wouldn’t have gotten excited? Wouldn’t have reached for the sun, in all its holy glory? Icarus’s father was Daedalus, the smartest, most prideful man alive. Maybe Icarus was tired of hearing his father’s stories. Maybe he finally learned to ignore his false hearted warnings. Maybe he wanted to have a story of his own to share. Of course Icarus reached for the sun. And he flew, by the gods did he fly. It was beautiful. It was all he ever needed

[stardust-in-my-mind-blog]

disco ball

my anxiety manifests itself like

one of the cherubim with all eyes wide open

wings a flutter as my consciousness tries

to grasp any semblance of understanding

there are too many thoughts

like the tides they ebb and flow

four wheels surrounding me and turning

in all different directions and cycling

I won't know peace until I step on that stage

and prove to myself that everything I dreamed

everything I know to be true in my spirit

is coming together like the thread on my spindle

I am both the artisan creating the labyrinth

and the fated to be forsaken Ariadne leaving a path

to show the way to her secretive heart

it all turned out for her in the end, didn't it?

I try to remember mythology when I'm all nerves

my soul has always feared the story of Icarus

and now it whispers to fall into the sun joyfully

for there is no fire that can burn away

one who is willing to fall into ashes

I am in so many places at once

limitless universes and stars that circle each other

let it it all come because I'm ready to take inspired action

and no one inspires me like you

a disco ball is just an orb where one has glued

all the fragments of a broken mirror psyche together

let it spin to show the world color and light

I want all of me to shine on all of you

I want to disappear in your darkness that I recognize

I'm terrified but I love the hum of something

so dangerous it can tear me apart

and put me back together in those arms

connected to the shoulders I still...

I'm running away with myself

make me yours

[vig1lantnakia]

:// LOADING FILE: 𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟷𝟷𝟷𝟶 𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟶𝟶𝟶𝟷 𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟷𝟷 𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟷 𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟶𝟶𝟶𝟷 𝟶𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟶𝟶𝟶 𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟷𝟷 𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟶𝟶𝟶𝟷 𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟶𝟶𝟶𝟷 𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟶 𝚉𝟹𝚁𝚉𝚅𝚁𝙰 𝙽𝙰𝙺𝟷𝙰 𝚂𝙰𝙰𝙳 ...

... 𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴: INPUT ACCESS CODE TO PROCEED...

Character Name: Nakia Saad Nicknames: Kia, [ Hacker Name: N1X, Nix ] Place of Birth: NYC, USA Birthday: February 12th, 1985 Sexuality: Panromantic Demisexual Gender Identity: Non-binary ( They or Him ) Zodiac: Aquarius MBTI: ISTJ Occupation: Intelligence Agent, Hacker Languages: Arabic, English, Spanish, Japanese Moral Alignment: True Neutral Love Language: Acts of Service

THE BIOGRAPHY ( very mild bullying tw )

Born to a family of immigrants, the importance of hard work is ingrained into you from a young age. NYC isn't an easy city to grow up in, and you see your parents work through numerous shifts at the hospital, one a surgeon, and the other a nurse, they work day and night to make a living. You are a sharp child from a young age, and even if you tend to cause trouble every once in a while, it's nothing that can stick to you. Your teachers call you too smart for your age, just that you need to focus. It's not that you don't work hard- it's just that the moment you get your hands on your first laptop, you spend nights illuminated by its light. You have always had a perchance for gadgetry, trying to break technology apart, and then enhance it or fix it back up, but now, with your own computer, you feel like a new world has been laid in front of your feet. You revel in it. You are lucky that your parents don't realize the sheer amount of time you spend there, and you learn how to code like a pro when you are in high school. Named sort of a recluse, you keep it to yourself most of the time. Again, some teachers find this worrying, but you manage to fly under the radar long enough, get a friend or two, and live through the various nicknames tackled onto you. You don't care about what the bullies think, but you do enjoy hearing them screech when one day, their entire internet history has been posted on the corridors of the school. Who would have done that? Such a shame, guess they will never find out. You get into a prestigious college as a computer science major, full ride, and you find it much easier than high school. People care less about what the silent kid is doing, and the professors don't particularly care if you show up or not. You learn a lot, and it's during your senior year in college that they scout you. Men in black, most would think, are dressed as older college students. This is your first interrogation in which they give you an offer for a new life, which you are reluctant to accept. You love your freedom too much, you love your hacking, you love learning about things before anyone else. It's the offer to teach you more than that that convinces you, and you sign up to be an intelligence agent. Years pass, you learn a lot, and you grow a lot. Though, deep down, you are that same kid who just likes getting the dirt on people. You fly too high, or too low, whichever way the Icarus myth goes, and you get caught by an underground organization. Highly illegal, who dare to blackmail you into doing their dirty work. All you can do is say yes, and try to weave the threads in the background, to get back at them, to free yourself before the agency catches wind of everything that has been going on. Then, before anything else that can be figured out — you wake up on a ship. And you realize things can get more complicated after all.

THE INTERVIEW

“What is the last thing you remember before arriving on the island?”

The light of the sun bothers them. The sense of scenery feels familiar, even though the last time they were interrogated, it was a sterile room with fluorescent lights. This time, the warmth of the sun burns into their skin. "I was working." It's a simple answer, the calculating glare focusing on the person in front of them. They try to soften it up, knowing apprehension is not the best trait when interrogated. They would know, going off from the number of times they have been in this exact spot. The silence makes it clear the person is looking for a better answer. "It was- just like another day, man. I swear." A huff of breath masked as a laugh. "I was in front of my laptop, coding the night away- trying to catch up on some of the tasks that I couldn't finish back at the HQ." A softened truth. Nakia was not working on anything related to his official job at the agency, but the second job they were forced to do. The ultimatum given to them by the underground organization, once they caught wind of Nakia's other 'hobbies' which consisted of them collecting dirt on the rich and the powerful. They aren't here right now, which makes Nakia unsure how to feel. "I was reaching a breakthrough and then — I found myself with a headache on that goddamn boat."

“Do you think you will be remembered or forgotten?”

A loaded question, one that threatens to raise their hackles. This back and forth, which they have little control over, makes them less likely to give up honest answers. "Depends on how long." Their leg shakes up and down under the desk, they begin with a shrug. "If you mean far into the future? I'll be forgotten. In the great expanse of time and space, I do not fool myself to think I am important enough that people will remember me by name." Maybe their deeds, or the event in which they would whistleblow who they wished, or managed to turn down that organization. However, as it stands, with them being in the middle of nowhere, it seems completely impossible. As much as Nakia wants to go back, they have an inkling it's not going to be as easy as some residents were thinking.

“What do you feel you could contribute to life on the island?”

A practical question, one all of them have thought of for they are stranded here, with little from home but their own skills. They nod, a hum at the back of their throat. "Sure. I have an engineering background - when anything technical goes wrong- or we need a solution to an infrastructure problem, I am the person to call." A little smirk on their lips, their eyes move down to their palm, the crackling of energy that could not be seen, but one that they felt. "Plus, these powers, will only help us further as we try to make a suitable living here." And then, besides the basic needs of shelter, food, and drinkable water, there are also other aspects Nakia is useful for. Namely, solving mysteries, investigating, and digging where people do not want them to dig. They know how to set up a case, how to gather information. Even if they were almost always behind the scenes back at home ( and behind their computer ), it does not feel that much different to look for clues as to why they ended up here, to learn where these powers came from. "I also have a… Useful background when it comes to solving problems. I think it is particularly handy to have here, considering everything."

“Do you think with your heart or your brain?”

There is the true answer, and then there is an answer they are willing to give. Of course, it ends up being the latter that's uttered from their lips. "I think with my brain. I am a scientist at heart." With their degrees in computer science and industrial engineering, this is the most palatable answer that they are willing to give. Not the one where they feel irrationally annoyed at being plucked from where they were, or the revenge that swims in their veins when they think of the organization that dared to blackmail them. There have been decisions in Nakia's life where they acted on emotions rather than rationality, though those have often led to less than favorable outcomes, which is why they do not wish to accept it out loud. "I am a highly analytical person, I like calculating various outcomes, and choosing the best one after." when they aren't wrapped in thoughts of fury or revenge, this is the truth.

“What are you most curious about regarding the island?”

Fingers tap on the surface of the wooden desk, a plethora of questions that have been revolving around their mind, threaten to reach the surface. Tongue pressing to the inside of their cheek, they try to pick one that would make them seem less irritable, less apprehensive about everything. "I suppose- the powers, to begin with." A supernatural feat, one bestowed to each and every one of them- but for what purpose? What was the aim? "And where exactly we are would be good to know." So that they could get out, eventually. When it comes to actual questions they would ask, it would simply be 'Why?', putting them all here, on this island, cameras everywhere, phantom eyes at every corner, without a purpose — it all seems like someone is playing a game on them. A fucked up one, and Nakia does not have any answers yet. They hate this with their entire being.

THE CONNECTIONS ( mostly pre-island! )

- People from another life: Childhood friends / enemies who knew Nakia in high school or university. Before they disappeared from the face of the earth and became an intelligence agent. This could go a few different ways, maybe they kept in contact, and Nakia told your muse they have been working for a tech company, or they did disappear and this is the first time these two would be meeting after almost two decades. - Family friends: Nakia's parents work in healthcare, so anyone they touched / saved / helped would be very interesting. Nakia never wanted to pursue that career themself, and they would be apprehensive about someone who knows their past to this extent. Free to explore. - Government colleagues: If your muse has a job related to the government, maybe Nakia and they could have met up for work. Nakia could have done work on your computer, or database, or any other thing. Maybe your muse knew about what he was doing, or they just told them they were an IT guy. - Actually just an IT guy: Okay, hear me out, maybe they lived close, and your muse actually needed an IT guy. Nakia found this all too amusing, and actually played into it. So now, when you need your laptop to be fixed or your TV isn't working properly, you can Nakia, and they come by. Payment would need to be non-monetary, they'd want homemade food or something like that, but we can discuss. Maybe friends or other stuff can be plotted. - Coffee pals: When Nakia is in a slump, they go to this small café, and spend hours there. Maybe your muse was in a slump of another variety, or they just found Nakia interesting and approached them. This became somewhat of a routine, and they became friends.

[celestialsolitude111]

I've grown familiar to the darkness of my own wickedly.

I navigated through its thickness solemnly with ease. Along little creatures I call company.

It's all I've ever known, so my eyes have adjusted millenia ago.

Treading through, I may stub a toe or bump into my own shadow.

It's like running into an old friend now.

I rested in the ivy leaves and mold this dim world served me. The cold is comforting, I call it home.

Then you presented yourself to me, like a beacon of light. Is the sun's beauty not terrifying ?

If you die you're taking me out with you.

A biblical angel in disguise, I witnessed your eyes eat me alive.

Gleaming rays penetrated my pupils. Right through my skull, and burned a hole through the back of my head.

Never again could I recite what I once said.

Like needling a thread, you bound me to you.

All the beliefs I once owned became a puddle beneath my feet.

I was fully enveloped in your light. Then I witnessed the monsters I called friends.

They stared at me like deer before a car, their pupils gleaming back at me like a flare guns spark.

Stout strangers surrounded me like fallen comet fragments, burning alive in the atmosphere.

"Were you my friends, all along ?"

They chanted, "the light will show you, but it burns. They have found you, it will hurt."

Ubruptly veering away from me, in heaps and herds. Walking backwards, time steered reverse.

I don't know what I heard, but I think you said my name.

"Mantra. Shall I say it again ?"

Their numinous voice reminds.

The thing is, I feel less alone in the void of black, I float in the uncertainty of what lurks within.

A man with a mask, or a pair of twins ?

Some have eyes in the palms of their hands.

My imagination led me to believe, that the grim figures once surrounding me, weren't grown from thaumaturgy trees.

But I thought I was hearing bees ?

"A finest nectar originates at the womb."

Again, you answer my thoughts. Is my tongue cut off, by you ?

You tower over my celibate frame, behind my back, why won't you show me your face ?

A droplet welcomed my shoulder like a kiss, but it was not tender, it sent me into a violent flinch.

For it did not nourish me like the sky gifts the flowers. How Icarus loved the Sun, no.

How the Sun loved Icarus.

It burned my skin until I cowered, getting trampled by poison of relentless showers.

They say don't look directly at the sun, but I face your way, painted by acid rain.

The forecast was not one delivered by the clouds. I was met with a crooked scowel, I found you, who stood proud.

You drooled over me, your mouths way of lying ?

My vocal cords knotted, at the words I was prying. A coherent thought coursed into crying.

"Why didn't I love you, when you were dying ?"

They interrupt.

Their chuckle cracked the air through my ears like a chain whip. A vacant space between us, no longer exists.

"I am the light that unbinds the frayed. You were merely a thread of my arrays."

I fell to my knees, where I wept pleas. The words fell in avalanches, out of my teeth. To the ashes below my feet.

No sympathy, I was offered. By the entity, who stood taller.

I perked up through glossy eyes, a jagged hand extended, to my suprise. What resembled a petrified tree branch, as if struck by God's own demand.

"What you once bared, is now eternally mine. Drink this, My dear. For it's only red whine."

They knew I didn't believe them, every thought I had unspoken. As if they peeled my face, clawing wide open.

Like a wilted old book, skipping through every page of my psych. Every deepest darkest secret, was brought into light.

"Did I stutter, My darling ? The love that belonged to you was ephemeral, what I long from you will live sempiternal."

Their patience fell short for what they desired. They sucked the air right out of my lungs, till I fell tired. Sealing away my very own fate, with a corrupted kiss. A lingering taste of decay.

I wanted to cry out your name, when I realized I've never seen your whole face.

"I am only what you portray, call me your very own self portrait."

Collapsing on myself like a damped house of cards.

"For the innocence you possessed, you may now disregard."

Is this line of events becoming of my doom ?

You don't know me, though you've built my tomb.

You skipped away, with a manic flair. Blinking your eyes three times, and twirling your hair.

"I never gazed upon something so divine. However never cared, about your beauty. I craved it being mine."

I listened for the echo trailing behind your voice.

It told me there was no walls accenting my void.

Your shine dimmed to blackess, did God turn off his bedside lamp, then ?

"Yes." I waited, but the words never sent. All my little creatures, running rampant. My nostrils find their familiar scent.

Discovering I stand on an island, with nothing but the backs of my eyelids.

My eyes have adjusted to the light you once engulfed me in.

What I view is nothing, searching, squinting. Space with no stars, no start, no end.

My only friends, were the ones in my head.

Somehow you scared away, even them.

-𝑚𝑎𝑟����𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑡 𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠

[softhugss]

eclipse ; tsukihina

Tsukishima x Hinata

Summary: Because the moon also deserved to be loved, and the sun needed someone to love..

A/n: English is not my first language, an apology for any grammatical errors. I hope you like it, I wrote it with a lot of love. <33

Tsukishima was the moon, tall, bright, imposing, intimidating and sarcastic, with that soft halo of coldness that surrounded him, always in his role, always in his world.

And he was so happy to be like that, in his delicate, comfortable haze of silence and peace.

And then the sun came.

He tough he was fine, Tsukishima could swear that everything was going great until he came, the sun as bright as you could hope for, soft, star-kissed cheeks framed by his delicate freckles, eyes brimming with determination and strength, tenacity, pride and bravery, the sun bright as only he could be; Tsukishima did not expect to even be noticed by the king of stars, he would still be the moon, cold and distant, and the sun would still be the most bright of them all.

And then... The sun looked at him.

It looked at him with his big caramel colored orbs, bright as if they knew the secrets of the universe, he felt scanned, he felt that the little sun was able to see to the bottom of his sad and lonely soul... And there was his undoing, he fell, the famous smile of the sun threaded in the bottom of his heart and without any chance to ask for clemency he gave him his soul and devotion.

However, the sun would not need to know this, the moon proud as only he was, buried the great feeling of admiration that was beginning to bubble up, as warm as the very being that provoked it.

Icarus was foolish enough to get so close to the sun, but Kei knew better than to approach the ball of light so carelessly.

-I like the way you shine, silver moon, I wish you would allow yourself to do so without restraint.

Silly stupid sun, he was so stupid for saying that kind of thing carelessly.

The sun flattering the moon? Kei held back a laugh, Was he making fun of him? Did the sun think he was better than him? He probably was.

The bitter taste settled in his mouth.

And deep in those golden hairs the intrusive thought loomed... He knew the sun was the best, the true light, the true warmth.

He was the moon, and he was fine with that... Until the young sun came along.

Time does not spare even the celestial bodies such as themselves , he had spent day after day, week after week.

Who knows how long has it been, he had lost count.

After all, counting time was a human thing, something the celestials were oblivious to (they kept repeating it to themselves until they believed it, what is time after centuries of watching over the human kingdom?)

The sun gazed like a smitten fool at the silver moon, too immersed in his own thoughts, humming a soft melody that only Kei seemed to hear.

His chest felt warm, Hinata let out a deluded giggle, Was this the golden thread? Was that tugging at his heart as he watched the earnest star? Was it fate speaking? Oh, he longed for it to be so.

Finishing his duties as the main star, the sun finally set and the moon rose, his stars followed behind him, frolicking across the celestial mantle as the young tsukishima watched with a stoic face to see that all was in order.

And obviously all was in order, he shone with his potential, illuminating the dark nights of adventurous travelers and sheltering refugees.

"I like your light, silver moon."

Why were the sun god's words not coming out of his head? Kei kept hiding his blush and running away from the young sun whenever he saw it, the night was the only time where he rested from the little boy's overwhelming glare.

His light... His glow....

After all, he was the moon... And like the moon, he has no light of his own.

The moon does not emit light of its own, it is a reflection of the sun and its glow, he was only the replaceable carrier that sent it to earth.

A pain kept settling in the surly boy's heart every time he ignored the tender flirtations that the sun stubbornly refused to let go of every time they saw each other.

Tsukishima wished to love and be loved, did the sun see beyond his screen? That screen he vigorously built, hiding his fear and dread, the inferiority stuck in his chest like a dagger that broke him more and more.

He did not emit his own light, how would the sun love him? Did he want to be loved by the young star?

Kei denied as his heart nodded, racing, yearning for the touch of the one who was his complement.

Kei was broken, he was broken and he knew it and it hurt, he had been broken since before he died and he had remained broken once he was reincarnated as the personification of the moon.

He had grown accustomed to feeling his heart beat against the crystals wrapped around his sad self, bitter, lonely, so afraid to love hidden behind a false mask of security.

It felt so broken, so sharp that if anyone tried to repair it they would be doomed to cut themselves, the thin shards of glass digging into the heart of that deluded dreamer trying to fix something he didn't even break.

And yet, with his goofy sun-kissed smile, Hinata did not stagger, arms bleeding with pain yet to the moon he followed, oh poor foolish being of light, clinging with security and tenacity to pain.

Clinging to love a being who did not even appreciate himself, trying to hide his insecurities behind an absurd mask of self-centeredness.

The sun loving the moon with devotion, reciprocated with emotion and so afraid to move forward that he only hurt everything around him.

And tsukishima despite his behavior, despite trying so hard to push him away, still found himself longing for the sweet, warm comforting touch that that sun boy could only provide.

And his crystallized honey eyes watched the bright being approach, his breathing quickening.

"Please hurry" thought the moon as he saw that silhouette tattooed in living fire ,in his mind "I can't breathe".

The crying moon begging for some affection his clinging heart kept saying he didn't deserve it , didn't deserve his sweet touch, didn't deserve the loving gaze.

Who did he think he was to believe he could survive without warmth, without love? Oh foolish, foolish Kei.

Peering through the curtains of tears soaking his cheeks he could see shoyo desperately moving his lips, trying to snap him out of his panicked state.

"Please... Don't say you love me" Tsukishima was murmuring, fearful, trembling.

Shoyo was beginning to tear up, hugging the moon tightly, his moon, bleeding from those broken pieces that formed the fragile satellite, he didn't care about the pain, kei needed the warmth, he needed it.

"One word from you and I..."

Kei stared with unfocused eyes at the soft light that always surrounded the great star, finally feeling the warmth in his cold inside.

-Kei, let me love you, let me take care of you and put your pieces together, I'm here- Hinata's sobs made his heart ache, yet it felt warm to hear the pain in his bright little star, he cared for him.

-kei please let me help you!

He smiled softly, hugging the beautiful and now sobbing star, hiding his face in the young sun's warm chest.

-please...

And he fell asleep in the arms of eachother end of his golden thread, finally resting where he always should have been.

For finally, he felt part of a home.