scarfwearing-blog

[scarfwearing-blog]

sinninggod

interest settles in their eyes, hair drifting with a mind of its own around them, moving as if in water. they’re most like a ghost in this form, likely from spending too much time with hecate, floating above the ground & twisting by the waist, parallel to the ground as they look at the other. ‘ you’re very pretty. ‘

soft, despite all expectations of piercing.  those great, white eyes speak of things far beyond this shell of planet.  of mountains within stars, of songs no ears may hear without assistance.  a compliment returned with the story of thousands flashing through, all at once -- and then returning soft, delicate.  as it pads all the closer, unblinking attention upon this other strange being.  

until, in a great sphere of light, a runic gleam above it’s skull--

     “chaa.”

[scarfwearing-blog]

arielshepard

SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE

The wandering star shines even in the dark of the Emperor’s tower. Light peeks through the fibers of its garments, pure & white light emanating from the runes on its scarf. Of all the celestial objects the Emperor has devoured, she leaves this one alone. Perhaps it is because the little thing is sentient, but when has that ever stopped her from eating anything? She does not mind how its scarf wraps around her waist & legs. She does not mind the way it presses against her horrific form, finding comfort in the biomechanical form of her physical presence. A deathly, cold hand rests on its head as though it was bestowing a blessing unto it, as though it were the gesture of some strange & quiet affection.

❝ Grah’n. ❞ 

Lost one. Larva. 

Perhaps upon a great day, the wandering creature will no longer be, will crumble and collapse in within itself.  A magnificent death, capable of ripping through planets.  Continuing the theory of the great creator of all, who formed the stars in a cosmic blanket.  Shaped planets in palms and set them out as jewels to be highlighted.  Perhaps then, only then, the great creature that it rests against will rend her maw wide and swallow it whole.  Together, an eternity final.  It would revel in that.  Cooing soft as it does, oozing light from its body with rune aglow above its skull.  A celestial crown all great stars carry, yet so few know how to sing within a body smaller in eyes than what they are born to.  It fills dark space with the songs of all its siblings.  Just as it rings her ears now, peering at her with great white eyes.  

She calls it, and it returns the naming.

Death mother, star keeper.

[scarfwearing-blog]

@mimicic

strange creatures of strange knots -- is this why the wandering shape has come to stare upon this unknown form?  unblinking eyes without pupils nor irises seem to see all, at once, yet focus intently in wavering connections.  far more still than that of the scarf which carries on winds without feeling to brush an ankle, against the soft of fingertips before drifting away.

[scarfwearing-blog]

@arielshepard

lo -- how it has missed her, cradling up towards her ever present form ( FOR SHE IS AS YOU, AS THE MOTHER, AS ALL THINGS INFINITE AND UNERRING ) with the flurry of great robes, magnificent runes across a scarf of fabric that is and is not.  the great star presses itself to her belly.  unknown winds curving its scarf around her waist and legs, a twisting, careful thing that leaves her glowing with its strength.  children of cosmos are eternally together.  yet to see one another, to feel.  that is a gift beyond that of what grand ties connect them all.  a great, eternal hum escapes from within its chest.  a constant, and endless unknown note for only her ears, and those of the dying stars around them.  

[scarfwearing-blog]

bloodiedwolf

       arrival comes in soft edges met with hard, ragged. the sand grits between arya’s teeth, wiry, wary body tensing to hold, fingers gripped to the cool metal at her hip. it’s hard to believe something that looks so gentle could be threatening – or it would have been, once – but she knows better. flinty eyes catch only the sinking, the unfathomable dark, beneath the hood, and the wide moonlike eyes staring out from within, and the rungs of her spine itch. who are you isn’t a good question. wasn’t, isn’t, won’t be.

                    ‘ what d’you want? ’

low, as in the slump of its entire form, the tips of fabric above its eyes that form almost ears have even folded back.  lest the cool air sent them spiraling away, too weak to fight back, the creature almost bends itself in and towards her.  not at all does it know submission.  only kindness and cruelty, that those of this planet share each expression with one another.  sometimes without thought.  and so it shivers.  makes no sound ( yet, is that a hollow chirp so distant, it seems to come from memory? )  as it tucks itself in more, and peers outwards, towards the rush of wind.  back, to her.  

[scarfwearing-blog]

monsteredboy

          so there’s weird desert shit, and then there’s weird desert shit. this is the latter. gabriel’s been aware of the thing shadowing him for a little while now, and he was expecting it to be something bad. but this thing walks (floats?) up to him, bright cloth whirling away behind it, and gabriel just. sort of pauses. and stares. abruptly he decides that being rude is never going to be a good option. you never know if that thing’s (very bright and friendly) robes might fall apart to reveal a many-mouthed horror. again, weird desert shit.

“… hi.”

for a moment -- no response but silence.  how long behind it, that twisting scarf.  drifting on winds as if ashamed to ever touch the ground, sometimes rising far higher than the tips of fabric that form small points above those gleaming, endless eyes.  and then, how the soft of its head lowers down ever so slightly and arches right back up.  

    ‘chee’  comes a strange sound, a note of no known instrument chiming soft and high around them both.  fluttering with the spread of white light not haloed, but circled, shining as it spreads small and melts into nothing more than air.

[scarfwearing-blog]

@monsteredboy

from minutes to hours, how long has the figure of robes and shapeless form been drifting upon short, quick steps to chase the silhouette of an unknown stranger?  long enough to carry forth as though to be noticed was not a fear, halting with inches between them, body arched backwards lest bright gleaming eyes may not meet his own dark shards.  and... wait?

[scarfwearing-blog]

@sinninggod

flared tangles of a deep rich red, as wings of a bird spread farther than visual sight may offer, growing ( or, perhaps, shrinking? ) as it flutters down to land upon small legs that bow, yet stray far from breaking beneath the pressure and weight.  it holds no obvious awareness, no clear concern for possible fear or shock in those that it has landed besides.  

[scarfwearing-blog]

@shelazarus

not only a bright shine of sun exudes heat within this space.  as petals spreading outwards from a fresh bloom they mystify, humid yet comforting warmth in the pad of their feet and the ruffle of their robes.  lest the wind be an enemy, wrapping scarf around it’s body nearly completely, suddenly, where is startles when the fabric lashes around both delicate stubs of legs.  waver, twitch -- it does not fall, not yet.  only deadly nearly.  wrapped upon itself with a flickering of sparks ( IS IT NOT A SUPERNOVA? ) within its eyes.  the wanderer shimmies.  tightens itself all the more.  

[scarfwearing-blog]

@bloodiedwolf

be it the cold to drag a silhouette from outside shadows upon her space.  knees bent and twists barely hold it upwards, tilted forwards where great eyes of hollow silver drag across the floor beneath.  plain, this creature.  of plain fabrics, plain shades of gold an outline that ends sudden and sharp, upon the scarf that seems ripped in a cut edge.  there are no creatures as fearless as this.  it, who drops besides her.  who tucks the bend of their legs beneath and curtains the grown in a halo of robes, shaking their head against the chill wind.  

[scarfwearing-blog]

@0000000000011

care not for the small thing -- for few adults do, tugging the hands of children when they stop to stare in singular awe at that of cloth and gleaming eyes, that moves on a particular edge of impossible feet.  perhaps this is for the best.  for this being cares not for those who push it by, but for her.  of shapes and beauty, who stands out of place of those that, too, seem intent upon ignoring her just as well.  how the creature tilts its head, and peers upon her.  

[scarfwearing-blog]

I was born for this.

[scarfwearing-blog]

hello tiny friend, i love you!

    it’s perfectly mutual.

[scarfwearing-blog]

@fewkarats

another living creature.  but with ages more than most beneath her skin, a supposed youth that highlights her bones and her deep, dark eyes as the wanderer circles her on delicate legs.  a connection lies between her and the infinite human daughter of the great mother.  not unlike that between the pock marked moon and earth.  or it’s own siblings, those three who sit besides it and make up the entire pure light of polaris.  before her they pause.  and tilt their head upwards, a small shimmering of pure white energy fleeing from their body.

    CAA?

[scarfwearing-blog]

@arielshepard

it has always known her.  from the moment that a womb formed her existence to now, infinite and rightfully burrowed within the cosmic endless.  a child of the great mother that could not form out of an inflamed star, or the curves of a perfect planet.  she is something else and something familiar all at once.  a similarity to the creatures of the great mountain planet.  to the ancestors.  but not a failure.  merely a familiar, and in many ways, a friend.  it moves on winds of intergalactic power and shifts.  once, nowhere.  now, somewhere, robes marked in golden emblems of the great mother and every moment that it has ever remembered.  

different than when it  last saw her.  and somehow still the same.

   COO.

[scarfwearing-blog]

@pencmbra

not all creatures are aware of their cosmic gift.  those who were born by the singular death of stars realize this long into the existence of their species -- long by their standards, seconds, moments by yours -- and revere the power as unattainable.  so the great mother finds relief.  written across memories shared by the cosmic infinite by certain wanderings, all creatures know of the planet where remnants of stars transformed and a species tore itself to pieces.  never again, the great mother whispered.  never would she let a sing whisper of her children survive once they had been chosen for the end.

humans fathom their cosmic greatness as something they can’t control.  and will never have power over.

those who stand in similar skins but feel differently are, perhaps, meant to draw the attention of the wanderer, wide silvery eyes as chunks of moonbeams solidified.  croon a low sound in its throat as the infinite creature stands powerful within their gaze.

[scarfwearing-blog]

@battlemother

it consumes nearly all heat from the fire within her home-- blazing and flickering, an echo of newly born stars milliseconds before their atoms explode to combine into something enormous and all eternal.  sparks before a true moment of birth.  now chasing chill away from robes and a scarf that winds through the entirety of where she has furniture out for visitors to rest upon.  curling over chairs.  beneath rugs.  how does not seem to occur to the creature as it rests its head against warm stones and coos.