#cor cordium

[dearorpheus]

"He is not to them what he is to me," I thought: "he is not of their kind. I believe he is of mine — I am sure he is — I feel akin to him — I understand the language of his countenance and movements: [...] I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him."

— Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

[blackkatmagic]

update delay

Work ate my whole face this week, so this week's Tuesday updates are going to be delayed, probably until Thursday, sorry! I'll try to get them up sooner, but they will definitely be up by the 25th.

[kirisakiss]

— hi guys!! i’ll be updating this every few days so check if you wanna know more! :)

Character profile (WIP)

“let our blood intertwine the way our love does.”

TW: Suicide mention, child abuse, neglect (?)

GENERAL INFORMATION

— KANJI: ヴァンソーン・ヒカリ

— RŌMAJI: Vanthorn Hikari

A living puppet, one of the many attempts of Karlheinz to create the perfect creature, Hikari was adopted alongside the Mukami brothers from the orphanage, but was kept locked in Rotigenberg for a long time as Karlheinz experimented with her. Lilith, he called her, his first prototype.

— ALSO KNOWN AS:

Lux Mortis (Real name) Lilith (by Karlheinz) Bitch-chan, Hypocrite-chan (by Laito) Lux (by Ruki and Azusa; her real name.) Hika-chan (by Kou) Hikari (by Yuma) Annoying woman (by Kanato)

— HER NICKNAMES FOR THE DIABOYS:

WIP

PERSONAL INFORMATION

— AGE: 18 (physically) — BIRTHDAY: January 25th — SIGN: Aquarius — STATUS: Alive — RACE: Human? / Doll? / Homunculus? / Humanoid thing? — GENDER: Female — SEXUALITY: Bisexual with no lean! — HEIGHT: 167 cm — HAIR COLOR: Brown (dyed), Bone white (natural hair color) — EYE COLOR: Turquoise — OCCUPATION: 3rd year High School Student at Ryoutei Academy — AFFILIATION: Karlheinz, Mukami Family — RELATIVES:

Karlheinz (Caretaker?)

— HOBBIES: Drawing — FAVORITE FOOD: Rice and Curry — CV: Saori Hayami

APPEARANCE

(insert an illustration i havent done yet !) WIP

PERSONALITY

WIP

HISTORY

Born to Lysandra Mortis, a woman renowned for her otherworldly beauty and rumored to possess magical powers, Hikari's early years were tainted by tragedy. 

Lysandra, a prostitute whose enchanting beauty captivated her clients, met a grim fate at the hands of one of them, leaving behind a small baby with eyes as bright as the stars. Lux, as she was named, was born into a country torn apart by conflict, and her mother’s death added to the countless casualties of the war. Her father was never in the picture; leaving her orphaned and alone at a young age. Lux was placed in an orphanage, where she endured years of neglect and hardship like the majority of children that were victims of the war. 

Lux inherited her mother’s rare beauty, which captivated those around her. She was considered a beautiful child, with bright turquoise eyes resembling gemstones and ivory, long wavy hair, decorated with a pale, almost doll like skin; which made her stand out among the multitude of children. 

Thanks to this, Hikari was given nice treatments, she was given beautiful clothes, toys, and delicious food that she had never even seen in her life; along with a room of her own that was in a better state than the others. However, her beauty became both a blessing and a curse when the orphanage's caretakers, desperate to make ends meet amidst the chaos of war, started offering children up as merchandise and "entertainment" for the aristocrats in the country. 

Lux was one of the first children to be offered, and she quickly became one of the most popular among the aristocracy to use. She quickly gained fame by being compared to her mother, some of them called her“little Mortis”, directly comparing them. They enjoyed seeing the bruises form in her skin, and the contrast the scarlet of her blood made against the white of her hair. 

Her innocence was ripped from her without a warning, leaving behind scars that ran deeper than the surface ones showed. 

Hikari’s only comfort was a small group of kids she met through Kou, a bright child that approached her one day in the aristocrat-filled clubs, a victim of the same fate she had endured. 

One day, a tall man with white hair, arrived at the orphanage, promising hope and happiness to Lux and her friends. Karlheinz was his name. He took Lux and four boys to the demon world, where Lux would see her best friends for the last time. 

Waking up in an unfamiliar room, Lux found herself alone with Karlheinz, who revealed they were in Rotigenberg, her new home. Karlheinz, aware of Lux's potential from her mother's stories, began experimenting with his magic on her. He gifted her a new heart crafted from his powerful magic, granting her abilities beyond those of a normal human. His plan was starting, and she was to be one of the first subjects.

However, as his experiments progressed, it became apparent that Lux's severe trauma rendered her unfit for the role of the perfect "Eve" he so craved. “Lilith” he called her. The original, broken one. 

Disappointed by his failed experiment, Karlheinz slowly withdrew his presence from Lux's life, leaving her alone in the tower where she had been subjected to his experiments.

The abandonment by Karlheinz, after initially showering her with attention and affection, shattered Lux's fragile state of mind. Faced with reminders of her past torment, she resorted to drastic measures to cope with her pain, including cutting off her long, silver hair that made all the memories from her childhood come back like a knife against her skin.

Years passed, and just when Lux had resigned herself to a life of solitude, Karlheinz returned with a new proposition. He presented her as a crucial component of his Adam and Eve project, a pawn in his game now started game with fate. He renamed her Hikari, meaning "light," perhaps as a cruel reminder of the beacon of hope she once represented. Desperate for a sense of belonging, Lux accepted her new identity and dyed her hair brown as a symbol of her desire to leave her painful past behind, she grew it again, but kept it shorter than it used to be in her childhood, and resorted to wearing thick chokers again. 

She had one mission, to serve as motivation for them to fulfill his plan. She was then sent to the Sakamaki mansion under the excuse of a new bride, her true motives hidden beneath a façade of compliance and obedience perfectly crafted to charm the potential "Adam"s.

RELATIONSHIPS

WIP

ABILITIES

Immortality - Hikari ceased to age due to Karlheinz's experiments, and cannot die of natural causes. Her immune system is almost perfect, so human illnesses don't really affect her, she can only die if the wounds are too much for her body to heal itself.

Faster Healing - Her body has the ability to heal from injuries at an accelerated rate. Wounds that would be dangerous to humans heal within a short moment for her.

Enhanced senses - Hikari’s senses are heightened to be more than a normal human's. She can see better, hear better, and moves with grace and agility that surpasses human limitations.

Magic - It's unknown if Hikari's talent with magic is due to Karlheinz own magic or due to her mother's supposed one; but it seems she has an easier ability to it than a common human.

ETYMOLOGY

Hikari's name is written in katakana, but can also be written in kanji as 光.

Both of her names Hikari (ヒカリ) and Lux (ルクス) mean "Light" - Lux being in Latin and Hikari in Japanese, her name just seems to be a translation unlike how the Mukami's have different original names. (Like Yuma being called Edgar and Kou Emilio).

Her last name "Vanthorn" (ヴァンソーン) comes from the word "Vanus" in Latin, which means "vain" and the English word thorn.

Her real last name, "Mortis" comes from the Latin word "Mors" which means death.

TRIVIA

WIP

[got-ticket-to-ride]

Would I be able to live without his hand?

And what if it came fiercely? What if it came and didn't let go, a sorrow that had come to stay.

We'll speak about two young men who found much happiness for a few weeks and lived the remainder of their lives dipping cotton swabs into that bowl of happiness, fearing they'd use it up.

They can never undo it, never unwrite it, never unlive it, or relive it - it's just stuck there like a vision of fireflies on a summer field toward evening that keeps saying. You could have had this instead.

Cor cordium, hearts of hearts.

You could have had this instead.

~Prose from Call Me By Your Name by André Aciman

[doriandrifting]

I’m so normal about them…anyway seventh tattoo in the books with the wizard hat 😌

heart of hearts- the innermost part of someone’s heart where their truth/secrets are held; who someone is behind their mask/armor

enough for the wise-the idea that something can be understood without any need for explanation; a hint is enough to make sense of the truth

[fructidors]

too many classes about valence electrons and not enough about how to find a really good latin phrase to write on the first pages of all your books

[breakonthroough]

I finally drew a new mini-comic about a very kind sad boy and his pet.

I must say it was inspired by the author Petracore and her amazing heratbreaking story about Rocinante and his youth years.

I really liked the idea that Sengoku got his white goat owing to this cute boy and his kindness.

I hope the author will not mind such a reworking of her story ❤️

[li-louie]

The illustrations for "Cor cordium" by Petracore. Amazing story depicting Rosinante's growth from his early days at Headquarters to his decision to infiltrate Doflamingo's Pirates. It's sad—so sad that sometimes it's bitter to read...

(But the last chapter is something.... very special 💔💔💔💔💔 Please don't overlook it!)

[scribbling-dragon]

cor cordium

summary:

in one's heart of hearts

phrase of heart 1. in one's inmost feelings.

(ao3 link)

(5,554 words)

It is the moment between one wildcard and the next.

The utter silence that settles around Scott is…unsettling. The stillness of the air feels wrong, too empty compared with the chaos from mere moments before. His life has been filled with nothing but movement and motion for the past eternity; it has been so long, so hectic, that he is not certain when he last had a moment to simply…stand. To sit and appreciate the sun as it rises over the horizon. To sit and watch as the world springs into life without looking over his shoulder every other moment.

Each second he stands here, unmoving, is another moment that is lost. There is beauty in the tranquillity of it all, something that he thought might be lost. Something that he still hasn’t regained, even with the apparent peace that follows.

He cannot help but glance over his shoulder, even as he misses the moment the sun peeks over the horizon line, turning from a soft glow into a full-on burst of sunlight when he turns around again. There is no longer a snail to dog his steps, to lurk around each shadowed corner and stalk him into submission.

He can feel the exhaustion tugging on the edge of his mind. Can feel the way his eyes droop with exhaustion, and still he does not sleep. Impulse had been the first to crash after the snails returned to wherever they came from, announcing abruptly that they won’t see him until the next wildcard is announced, and that anyone to wake him up before then would be meeting with the business end of his sword.

Cleo had laughed, but they had been the next to disappear as well. Scott hadn’t missed the way they’d looked at him, one eyebrow raised in question, lips tugging down into a frown – he’d waved them off, dismissed them easily as he turned back to the stars and the lightening sky. They had waited beside him for a few moments, questions radiating off their posture before exhaustion seemed to win out there too.

It had been just him and Pearl, after that.

He wasn’t surprised. Pearl had stuck to her odd hours; he’s still not sure what’s wrong with her circadian rhythm, but she sticks to it happily, watching the stars slowly move over head. The moon had been at Scott's back as it set, and Pearl sat facing away from him to watch it descend, and, eventually, disappear.

No words had been exchanged between them – it’s still a little uncomfortable; each poorly timed joke feels as though it is a blade dragged over a scarcely healed wound, opening it back up for infection to sneak its way back in.

Scott can't see this ending well. Can't see any of this ending well – it never does, so why should this time be any different? He may have resolved his hurts with Pearl, may have taken a step forward with mending relations between them. He was almost eager to begin looking past the tattered memories of their soulbond, of being cast aside so callously, and of the hurt he delivered in return.

In the moment, he could say that it was justified. That he had a reason, a good reason to be reacting in such a way. Looking back, he cannot help but feel as though it was an overreaction, one driven by the cold and the fear and the pain and the hurt.

Pearl’s back pressed to against his own, a wall of warmth at his back (guarding him, some part of him whispered, keeping him safe. Watching his back where he himself cannot watch it – he was watching her back too, in a way), felt like an olive branch. Something extended in an offer of friendship; something held out in memory, a peace offering of remember how it used to be?

Scott takes it. Because he is a coward and because he misses it. Misses their house, tucked away in the forest, safe from most anything atop their tower. He misses the easy laughter and the friendship, the silent camaraderie that they had held and taken for granted; hates the silence that fills the moments between them now, how each conversation feels as though they're skipping around the delicate topics, wary of pushing the other too close to an edge.

Pearl had left with the setting of the moon, and Scott remained. Pearl hadn’t questioned his decision, hadn’t tried to cajole him towards his own bed. She simply stood, a whisper of cloth, pressed a hand to his shoulder, and then left him to it.

The trees begin to light up with the sun, smooth rays of light brushing over their leaves. They seem brighter today, unburdened by the shadows of the days that came before this. The days of fear and tension. Scott has never understood the feeling of a prey animal before now, and he doubts he will ever feel such a primal fear again. It had pushed him further than he likes to reflect on, had made panic gather in his throat and weigh heavy upon his chest.

His heart gives an odd little jump with the thought, lurching forward as though it might leap right out of his chest and land on the floor in front of him. He wonders if it would continue beating with his panic, pulsing in time with a body it is no longer a part of. He feels a little sick just imagining it.

“Scott oh Scott, can you let down your hair?”

Scott leans a little further over the edge of the wall, just enough that he can look down at Martyn below. He stands pressed up against the base of the wall, hands spread upwards and out, grinning. He looks a little worse for wear, hair mussed and the purple around his eyes indicating his lack of sleep. Scott doubts he looks much better.

“I wasn’t aware you needed permission.” He leans his chin into one hand as he speaks. “You normally invite yourself in.”

“Didn’t think it would be wise to sneak up on you today,” Martyn laughs. There is something nervous about it, something unsettled. His face is turned upwards, not glancing over his shoulder every few moments. Scott still notices the way his hands shake, how his shoulders twitch at the rustle of leaves as the wind rushes through the trees. “I've seen the weaponry you carry with you.” Martyn smirks, and Scott grins right back at him.

“If you can climb up, you're more than welcome to join me.” He calls back. He doesn’t ask where Ren is, nor does Martyn ask where the rest of his teammates are. Perhaps Ren is asleep too, has crashed after the stress of the snails and everything they entailed.

He is surprised to see Martyn here; seeing him alone is even stranger – he and Ren have been more attached at the hip than usual recently, so to see one without the other feels as though he’s only seeing half the picture.

Martyn hauls himself onto the wall from the ground, fingers digging into the gaps between the cobbles, leaning an elbow on Scott's dangling foot when he gets close enough. Scott kicks at his ribs, half-hearted at best, but Martyn swings away from the wall, almost seeming to slip, and-

Scott reaches forward, grabbing at the shoulders of Martyn's hoodie. The fabric bunches up beneath his fingers, his nails digging in too deep. He can feel the flesh of Martyn's skin beneath his hands, can feel the life that runs through him, still.

Martyn laughs. “Did you really think I’d fall?”

He still has a grip on the wall, Scott realises. One foot wedged into the cobbles, digging in deep enough that he stands there quite happily, Scott's hands fisted in the fabric of his clothing, uncaring or unknowing of how easily Scott could twist him around, leave him hanging upon the wall and finally retire to his bed.

He does not do this.

He continues to hold Martyn, continues to hold his hoodie even as Martyn pulls himself up. He does not react outwardly, tries not to, as Martyn skims a hand over his leg, up it, feigning difficulty reaching the top of the wall, fingers dancing across the stone teasingly as he searches for some purchase on the unyielding rock.

Scott releases him once Martyn is comfortably on top of the wall, one leg still hanging below, but secure enough that he won’t fall backwards and break himself on the forest floor.

(The drop is not a particularly large one, but he doesn’t want to test anyone’s limits right now. Not when everything seems so much more fragile, when exhaustion weighs at everyone’s bones and slows the mind, when one flailing motion could be the difference between life and death. Scott has seen enough death in the last few hours, has watched his friends get slaughtered by a slow, immovable force. He has stared death in the face several times today, and each time he walked away with shaking hands and a frantically beating heart.)

“You know,” Martyn starts, conversational, “I wasn’t sure you'd be able to catch me.”

“Hm.” The sun is higher in the sky. Everything seems so much brighter than usual to his overtired eyes. “And why wouldn’t I? Have you suddenly lost faith in me?”

“Certainly not.” Martyn shuffles to the side, shuffles closer until their shoulders are a whisper apart. A single movement threatens to press them together from hip to knee. Scott resists, but only barely. He can feel the warmth radiating off Martyn from here. “You’ve had a few changes this season, that’s all. Unless those eyes are purely cosmetic?”

He can feel Martyn's eyes on the side of his face, so intense that he suspects Martyn is reading his mind right now, peering into the depths of his brain and gathering the thoughts together to turn over and examine. There’s not really anything interesting going on in there, just thoughts of the sunrise and how tired he is and how close Martyn now sits next to him, and whether he can shuffle just a little closer, press them shoulder to hip to knee to ankle and play it off as a casual motion.

Perhaps Martyn really is reading his thoughts – or maybe Scott is just tired enough that his wants are written across every inch of his face – because he shuffles closer. Presses his shoulder to Scott's own, a line of heat along the left side of his body. He hooks their ankles together, their legs swinging back and forth together, as though they are one.

“They aren’t.” Scott answers, a little belatedly. The exhaustion makes him slow, makes the thoughts in his brain move like molasses and his tongue weigh heavy in his mouth. “I…well, I guess the forest took a little piece of me when we welcomed BigB in; replaced that missing piece with a little bit of itself.”

“Mm.” Martyn continues to watch. His gaze is warm on the side of Scott's face, watching, cataloguing. Scott wonders if his eyes glow in the light, if they brighten more, turning molten in the face of the sun. He feels warm and heavy beneath the gaze, slow to move, slow to react. He finds that he does not particularly mind. “Then why don't you freeze up when I watch you? You still move, your joints still bend, and your heart still beats.”

“I am not a creature of the forest.”

“But the forest is a part of you, is it not? It has changed BigB, and yet you remain the same, save for these.” The first touch of Martyn's hand to the paper-thin skin beneath his eye is careful, gentle. He touches Scott like he is something delicate, something precious.

He turns into it, leaning into the touch. It turns a little heavier, pressing into his cheekbone. He can feel the pulse of Martyn's thumb, the slow thump of a calm heart behind it. Scott wonders if Martyn can feel the way his own heart races, the way it rabbits in his chest.

His eyes begin to slip shut, half-lidded as he turns towards Martyn. Martyn watches him back, expression shuttered and hidden behind something unreadable.

“Do you like it?” Scott finds himself asking. It’s not what he means to say, and definitely not what Martyn expected him to say. It leaves the two of them just as surprised as each other; it’s just enough to chip away the first corner of Martyn's unreadable mask, leaving something a little more genuine beneath it; something a little more alive.

“I…yeah,” Martyn breathes. He swipes a thumb beneath Scott's eye again, before he shifts his hand to settle it fully against his cheek so it cradles his face; pulls him a little closer. The warmth of his hand threatens to scald the skin, to leave an imprint there; Scott worries, for a moment, that the shape of Martyn's hand will truly burn into his face, that he shall have to return to his teammates and explain away the sudden, hand-shaped marking on one side of his face. “Your eyes have always been my favourite part of you,” Martyn murmurs, voice low, as though this is some scandalous confession.

“I know,” he laughs, muffled, leaning in to keep this secretive air between them. They breathe the same air this close. “I've noticed.”

There’s a light flush of colour along the high of Martyn's cheeks, he notes from beneath lidded eyes. It is like the slow rising of the sun, a slight blush along the sky as it approaches, a precursor to the burst of colour that explodes outwards at the first hint of the sun truly rising.

In a similar fashion, Martyn's flush quickly travels down his neck and across his ears; he looks faintly embarrassed, abashed even as he continues to hold Scott's face within the palm of his hand.

He feels as though he could fall asleep here; simply lean his head a little further into the touch and close his eyes entirely. The skin on Martyn's palm is calloused, a little rough and torn around the edges, but each of the grooves and bumps are something that Scott knows, he has spent hours cataloguing each of the blemishes on Martyn's hands, studying the valleys on the palm of his hand, tracing the individual lines back and forth until Martyn relents and squirms away with a short it tickles as explanation.

Scott raises his own hand to Martyn's risk, encircling it within his own grip. He feels the way Martyn tenses fearing his hand being pulled away, before relaxing once more as Scott simple holds onto him. his fingers lay across Martyn's pulse point, though he does not press hard enough to truly feel it. He watches it instead, eyes on Martyn's neck as it thumps with the steady, hard beat of a heart.

Scott's own heart beats in tandem.

“Your pupils are so bright like this,” Martyn tells him. Scott knows, had spent several hours bent over a small hand mirror when the changes first settled. Had peeled back his eyelid to see how far the orange spread, whether it was the entirety of his eye of simply the most visible part. Even the colour of his veins had changed, glowing a bright gold beneath his skin rather than the usual blue. “I like it.”

“Well, I'm glad. I'm certainly stuck with this pair of eyes for the foreseeable future, until I can switch them out again.”

“Ugh, don't say it like that,” Martyn uses his grip on Scott's face to wiggle his head back and forth gently, chastising. “Makes it sound like you're just going to pop these eyes out and pick your next pair from some gross eye-shop.”

“Maybe I will. Some of the newer eye cybernetics are quite fascinating,” he jokes.

“Don't you dare,” Martyn laughs. “I wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye ever again if you did that!”

“Mm. You certainly wouldn’t be looking into these eyes if I did that.”

“Can't you just take a compliment? Why’d you have to make it all weird – I was being nice. I was being charming, even! And then you had to go and ruin it.”

Scott laughs at the frown on his face. “Poor thing, I've ruined it all for you now, haven’t I?”

“I was being all suave and flirting,” Martyn insists. Scott lets him have it, because he’s certain the awkward, stumbling way he delivered all of his lines was smooth in Martyn's sleep-deprived brain. He's lucky that Scott finds him so endearing otherwise it would have been painful to sit through it all. He strokes his thumb over the soft underside of Martyn's wrist.

“I know, dear.” He assures. “It was very sweet.”

“Thank you,” Martyn preens a little, leaning closer. “Don't you think I've earned a kiss? For all my hard work?”

“And what hard work would that be?” Scott asks, as he leans back just a little. He feels his lips twitch as Martyn frowns. Martyn can be so expressive when he wants to be, when he’s not locking his true thoughts behind a blank mask or hiding them behind an overexaggerated façade. Scott loves the small crinkle between his brow and the way his nose scrunches when he's annoyed, loves to brush those wrinkles away from his face with a soothing touch or a kind word.

“I walked all the way here from my base and climbed this wall to be next to you. That’s hard work, y’know.”

“Oh, yes. You do know there are stairs just behind us, right? Some that you could have climbed to spare you a little of that effort.”

“I prefer taking the more difficult route when it means someone like you is waiting at the end of it.”

“Flatterer.”

“Don't you know it,” Martyn grins. “C’mon, just a little kiss? A small peck, even?”

“When have you ever been content with just a small kiss?” Scott asks. His other hand, the one not currently curled possessively around a wrist, begins to slide up Martyn's side as he speaks. He can feel Martyn's hand at the small of his back, thumb resting just above his hip.

“When have you?” Martyn counters.

And, well, Scott simply shrugs because he has no good response to that. It’s true, certainly. He can think of several moments when their eagerness for contact, for hands upon each other, has been a detriment to themselves and those around them.

He can feel the warmth of Martyn's breath spreading over his cheeks, a ghost of a touch, before the distance is closed and Martyn presses his mouth to Scott's own.

It is a short touch, a press of warmth between the two of them, mouths close and perfectly respectable. Something that lasts all of a few moments as Martyn's hand abruptly moves upwards on Scott's side, slipping beneath his shirt.

He can feel Martyn's smug smile against his lips when they pull back just slightly, away from the moment of intimacy. A breath before a dive.

Scott is the first one to break free from the standstill, eyes slipping fully shut as he slots his lips back against Martyn's, mapping his body out with his touch rather than his eyes as he pushes forward, leaning further and further into Martyn's space.

The hand on his back shifts to his hip, fingers beginning to dig in; any harder and they’ll leave a bruise, Scott tries not to think too hard about that. He doesn’t have to try very hard for long as Martyn presses back at him, recovered from his momentary shock, lips parting as a tongue brushes over Scott's lips.

He sighs into the kiss, a short, breathy sound that he's embarrassed about for all of three seconds before Martyn is drawing the remainder of the breath from his lungs.

He melts forward as Martyn presses another kiss into him, deeper than the one before that, feels his heart stutter in his chest as Martyn bites into his lip, hard enough to draw blood to the surface. The taste of iron doesn’t sway him, if anything it only spurs him on further when they pull apart for a moment, both of their chests heaving from breathlessness and exhilaration alike, and Scott can see the gold of his blood on Martyn's lip, slowly trickling down to his jaw.

He wipes it away with one thumb, succeeding only in smearing it from the corner of Martyn's mouth. It looks like kiss-smudged lipstick and Scott finds that he likes it far too much to be parted from Martyn for much longer than is necessary, pulling him back in.

The heat of Martyn's hand travels up his back, steps over each of the vertebrae in his spine as the moments tick on, seeming to become longer and longer with each moment. Scott can feel the beating of his heart, can feel the thumping of it as Martyn draws a careful hand across the front of his chest, fingers tapping out a rhythm against his ribs.

That rhythm halts, interrupted mid-beat, as Martyn discovers the first protruding shard of bone.

Scott feels the moment he stills against him, all of his loose contentment evaporating as he draws a finger over the exposed bone once more, then again. Scott shudders at the sensation, the sharp drag of skin and nail over the bone travelling right through his body, short frissons of energy bursting out from the site of contact.

“I…what-?”

“You're telling me you’ve never touched a bone before?” Scott asks. “Come on, don't tell me that scares you.”

“It doesn’t,” Martyn insists, loud where he had been quiet before. Both of them wince at the volume and Scott barely represses the urge to glance over his shoulder, check that his teammates sleep on peacefully. If he had woken them, he would most certainly know it. “It’s just…does it hurt? I don't want it to hurt.”

“I don't think you could hurt me if you tried.” He says. Promises, maybe. It feels like the truth to him. Everything feels syrupy and slow, filtered through a haze of amber and gold as he stares at Martyn and Martyn stares back at him, seeking the truth in his honeyed eyes. He smiles as Martyn's face clears, a realisation clicking together in his mind.

“Is…no, nevermind.” Martyn allows himself to trail off, turning his face away.

“Tell me anyway?” he asks. Turns Martyn's face back towards his own with a gentle touch. Martyn doesn’t even feign resistance, all too willing to follow after him. Scott guides his face back towards his own with two fingers pressed to his jaw; Martyn follows behind, blind in his faith and eager to please as a loyal hound might be.

“Is your heart…exposed too?” Martyn asks. His words halting and steeped in hesitance. He refuses to meet Scott's eyes, perhaps ashamed to look at him after asking such a question. Scott does not mind.

“Mm. Why don't you find out?” he invites.

Martyn hesitates for a moment, then two, before he pushes his hand a little further, brushes over more and more of the rib bone, tracing along the curve of it with a reverence that should be reserved for something holy. Scott shivers under the careful attention, averting his eyes when he feels Martyn look upwards from where he's bowed himself over Scott.

The sun reaches higher into the sky, and yet the server is quiet. Scott cannot help but be thankful for this, unwilling for any of his friends to come across the pair of them like this. He cannot help but feel as though he is being laid bare beneath Martyn, even though his shirt hasn’t even come off and Martyn remains similarly clothed.

He swallows as Martyn's finger reaches the end of the bone, circling the point of it curiously for a moment. He feels an inhale catch in his throat, bubbling there as he tips his head back, facing towards the sky. He cannot bear to look at Martyn a moment longer, cannot bear to observe the source of the warmth that presses against his bones with such delicacy, as though they might snap beneath hands, as though Scott is made of delicately woven glass.

He is made of stronger, sterner stuff than that. Only, in this moment, he feels as though he is being unwound, spooled across the ground. No longer a single cohesive being but several parts that have lost communication with each other, sending sensations to his brain that only serve to muddle it further.

Martyn's hand dips into the cavity of his chest, feeling out the edges of it with his fingers, teasing at the skin there with a soft brush of his fingers before moving on.

“You know,” Martyn breathes, a laugh on his tongue, “I didn’t actually believe you.”

“And how are you feeling now?” Scott rolls his head to one side, peeking at Martyn from beneath one eyelid. Martyn finds his eyes anyway, seeking him out easily, as though he’s always aware of when Scott's eyes rest upon him. He can feel the heat in his face, can see it reflected back at him from Martyn.

“Curious.”

Martyn leans up, towards his face once more. The hand inside his chest is still, simply resting there. He presses a kiss to Scott's neck, whisper-soft, then another to the edge of his jaw. He cannot help the way he tilts his head backwards, tipping his chin back to expose more of his neck.

Another gasp shudders its way out of his chest when something brushes against the edge of his heart. He feels the way his heart spasms at the sudden contact, seizing in his chest at the new sensation. He feels the way it bubbles in his chest, expands in his throat until he can scarcely breathe.

He feels Martyn's eyes on him, can feel the way he's waiting for Scott's reaction until he makes another move.

“Are you going to leave me hanging?” He asks. Chokes out, really. Martyn's kind enough not to mention it.

“Just want to make sure your heart isn’t about to give out on us.” Martyn chuckles. “Might be a little awkward to explain to your teammates.”

“I’d leave that part to you.” Scott says. “Please, continue.”

“Only if you're certain, Martyn starts.

“I am.” He pulls Martyn closer, drags him up so he's close enough to kiss back into breathlessness. He shouldn’t be the only one that feels as though his heart is about to burst out of his chest, and Martyn's slow, careful explorations have left him feeling as though his nerves have been set alight. “Come now, don't you want to feel how my heart beats for you?”

That seems to do it. Scott's not quite sure what exactly it was; maybe the wording, or maybe the way he said it. Or maybe it was the small tug of Martyn's hair that spurred him into motion once more, resettled his confidence and allowed him to push through his uncertainty.

All he knows is that in the next moment Martyn's hand surrounds his heart entirely and he feels as though his world has whited out, leaving nothing but the sensation of Martyn's hand and the thumping of his heart behind.

It feels as though his entire being is cradled within the palm of a single hand; like his whole world has shrunk down to just those sensations, that warmth that coats his entire being. It is like being wrapped in a warm blanket, or the feeling of a warm drink travelling down your throat on the coldest day of the year.

He must gasp, or make some kind of sound, because the sensation is retreating just as quickly as it came, leaving him disoriented and near-crying with the loss.

He reaches out with an empty hand, grasping onto the first thing he comes into contact with. It is warm and solid beneath his hand and he curls himself towards it, seeking more of that warmth from before, missing how it had surrounded his entire soul so carefully.

The morning sun does little to battle the chill that settles over him, and he shakes even as a hand smooths over his spine, down his back. It leaves a trail of heat in its wake, but it is still not the same as before, not the same as that all-consuming warmth that he felt for a few moments and perhaps never again.

“Scott?”

He hums in response, feeling too tired to even open his eyes. The exhaustion from the past few days catching up with him, no doubt.

“Geez, man. You can't do that to a guy.”

“Don't call me man,” he mutters into a faceful of fabric. Martyn's shoulder, he's pretty sure now that some of his senses are returning. “You just had my heart in your hand.”

“I, yeah, all right, whatever.” He feels Martyn press his forehead against the top of his head. Feels the sigh he releases into Scott's hair. “That was weird, right? Not just for you but for me as well – I thought you were dying honestly, the sound you made was like a wounded animal.”

Scott snorts. “If this is your idea of being comforting, or even nice, you're missing the mark by a few miles.”

“I'm being worried.” Martyn retorts. “I thought I’d killed you just because I wanted to satisfy my curiosity.”

“Mm, quite the opposite, actually.” He can't think of a moment where he was more content than that one, with a hand around his heart, cradling him in warmth and safety and comfort. He doubts anything could recreate such a sensation, and he has no idea how to put it into words. “It made…hm. It was like being wrapped in the warmest blanket, ugh, no, that’s not right. It was…comforting? Something nice, or safe. Like the idea of comfort and safety bundled into one and then turned into a sensation.”

“Uh-huh.” Martyn sounds distracted, even as he nods against Scott's head. “Um, sorry to burst this little bubble you're in right now, but Cleo’s stood in your doorway glaring at us.”

“I can assure you, she’s only glaring at you.”

“I- ugh, you're insufferable, you know that, right?”

“So you keep telling me,” he uncurls one arm from where it’s wrapped around Martyn (when had that happened? Matter of fact, when had he ended up being cradled against Martyn's chest? Or in his lap?) and waves dismissively in the direction that he hopes Cleo is in. “And yet you continue to crawl back to me each and every time, grovelling at my feet.”

“I haven’t done that since the island!” Martyn yelps, far too loud that close to his ears. Scott still grins at the protest, mind full of the moments when Martyn had pulled himself around the pointless door and begged for sanctuary and allyship. “And I barely grovelled, I only called it that because you were my last hope for a teammate – I’d tried to kill everyone else at that point.”

“You really know how to make a man feel special.”

Martyn isn’t give another chance to defend himself as Cleo speaks up. “You boys all right up there?”

“Peachy.” Martyn calls back. “You can leave us be.”

“So the sound of a wounded, dying animal was someone else?”

Scott stiffens, and he feels Martyn lock up too. No response is forthcoming from either of them, but Scott can feel the way Cleo is staring at his back – she has a way of making her presence known, mainly so she can make fun of him when everyone else turns away. Here, though, it’s worry. Their relationship to Ren and Martyn hasn’t been properly defined, and none of them know where they stand.

For all Cleo knows, Scott could be slowly dying and unable to get a word out. Thankfully, he is not, so he manages to defend Martyn from Cleo’s quickly approaching wrath.

“I'm fine, we were just trying something out.”

“Ugh,” Cleo says. Then, “On the wall, really? Anyone could’ve walked past and seen you two…trying something out.”

“It wasn’t like that,” he tries.

“I don't really care. Or want to know.” Cleo interrupts him. “Go to bed, you're too tired to be fooling around on top of a wall, and if you fall off it and die I'm just going to laugh at you.”

Scott pauses.

“Martyn can come too,” Cleo offers, though the distaste in her voice is clear. “As long as it’s for sleeping and no more experimenting.”

“Well, who can turn down at offer like that!” Martyn goes to stand, only to realise that Scott isn’t going to make a move anytime soon. “Up and attem! C’mon, we've got a grand total of, ehh, ten steps? Maybe twelve? And then you can sleep in an actual bed, all nice and cosied up with me.”

Scott's pretty sure he hears Cleo gag, and that just about seals it for him. Anything to make his friends suffer.

[polishchuk]

“Cor cordium, heart of hearts, I’ve never said anything truer in my life to anyone.” – André Aciman, “Call Me by Your Name”

[jazzpsych]

-

“I don’t want to give this one up. It’s been mine for years.”

I own myself, he means. I own myself and no one can take that away. Fox had thought that too, once.

-

All of the credit for the inspiration, quotes, and references in this piece goes to the wonderful @blackkatmagic !

If you haven’t already read their incredible fic Cor Cordium I can’t stress how much you are missing out. This story struck such a powerful chord in me, especially as a queer person who had a long journey to find their own name. Reading a story filled with such vivid descriptions of nature, fascinating mystery, sharp humor, and soft moments, was such a genuine pleasure.

I wish I had enough hours in the day to draw all the inspiration I get from reading their works, but for now I will do my best to fulfill it one page at a time.

Thank you so much Blackkat for sharing your writing with us!!

[dearorpheus]

"In reading [metaphysical poetry], I discovered the poem of which I read you what is unfortunately a very inadequate translation. It is called Love. I learnt it by heart. Often, at the culminating point of a violent headache, I make myself say it over, concentrating all my attention upon it and clinging with all my soul to the tenderness it enshrines. I used to think I was merely reciting a beautiful poem, but without my knowing it the recitation had the virtue of a prayer."

— Simone Weil, Waiting for God

[blackkatmagic]

update delay

One of my cats passed away last night, and while I'm going to try to finish this week's chapter of Cor Cordium, it needs a level of humor I just can't manage right now. If I can't get it together today, I'm going to take the week, and next Tuesday updates will resume as normal.

[kirisakiss]

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

── Vanthorn Hikari : character sheet.

「 それが私の正体？ただの人形？」

「 Is that what I am? Just a doll? 」

A seemingly perfect girl sent to the Sakamaki Mansion by Karlheinz. Her mission and motives are unknown.

CV: Saori Hayami

A living puppet, one of the many attempts of Karlheinz to create the perfect creature, Hikari was adopted alongside the Mukami brothers from the orphanage, but was kept locked in Rotigenberg for a long time as Karlheinz experimented with her.

Lilith, he called her, his first prototype.

All credits to @equinox-86 for this amazing template! ♡

[druidx]

Time, dust, and sword? With Elo or whoever it fits?

Sorry if this is no help. But good job on how far along your fic has come, and good luck with the rest! :D

It's now apparent I'm incapable of writing drabbles. Also I made myself sad with this.

CW: Grief (v. mild) Notes: From Aurianna's POV, Vanilla Fighting Fantasy setting, waaaaaaay in the future. Tagging: @aquadestinyswriting @jacqueswriteblrlibrary

The Sunbeam

Today a man brought me a sword.

I watched as he climbed the bare, rocky hillside to my cave jutting from the oceans of sand. I measured his determination as he pawed dust from his eyes and fought for his footing on the ever shifting surface. He laid the sword at the entrance to my cave and called out, Wisest of the wise, O Lady of the Gold, I bring you a gift in exchange for your counsel. I waited, to see what he would do, and examined him. His skin was ochre, his hair like black silk, his clothes plain with little personal adornment. But what need had he of adornment when he shone, incandescent, with a pure blue nimbus?

He set up camp, a canvas pinned against the rock wall to keep out the sharp sands skittering in the dry air. The sun set and he made himself the thinnest of fires and ate spare rations. In the morning, he checked to see if I had taken his gift, and when he saw I had not, he beseeched me again: O holiest one, O wyrm of grace, I beg you lend me your counsel! See here, in trade I have brought you the sword of a champion – long gone but not forgotten.

Yesterday, a man brought me a sword.

He thought it a fine gift, this champion's sword. Expensive, yes. Powerful – unimaginably so. A gift worthy of monarchs, of sultans, of wizards… yes, indeed. And to another great, golden wyrm, it may have been. But I know that sword. I know the scent of it, I recall its power; how it banished the darkness of an unholy night. How it banished the darkness from the hearts of mortals. I recall the scent of the one who wielded it. I recall her nimbus of blue. Her recklessness, her drive, her love.

He flitted about his camp, the man who would offer me a sword. He spent his evening around the fire whittling and when he rested, I cat's-pawed to the entrance of my cave. With one lengthy talon, I moved it such that it might catch the starlight from above. You know, cor cordium, they never did get that nick from the blade that pestered you so.

Ereyesterday, a man brought me a sword.

Truth be told, he could do with a little more patience. But then, so did we both, when we were new-made. He came to the entrance of my cave, nearly tripping over the threshold. O mighty one! he cried, as though bereft. Will you not heed my plight? My people are beset by foul, undead things. Our leaders are dead, or fled. Or worse. We know not what to do. Please, I beg you. Accept my gift and help me! He fell to his knees in supplication. But, Beloved, do you know – he shone brightest of all when he spoke of his people. "Who sent you?" asked I. He trembled at the sound of my voice, but spoke true: My Nain. The sword was hers. She would come herself, but for her knees. Please, O Lady, tell me how to break this curse of my people. "You do not wish me to do it for you?" A flicker of uncertainty passed over his countenance. Oh, cor cordium. Were we ever that dumb? You… You could do that? asked he. "What is it you craft, at night about the fire?" Hesitantly he pulled it from his pack, a little rodent with wide ears and long feet and fur picked out in detail. It's a sand rat. I saw many on my journey here.

Ah… It was foregone, really, from that point on.

"You wish to offer me a gift in trade for my help, is that correct?" I asked of him. He nodded, fearfully. "Then I would like your little sculpture." But… I thought dragons liked things of power, or wealth? I laughed. "Not all wealth is to be found in expense. Not all treasures are gold. Come, place it here, on this shelf for me." Shaking, he did as bade. I nudged it a little into place. "Take up your sword… What is your name?" Eli, my Lady. The gods do enjoy a little joke, don't they, cor cordium? "Well then… Eli. Take up your sword." He lifted it gingerly, then hurried to the side as I stepped out. I shook out my wings – Bahamut! But I am stiff. You would say I've turned into my Father. Grown ponderous with age. I fear you may be correct. "Climb on and hold tight," I told this Eli. "We shall see what can be done about the unclean things besieging your town."

I had thought my time amongst mortals was done. I had thought those days of derring-do behind me. That sword… it pricked my heart anew. It reminded me what was lost… and what may yet be found. Oh, you'll forgive me, won't you, cor cordium? He did blaze so very blue.

[mariaand22]

It's this what people felt in medieval times? Not eve an hour in and I'm already desperate enough to go to Nyah! or Wattpad.

Also terrible timing, @blackkatmagic just updated Cor Cordium