#all the words and poems and songs i whisper to myself. drifting away to the silence of the night

[hlizr50]

Terms of Endearment

I'm obsessed with Nesryn and Sartaq. And I am not ashamed.

Read on AO3

It had started innocently enough.

When Sartaq had slid his hands around her middle and drew her back into his chest their first night alone after the great victory, planting a kiss to that sensitive bend where her shoulder met her neck. He had seemed to breathe her in.

“My darling,” he’d sighed.

Nesryn had been taken aback, unaccustomed to pet names from him. Perhaps it was because they had fallen in love in the midst of war – not the time or place for terms of endearment.

But as soon as that final battle was over, it was as if Sartaq made it his mission to shower her with affection, praise, and every endearment he could possibly think of.

“My darling,” he had breathed into her neck that first night. It had been surprising, but not unwelcome. Nesryn was not accustomed to intimacy such as this, but she couldn’t deny the feeling of warmth that it sparked in her. Sartaq, so unlike any man she had ever known, made her feel precious and adored. Even when they were both covered in blood and gore.

“Good morning, sweet angel,” he murmured when she awoke in their shared cabin as they sailed back to the southern continent. She huffed out a laugh at him, but he only grinned back and tucked her messy morning hair behind her ear.

“I’m sure there is nothing angelic about me right now.” With a grumble she tucked herself into his chest, allowing her to feel his rich chuckle rumble through her. How fortunate for them that they had this opportunity to just be. That they had survived.

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” he answered. “Angel.”

Nesryn just shook her head and drifted back to sleep in the arms of her prince.

~~~

As wonderful and loving as Sartaq had been, she had still physically cringed when he called her ‘sweetheart’. So much so that he had pulled back from the embrace he’d so tenderly wrapped her in, instead grabbing her by the shoulders and finding her eyes.

“Nesryn?”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“Nesryn Faliq, it is obviously not nothing.” The prince reached up a hand to cup her cheek, and she closed her eyes with a sigh and leaned into that strong, comforting anchor. “Don’t hide from me, love. Please.”

She pulled his hand away, grasping it in both of hers. She loved his hands, the strength in them. They had seen battles for his homeland, for the world, and were still gentle against her flesh in those in-between moments when he made sure to remind her how loved she was.

“In Rifthold,” she began with a deep breath. “As a woman trying to make her way up the ranks, I found myself at odds with many a condescending man. Men who felt that a woman didn’t belong in the guard. Men who felt that a woman shouldn’t speak her mind. Men who felt entitled to my affections. And nearly all of them, being creatures of minimal creativity and intellect, would call me ‘sweetheart’ when they spoke to me as if I were nothing more than the dirt beneath their feet.”

Sartaq’s free hand fell at the small of her back and pulled her against him, lips falling against her temple.

“True men recognize and respect strength, regardless of whether it is a man or woman who possesses it. They were fools.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I will remember not to call you sweetheart. But know that you are my love, always, Nesryn Faliq.”

“And you are mine.”

~~~

“There you are, my beautiful morning dove.”

Nesryn turned, rolling her eyes, to find Sartaq striding toward her. He always wore that easy grin that toed the line between confident and arrogant. She hated how handsome that arrogant smirk looked on his tanned face.

“Good morning, your highness,” she answered haughtily. The prince only laughed.

“So formal, my lovely spring flower.” He was close enough for her to swat at him.

“You are insufferable,” she scowled, but her eyes had glittered with mirth.

“Insufferably in love with a stunning warrior goddess.” The prince grabbed her by the hips and leaned in for a kiss, but she turned her lips away from him. He didn’t let that stop him, though, and he simply peppered her cheek instead. Nesryn couldn’t contain her laughter.

~~~

Nesryn hadn’t thought that anything could be more exhausting than her time fighting in the war for Terrasen.

And yet, after a day of wedding planning with Duva and Hasar, she ached down to her bones from pacing. Her eyelids drooped dangerously as she stumbled into the suite she shared with Sartaq. She hadn’t made it two steps in when she was scooped into the prince’s arms.

“Empress of my heart, you look exhausted,” he whispered into her hair. Nesryn groaned.

“I’m too tired to even object to your ridiculous pet names tonight,” she grumbled. His chuckle rumbled through her, warming her aching nerves. She was not cut out for planning a royal wedding. How would she ever be empress?

A worry she would have to put off for another day. She did not have the strength.

“I shall have to take advantage, then, of your helplessness.” Sartaq carried her to their enormous bed. “Windseeker, song of my soul.”

“Sartaaaaaaq. If I didn’t love you so much I would hate you,” she muttered as he set her down, laying her shoulders and head on a veritable mountain of pillows. Instead of circling to the other side, the prince lifted a knee and placed it near her thigh on the mattress and climbed so she was caged between his arms and legs.

“You could never hate me, my beautiful cherub,” he chuckled as she grimaced. Sartaq leaned down and pecked the tip of her nose before rolling onto her other side. A strong hand wound around her stomach and pulled her back against a hard chest.

“I’m beginning to think maybe you just don’t remember my name, and you mean to overwhelm me with affectionate trickery.” Her eyes were already closed, the sensation of his lips against the shell of her ear making her shiver with delight. Damn him.

“Nesryn Faliq. Nieth’s arrow. Former captain of the Adarlanian king’s guard. Princess of the rukhin. Queen of my heart. My future empress –“ he grunted as Nesryn elbowed him in the ribs, but he only held her closer, whispering in her ear. “There will never be enough beautiful words to describe you. But I have never backed down from a challenge.”

~~~

They were to be married the next day. As was customary, Nesryn and Sartaq would spend the night apart. They stood in the middle of their sitting room, her head resting on his chest and his arms holding her against him.

“I shall miss you tonight, light of my soul,” he murmured, raising a hand to slide fingers over her hair.

“Could you not just call me by my name, for once?” The words ground together like stone. She didn’t mean to sound so callous.

“Does it truly bother you, Nesryn? All this time, have you truly hated the way I speak to you?” Sartaq’s voice was nearly as quiet as that day he had first told her that he loved her. That day when they both thought they would never have a chance to see what their future could be. Nesryn took an unsteady breath against him.

“Of course not, Sartaq. Every word that you utter is beautiful. It warms me down to my core. It’s just…” Her voice trailed off. The prince gently unwrapped his arms and pulled back so he could see her face. His warm eyes gave her strength, and his strong weathered hands wrapped around her much smaller ones. “Sartaq… I’m no princess. I’ve spent most of my life avoiding praise for my accomplishments or appearances. They were all expectations, and I knew that – as a woman – if those expectations were not exceeded, even if the margins were slim and the odds impossible, I would be cast out. Left with nothing. I have been a warrior. Royal archer, member of the royal guard, and captain of it. I know nothing of flattering, fancy words or poetic declarations of love.”

Nesryn lifted their joined hands and pulled them against her chest, lowering her gaze to them. “Everything you say makes me feel incredible, precious, adored. Never in my life did I think I could find a future like this, a love so astounding. What bothers me is that I do not possess those skills or gifts, and I fear I cannot give the same feelings to you that you give to me.”

The silence between them… she hated it. Sartaq was always so self-assured and knew exactly what to say, but all she could hear was the sound of their breaths softly escaping. Anxiety rippled through her when he pulled his hands away, but they landed on her cheeks.

“Nesryn Faliq. My warrior’s heart,” he murmured, tilting her face up. She lifted her eyes, lips parting at the heat she saw glimmering in his dark gaze. “I fell in love with you just as you are. I fell in love with Nesryn Faliq, Captain of the Royal Guard. I have no expectations of flowery love poems or lengthy declarations of devotion. I have no need of those things. The only thing I have need of is you. Call me by my name. Call me by my title. Call me an arrogant bastard, if you feel so inclined. So long as you do it with that smile upon your face, with that love sparkling in your eyes, then I will be the most blessed man in all the world.”

Nesryn lifted her hands, fingers tracing up the strong line of his jaw. Her lips tilted up as a slow smile spread across her face. “I can do that.”

“And I call you such outlandish things, pour my heart out to you, precisely because of what you just said. You have spent your life conquering challenge after challenge. And while your skills and achievements are considerable, the world around you was not prepared to grant you the adoration you deserve for it. I strive to make you feel incredible, precious, adored, because that is what you have always deserved.” Sartaq dipped his chin, brushing his lips tenderly over hers. Resting his forehead against hers, their hands cupping each other’s cheeks, he murmured, “And I would be lying if I said I didn’t quite revel in making you blush and rendering you frustrated and speechless.”

One of Nesryn’s hands found his braid and tugged on it, a blush painting her face. But she smiled serenely, beaming at the man who would be her husband in a number of hours.

“I love you, my prince,” she whispered.

“And I love you, Windseeker,” he answered. He kissed her again, not nearly as softly but just as brief. “Tonight, I will sleep with empty arms, and then never again. For the rest of our days.” Sartaq finally pulled away, knowing rest was needed. He backed away, his gaze never wavering from hers. When he reached the doorway he leaned on it casually, crossing his arms.

“Imagine the pet names I will come up with once I can call you ‘wife’.”

Nesryn groaned and rolled her eyes, waving him off as she turned toward their bedroom. “Arrogant bastard,” she grumbled.

The prince’s rich, throaty laugh echoed through the sitting room as she slammed the door.

I have not tagged people here, since my tag list requests have come from my ACOTAR fic posts. If you would like to be tagged in any work I post, or if you have preferences as to fandom, please reach out!!

[justasparkwritings]

Merry & Bright: Baby, Please

undefined

Previous: Beacon in the Night

          Jungkook stares out the window of his bedroom, snow falling lightly, the only sound, his breath, slowly in and out. His phone, volume on, twirling absently between his fingers. In the distance, he can hear the other members laughing and yelling, their conversation and dinner prep echoing. The Yoongi’s space is attempting to be filled with their joy, as if laughing twice as hard would make up for his absence. Jungkook knows soon he’ll have to go out, pretend to be fine with the situation, and eat dinner. He’ll play make believe for as long as he can, but somewhere between dinner and the first movie or round of whatever game his hyungs force him to pick, Jungkook’s mind will slip.

           As he slips, his five hyungs will turn to the only thing that loosens him up, making his sadness bite a little bit less… Christmas Karaoke. They’ll queue the tracks, mixing in group songs with power ballads, a few hip hop and R&B tunes to balance the candy-coated sugar coma of the season, and for an hour or two, Jungkook won’t be swallowed in despair. But then, your favorite song will play, an accident, they didn’t know, and you will be the only thing on his mind. The tears will flow, mixing with whatever alcoholic beverage he’s consuming, and Jungkook will disappear into his bedroom, try not to call you, and force himself into an empty slumber.

           Instead, he’s staying on his bed, watching the snow fall in increasingly larger flakes, flurries swirling and sticking softly to the ground, building upon one another to form snowbanks.

           It’s in the middle of his reverie that his phone rings, your photo popping up.

           “Honey,” He says softly, doe eyes staring into yours.

           “Hi,” You sigh, his voice always feels like a warm embrace. It’s familiar and kind, steadfast in its ability to sooth you.

           “You look beautiful,” He smiles, eyes not crinkling at the edges.

           “Thanks, you look ethereal as always,” You smile, faltering as yours refuses to reach past your cheek bones.

           “Ethereal?” His expression is quizzical.

           “Yeah, I feel like it typically describes Jimin, but that hazy snow filter you’ve got going is just making you look so… heavenly,” You shrug.

           “You’re making me blush,” Jungkook’s smile moves closer to his wide eyes, nearly reaching as his cheeks turn a soft shade of crimson.

           “What are you up to?” You ask.

           “Sitting, feeling pathetic,” He says, the hint of a smile disappearing completely. You watch as his expression completely falls.

           “Kook,” You say, sympathetic to his pain.

           “I’m trying not to be so, sad, but it’s too hard,” He runs a hand through his hair, tussling the locks to one side, his undercut on full display.

           “I’m trying too, it just fucking sucks,” You say, instinctively adjusting your ponytail.

           “We had a plan, you know? We had a plan, we had arrangements, we had so much fun last year, and I was just so excited to share this Christmas with you, here,” His words are tumbling out of him, succinctly and organized.

           “I was looking forward to it... I bought a new hat,” You offer.

           “Oh?” He asks, happy for any sliver of joy.

           “Yeah, let me get it,” You stood up quickly, showing Jungkook your mid drift and legging clad legs as you moved through your bedroom to find your new beanie.

           “Aye, what are you wearing?” He asks, staring at the space your face was just in.

           “What? It’s a long sleeve cropped athletic shirt thing,” You answer, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

           “You look so sexy,” He says, a smirk on his lips, lust flickering in his eyes.

           “Jungkook,” You gasp.

           “Y/N,” He says eyebrow cocking.

           “Isn’t my new beanie cute?” You deflect the rising tension by placing your new cashmere beanie on your head. You bobble, showing the plush toggle on top.

           “It’s very cute,” Jungkook laughs.

           “I sent a few things to you,” You say, taking your hat off and sitting back down. “And by a few, I mean two boxes…”

           “Two boxes? How big are these boxes?” Laughter was in his voice as he waits for your response.

           “They’re standard, Jungkook,” You’re a little embarrassed by the amount of humor he’s finding in this admission of your Christmas splurge.

           “Standard? Oh my god, they’re huge!” Jungkook can’t stop laughing.

           “I got carried away, okay?” Your tone is defensive and chaste, a blush in your cheeks.

           “What’s in them?” He asks, the crinkles in his eyes present as his bunny teeth part to laugh again.

           “Goodies,” You say, trying to hide your smile by glaring at him.

           “Mm, what kind of goodies?” Jungkook settles down, taking a deep breath to tuck his laughs away.  

           “Get your mind out of the gutter, Jungkook,” You respond, faux shock laced in your words.

           Jungkook rolls his eyes at your gentle scolding.

           “What’s in the boxes?” He asks again.

           “Well, something for your hyungs,” You tell him.

           “You didn’t have to,” He’s always amazed by your generosity.

           “I know, I wanted to. It’s nothing big... I don’t know if they’ll even like it. They’re all wrapped, with their names on them. And I sent a few gifts for you, one from my aunts, one from my mom, and a few from me,” You rattle off the list, which seems far longer than Jungkook thought it would be.

           “You didn’t have to get me anything,” He says, a soft smile on his lips.

           “Jungkook, it’s Christmas,” You remind him.

           “I know, but they’re just items,” His words are delicate, he knows how you feel about the holiday.

           “I put a lot of thought into them okay?” Your annoyance is clear in the way your lips punctuate okay.

           “Hey, you know I’ll love them,” His eyes are trained on you, watching as you soften.

           “And you know, some cookies that will probably be smashed or stale… and a few, other items,” You shrug, a flirtatious look in your eyes.

           “Other items?” Jungkook raises his eyebrows, smirk on his lips. Had you sent him what he hoped for?

           “Mm, oh and something for your parents and Jung-Hyun.” You nod, signally the end of your list.

           “Jagi, you’re too sweet.”        

           “I know, my thoughtfulness is unparalleled,” You shrug at the compliment.

           “As is your humility,” He chuckles.

           “You love it,” You smirk.

           “I sent you something too,” Jungkook says, leaning back against his headboard.

           “Oh?” You’re not entirely surprised, but Jungkook has a way of getting you the perfect thing that you’d never in a million years pick for yourself. Your favorite cashmere sweater, the Chanel purse you vowed to yourself you’d buy when you made any money (which frankly, you never did), your favorite winter coat, a ring with gems from your birth months, a 14k white gold necklace with his initials, a tribute you were sure was tacky, but always made you feel closer to him… a photo album filled with your most precious memories… The year he created an entire journal full of art, poems, lyrics, that reminded him of you… You wanted for nothing, and Jungkook gave you everything.

           “Yes, it should be there soon,” Jungkook’s smile begins to falter.

           “Mine will be too,” You look down, picking at the piece of paper sat on your desk.

           “You’re not going to surprise me and send you know, yourself?” He whispers, knowing the answer.

           “No, I’m not shipping myself to you,” Your voice is hollow, eyes still downcast.

           “But can you?” His voice is small, fragile, weak.

           “Honey,” You sigh, shaking your head. “I can’t keep having this conversation, it hurts too much. It’s just one holiday. We spent decades without each other, can’t we make it through this?”

           “It’s been months, Y/N. I’ve tried holding back the tears, I’ve tried to sing and deck the halls with everyone, but it doesn’t feel like Christmas. I miss you in my bones,” Jungkook’s free hand clutches his chest, his eyelids becoming heavy as the tears start to form.

           “I feel it too… We’ve never gone this long without seeing each other,” You admit.

          The isolation of being apart from your lover for nearly a year… a year of fear, of anxiety, of sleepless nights and terrors as the world became overwhelmed by a pandemic, and the states were thrust into another round of Black Lives Matter protests coupled with an election that could be deemed as one of, if not the most, important election on American soil. All you wanted was Jungkook. His presence, ever calming, his joy, always contagious, was what your soul craved. You spent hours on video calls and phone calls, which often devolved into video sex, any form of intimacy you could muster to tie you to one another. The promotional work of BE, paired with the success of Dynamite and their Bang Bang Con and ONE concerts, Jungkook had zero ability to even try and find his way to you, or to chart a course for you to find him.

          It wasn’t fucking possible. He knew it, you knew it, and few things had been as devastating as realizing you were going an indefinite amount of time without each other.

           “Who am I going to kiss at midnight? Jimin?” Jungkook scoffs.

           “You’re performing, there’ll be so-

           “No, it won’t be you. I’m not kissing anyone except for you and our children,” Jungkook’s remark is flippant, a call back to a conversation you’d had months ago, wherein he asked where you thought your lives were headed.

           “Jungkook!” You say, eyes wide. You’d vowed to put talk of babies or marriage on the back burner until he had an idea of when he would do military service, before 30 or after. You hadn’t caught baby fever, but with Jungkook you knew it would hit and hit hard.

           “I didn’t know I would hurt this much, if I did, fuck, I would’ve flown you out sooner or come to you-

           “Jungkook you couldn’t have come to me, and there’s no way the government would’ve let me in.” Your tone is stern, moving quickly towards your limit of heartache.

           “I don’t fucking care!” Jungkook’s tears are flowing freely. You wonder if it was possible for anyone to cry us much as the two of you have in the past ten months.

           “I miss you every second of everyday,” Jungkook’s heartache punctuates every word.

           “Write me a song,” You suggest.

           “What?”

           “Write me a song, or five, fuck an entire album. Put your anguish into music, sing for me,” Your eyes are bright with possibilities.

           “I can do that,” He says, the idea sweeping over him like a wave in the pacific.

           “I’ll be here, embroidering and puzzling my sadness away,” You offer a smile. “Might as well put it into something productive.”

           “What if it doesn’t work?” He asks.

           “It won’t, I know it won’t, but can’t we just pretend it will?” You assured.

          “It’s hard to pretend my heart isn’t breaking over and over and over again.” Jungkook wipes his eyes, slightly alarmed at the number of tears he’d produced.

           “Mine is too,” Your words were soft, almost an echo of his hurt.

           “So, just, find a way to come home. Baby, please, just, come home for Christmas.”

Next: Pretend That We’re There

[coeurdastronaute]

Single 8

previously on Single

The city was dingy, dull with the weight of the winter, crispy and sullen, swollen with the long nights of rain and the overcast skies that refused to let anything melt. Buildings were obscured by the low clouds and the world was weary, so very weary from the chill and the perpetual mist that made everything slick. 

The day was heavy for many reasons, the weather included but not the worst of it, by far. Too much distracted the hero as she sat atop the Landmark building. Too many thoughts caught up with her, dousing her in the rain and the fear that she had no more control over her life. And when she found herself feeling this way, Kara did her best not to act without thinking. 

Often, her sister accused her of being rash, but she had a problem and she had to fix it. There were only so many options. But she needed time to think. It was all too much and her entire world was about to change, whether she wanted it or not. 

Kara placed her hand on her stomach and thought about her entire being, both of her sides-- the reporter, just getting the world figured out, getting her writing published, getting everything she wanted under Cat’s guidance because she worked constantly. She put in long days and ran all over town, with no one to answer to or for. 

The hero. Kara felt like she was finally figuring out how to be effective, how to save, how to balance it all. She was tired and she was growing and now, the city would go to hell because there was no way she could do all three. Two lives was barely manageable. 

And now this.

All at once the plan formed in her head. It came with an alarming clarity the moment someone punched her in the stomach and sent her flying. Her hand pressed against the slight bump there as she freed herself from the wreckage and she knew. There was a flutter there, almost constant now. 

Slowly, Kara made her way to her apartment, taking a leisurely fly, despite the weather, enjoying the freedom of her city. She needed the feeling of being unrestrained, sometimes, to keep her centered, to help her remember. More and more, Kara felt herself becoming solitary despite the wealth of people around her. She needed a little bit of self-reliance to do what was coming. 

She took a warm shower and had a large dinner, all while working over the words in her head. It was late by the time she sent the text and asked Mon-el to come over, met with winking emojis and hearts. 

“I just got back from the ship,” he greeted her, happy and kissing her cheek then neck then jaw as he entered the apartment. 

He wasn’t terrible. That was the best part. He was easy, thoughtless, a friend and a comfort, understanding her in ways that many others couldn’t. The customs of his planet were close, but never quite right. His unease on earth never quite going away. But he wasn’t the fulfillment of the prophecy. He wasn’t the love of her life, but now he was in it forever. As childish as she felt, craving bedtime stories and believing in things her mother told her, sometimes she was certain of the veracity of fairytales.

“I can make this quick--”

“I don’t have to be back until tomorrow night. We can take our time.” 

Hands moved to her hips and lips moved to her neck and for a moment, Kara let her eyes drift back as she melted into the feeling before ripping her back to reality as his hand ghosted on her stomach. 

“No, no. I have-- I have to talk to you,” Kara insisted, creating some room. 

“That sounds… not good,” Mon-el furrowed, cocking his head enough that his smile faltered slightly. 

“It depends on how you take it.” 

“Well that makes me nervous.” 

“I don’t want you to be nervous,” Kara offered, moving toward the kitchen. She poured him a stiff drink and handed it to him. “Take a seat.” 

“This is a kind way to break up with me,” he offered with a weak laugh. “At least there’s booze.” 

Kara stood there, wringing her hands and staring at the man she loved-- but wasn’t in love with-- the kind man, the human man who tried to live up to the ideal that Kara and her cousin put on for the world, the man who wasn’t human but was so human and flawed. He was one of her favorite people-- prone to fits of anger, prone to bouts of righteousness, prone to trying his best. 

“I’m just going to say it.” 

“Yes, please.” 

“But I want you to not react. Just sit with the news. I don’t need an answer or anything-- in fact I have a plan. I just can’t tell anyone else until I tell you.” 

“Kara, please. I just need to know. You’re kind of scaring me.” 

“I’m pregnant.” 

The quiet of the room was so loud that Kara couldn’t hear anything else. Her boyfriend stared at her with disbelief, his face blank and processing. His eyes moved to her stomach where her hand protectively rubbed. He furrowed and saw the bump when he knew what he was looking for. 

His drink was downed in an instant and he hissed against the pain before getting up to refill his glass and down it again. 

“You have to say something,” Kara finally managed. 

“You said I didn’t have to say anything.” 

“Well yes, initially, but I need--”

“I’m going to be a father?” he asked, the joy settling on his face finally. It was slow to form and it was through much effort, but it was there. 

“Yeah. In about six months. I just found out--”

Mon-el scooped up Kara and hugged her tightly, excited and growing to understand the news more and more. It took a beat to sink into his mind that it was about him, that he was going to do it and it was him that made this possible. 

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered, hugging her tightly. “A prince to continue the line.” 

Kara froze at the words. 

She hadn’t thought of him at all when she came up with her plan. 

XXXXXXXXXX

Increasingly pregnant and hormonal, Supergirl sat on her couch, furiously tucking into a rather large tub of her favorite ice cream while a movie hummed to itself on the television. The old black-and-white movie tried to keep her entertained, but failed as so many other things distracted her. 

Everything stopped though as her phone started to ring with multiple alerts, followed by the inevitable buzzing of her watch. It didn’t matter about the fight she’d had with Mon-el, and it didn’t matter that no one was listening to her when it came to the plans she was making. The only thing that mattered was helping. 

But by the time Kara made it, it was too late. 

The world would never be the same. 

Before anyone could comfort her about her cousin’s death, Kara left. 

XXXXXXXXXX

“You are perfect,” Kara whispered. 

Tiny toes wiggled. Tiny fingers grabbed at nothing and everything while perfect pink cheeks cried slightly. Eyes staring blankly and seeing the entire world for the first time, the infant didn’t know what to do, and so allowed herself to be coddled and swaddled and sniffed. 

“You are absolutely perfect,” Kara smiled, tears streaming down her face as she ran her nose along the small tuft of hair. 

The perfect baby smelled warm and sweet. In the hospital bed, the new mother cried as she held her new daughter, alone in the fifth floor room at the end of the hall. The baby girl made tiny noises, yawning and fighting the feeling of being born. 

“You are going to be very happy here.” 

“Are you ready to call your family?” the nurse interrupted the quiet moment. 

“I suppose I should.” 

“You can take a few more minutes.” 

Kara wanted to argue, but she really couldn’t come up with any reasons why she should delay except that she selfishly wanted to freeze this moment in time, where everything was okay and her heart didn’t hurt. 

Instead, she just nodded and kissed her daughters cheeks before letting her squeeze her finger. 

XXXXXXXXXX

“On the day you were born, the skies opened up,” Kara’s mother explained as she hugged her daughter, kissing the top of her head. “The entire city was a party.”

“Because it was Confluence Day!”

“Yes, darling,” she smiled and held her daughter tighter. 

They sat on her bed in the twilight, remembering and preparing to sleep. It was a favorite story of Kara’s to hear because it was her story-- only her’s and no one else's. In a world that shared everything, she was grateful to be her own thing entirely. 

“On the day you were born, the lanterns joined the stars with our greatest hopes and wishes, and music played so loud--”

“Even the moons were dancing.” 

“And they danced for days to celebrate.” 

“That’s a lot of dancing,” Kara realized.

“It is. And on the day you were born, the world wrote a poem--”

“Tell me the poem, Mama.”

Alura squeezed her daughter and closed her eyes, remembering the feeling of receiving her newborn, the joy she felt when she first looked into her eyes, the warmth of the tiny body and how amazed she’d been each day since as she grew into a person with her own thoughts and ideas. 

“On the day you were born, the clouds sang a song, and they told of your life, and how wonderful you would be.” 

“And the fairytale,” Kara giggled, as her mother moved, tugging up the blankets to tuck her in for the night. 

“You, my darling, are meant to unite worlds. The stars wrote it out and I read the story myself. You are going to--”

“Be full of love.” 

“Even when it is hard, even after your loses. You will love someone who can take it all from you, but you have enough faith and love to save them.” 

Kara stared at her mother, wide-eyed despite knowing the story by heart. It blew her away everytime, despite it not making much sense to her. The child didn’t know anything about love and sacrifice, but she felt the weight of her mother’s words and it motivated her. 

“Love can do that?” 

“Love is the most powerful thing in the entire universe.”

“Stronger than an atom?” 

“Stronger,” Alura promised, kissing her forehead. “Sleep well. Sweet dreams.” 

“Goodnight, Mama.” 

Despite the lights being turned out and her mother’s story, Kara didn’t sleep. The child sat on her windowsill in the dark and stared out at her sky, at the view of the planets and rings and moons and stars and the sleeping city beneath. She pressed her forehead against the window and she sighed, trying to figure out how to love so hard. 

XXXXXXXXX

“Don’t be stupid, Kara!” 

“Don’t raise your voice at me.” 

Calmly, Kara finished washing the bottles and setting them to dry on the counter. The baby slept in her room, unaware of the heated words exchanged outside, unaware of her place in the universe as the heir to the throne of Daxam. 

“My daughter is meant for more than this place, and you know that.” 

“She isn’t yours. She’s her own person who will make her own choices.” 

“My daughter will be more than just this. She is greatness and destined to lead my people as I was destined. I fought it, Kara, and look at what happened. There must always be--”

“You will not drag her into your politics.” 

“I won’t let you keep her from--”

“You will not take her,” Kara said, her teeth gnashing together as she gripped the counter tightly. “You will not make her into what you want.” 

“Kara, she is destined--”

“She will make her own decisions, and I will not have you around if you’re going--”

“You can’t keep me from her!” Mon-el yelled in his own frustration. 

“I will to protect her, and if that means keeping you away, then I will.” 

He clenched his jaw, his eyes on fire. 

“We’ll pick this up another day, when you’ve thought about it.” 

“There’s nothing to think about.” 

“There are many things we will have to figure out, but I won’t ignore what my daughter is meant for, and neither will you.” 

“You are choosing to leave and go back to Daxam,” Kara reminded him as he snatched his coat and stormed toward the door. “You are leaving her behind.” 

“To hell I am.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

“On the day you were born,” Kara began as she kissed her daughter’s forehead and snuggled up with her in her bed. 

“I was born during storms,” Katie offered as she adjusted in her bed. 

“On the day you were born, the skies were celebrating, and lightning danced and thunder played songs for everyone to sing along with.” 

“What a party,” she whispered, earning a smile from her mother. 

“On the day you were born, the entire universe celebrated, because you were born to be happy. You are a shining star built from the best parts of the sun.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“It means you are the best part of the entire world to me, and the universe knew that I needed you. You are my gift.” 

“Wow.” 

“On the day you were born,” Kara continued, tucking in her daughter, careful to wrap up the sheets nice and tight. “The trees danced, and the animals sang, and the moon as bright because you were here, finally.” 

“All of that, for me?” Katie grinned as her mother kissed her forehead.

“Sweet dreams, darling. I love you.” 

“I love you too. Goodnight, Mama.” 

Kara paused as she watched Katie hug the stuff whale Lena got her, careful to make sure her nightlight was still on. She closed the door quietly and made her way back into the living room where her girlfriend sat with a glass of wine, flipping through the specs from some of her most resent research results. 

There were not many better sights in the world than her daughter nearly asleep and a beautiful girl on her couch. 

“She’ll be out in a few minutes,” Kara promised as she poured herself a glass and took her seat beside Lena, kissing her cheek and neck as she did, earning a giggle. 

“Good. Now you can finish telling me about the prophecy.” 

“I’m sick of bedtime stories,” Kara shook her head and reached o toss aside the folder Lena was looking at. “I’d rather just spend the evening with you.” 

“My, my, Kara Danvers,” Lena smiled and wrapped her arms around her girlfriend’s neck. “You are very persuasive.”

[nonsensicalobsessions]

But You Are Mine

Prompt: Loki/OFC AU, nurse

Author’s Note: So, after an incredibly long hiatus, the Muse returned and left this story with me, so I could respond to the mystery prompt challenge as posed by Little Darlin’s AU Mystery Challenge. It was an interesting set up: I chose the pairing, and the prompt I wanted (song, dialogue prompt, or a nonverbal prompt, or AU) which would was then selected by Little Darlin.  I will let you, the reader, decide how well I fulfilled the prompt I chose and drew...

Tired. So unbelievably tired, I couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer, nor could I come up with a reason to do so.

The bath water was warm, and deep, my head was so heavy, and my eyes burned...what was the point? Rest, a persuasive voice whispered inside my head. Just close your eyes for awhile, what harm will it do? You are finally warm, after feeling so cold and miserable.

The humidity felt so good in my aching throat and the scent of almonds and honey soothed me further as I allowed myself to drift off.

Come now, Little One. You need to shake this lethargy off, and sit up.

I need to do no such thing. This voice was new, and unwelcome, and it could piss off. 

Hearing voices in my head wasn’t nearly as upsetting as it might seem on the surface. They weren’t true auditory hallucinations...most of the time. I knew I had an active imagination. Usually it was a source of comfort for me and my solitary, sheltered existence. The more upsetting mono- or dialogues I had become disciplined enough to shut out. Therapy is a wonderful thing.

You most certainly do, or else the consequences will be most dire.

Oh? Such as?

Such as, I am the only thing keeping you from falling asleep, and as such slipping under the surface of the water and drowning.

The voice was quiet, and firm. Curiously enough, it was male. Huh. A lovely baritone, come to that. Most of my voices were either female, or asexual.

I somehow think my first inhalation of water would be sufficient to wake me up, but thank you for reinforcing your poor opinion of me, whoever you are. You may go now. Just...so tired...

You are tired because you haven’t eaten in three days, nor had anything to drink for two. And you are also tired because you are barely conscious. You are quite ill and in dire need of medical assistance. Does the thought of impending death not move you at all? 

Voice, who are you and why should I even care? Voices come and voices go. None of them speak truth, they simply tell stories or say what I want to hear. Just leave me to some god damned rest for a change.

No. This god will not let you have the rest of the damned.

Oh bullshit. There are no gods. And if there are, none of them speak to me, or care enough to make their presence known. I’ve tried.

Can you not hear me answer you?

I’m dreaming. That’s all this is. And I challenge you, Nameless God—who are you, and why would you come to me now anyway? Why can’t you just let me go in peace?

Because I have been watching over you, my dear. I’ve heard you calling out to me in joy, in mischievous laughter, in rage, in despair, but most delightfully in passion...and yet, your calls have dwindled, and your supplications grown smaller, and finally silent. I came to see about you, and find you on the verge of passing beyond even my reach...why? Why have you allowed yourself to fail so grievously ill?

I repeat—who are you?

Beautiful mortal. I’m your Loki. Open your eyes.

Struggling, I managed to force my eyelids to open. It was time to force myself out of this reverie that was bound to sink my soul deeper into the mire of depression should I continue. There would be no one there, because there was never anyone there.

Crouched besides my tub, was...someone. A male figure, in armor that was casually unfastened at his throat. His index finger lightly supported my chin, as my body had in fact slipped a lot lower than I realized. Careless of modesty, I struggled to sit up, but my head felt poorly supported by my neck, and I leaned it heavily against the side of the bath. I blearily realized perhaps I was sicker than I realized, as my imagination had now exploded into full blown delusions. Auditory, visual, tactile...whee, such fun...

“You do not seem overly distressed to find me here.”

“Begging your pardon, but I fear you are not. Clearly I am spiking a temperature and am delirious. I knew I was feeling ill beforehand but had no idea...”

“Oh, you skeptical woman. You are indeed sick, in fact I am still unsure what can be done for you, but none of my favored will slip away in a bath if I can give at least some assistance to aid their passage.” And with that, I found myself being lifted, and tenderly brought to my bed, instantly dry and clad in the loveliest nightdress I’d ever seen. Certainly finer than anything I had in my possession.

“What...?”

“Darling, you deserve something beautiful. But right now, I fear your body is shutting down. You should not have neglected yourself so sorely. Why have you?”

At this point, I decided to just go with it.

“Are you then, truly...”

“Yes, I am the same Loki you’ve called out to many, many times. Your very own.”

“Why do you say it like that? ‘My very own’? Surely there can only be one of you...?”

“Little One, have you no idea how many multiverses exist? For whatever reason, I have found you, and therefore I have claimed you as mine. I do not share easily, if at all. Should another incarnation of myself suddenly appear, he would have quite a fight on his hands. You are mine. I know everything about you...how you read well past your bedtime. The many, many hundreds of thousands of words you have written, but have never shared with anyone—why? You’ve created entire universes of your own, woven wondrous tapestries filled with richness and delight, but have locked them away in secret...composed anthologies of poems...” Long fingers played with my hair as I stared into his eyes, struck dumb by his revelations as he looked pointedly at my stacks of journals that were perched on my nightstand, leaned on shelves, and even sat on the floor.

His face was a confusion for me. He wasn’t as described in the eddas, nor was he the mirror image of the MCU character.

“Of course not,” he laughed, his voice rumbling low in his chest. “I am me, and no one else. Just as you are yourself.” Drat the man, he was even reading my mind now, or at least reading my expressions...

His eyes were almost a kaleidoscope of green and blue, and his hair a rich black waterfall of wavy locks, his lips neither thin nor thick, and his teeth...I had to shake myself from getting lost in his physical magnetism. 

“I don’t know what to say,” I murmured. “If you know so much, why are you asking me these questions, and why are you coming now, when everything has gotten so bad?”

“When I saw you last, things weren’t so dire, pet,” he confessed. “I wasn’t going to manifest myself unless I thought you truly needed me. You were content, I thought—you had your life with your friends, your activities...why should I upset everything? God of Chaos and Mischief I am, but I had no desire to destroy your life for no purpose. I adore mischief and pranks. I would bring pain to you.”

“Loki, everything is gone,” I whispered, trying to contain my grief. “Everything I was striving for...I’m never going to get better, you know, the physical therapists told me I’ve hit my maximum potential. The only thing I can do is have surgery, which will be expensive, painful, and risky with uncertain outcome. There will be no one to help me recuperate, to further complicate matters. My job is at risk because I can’t keep up any longer. I’ve worked so long to help everyone else, but...”

“Now you need help, and everyone has disappeared, aye,” he concluded sadly. “I am sorry. I know you have struggled with this for a long time.”

“I never felt like I wanted outlandish things. I wanted to have a family of my own. A husband who loved me, found me physically desirable...”

“You are incredibly desirable,” Loki growled fiercely. “By the Nine, I’ve watched you as you have lain in your narrow bed of nights, wondering what ails the men of this realm that you have had to take care of your needs alone. Your body in passion has inflamed me in ways I can barely tolerate without slipping through and ravishing you without so much as a by your leave...!”

“But you didn’t” I hotly interrupted. “For whatever reason, you didn’t. Whether I was too old, too disabled, too fragile, too mortal, too unattractive...you like every other male found your pleasures elsewhere, and...”

“Be very careful,” Loki hissed. “You are close to unleashing something you know nothing of...”

“Well of course I know nothing of it, I just want a family, babies, children, I just wanted to be loved, and yet you find me about to drown in my own bathtub! And come to it, why didn’t you just leave me be? At least the pain and the loneliness and the aching would be over! What is the point, or are you going to be just as distant as all the other gods in the pantheon...!”

I didn’t say anymore, because speech was no longer possible. Loki had swooped down, crushed my body to his, and was kissing me with a thoroughness I never dreamed possible.

What need for breath had I, when there were such kisses to be had? My head was spinning, my heart was pounding, and the edges of my vision were growing dark as I lost myself in him, my hands slowly then more confidently pressing him even closer to me, so I could feel his silky locks in my fingers, his chest rising and falling.

“I warned you,” he said at last, allowing me to greedily inhale at last. “You taunt me, showing me where I may have failed in the past, but I will refuse myself no longer. I thought by denying myself the pleasure of being in your company, I was doing what was best for you, but no more! You are mine, and I will be the one to give you all, whether you wish it or not. No mortal men for you, my darling. I will have Eir herself if necessary at your bedside, and what Eir cannot heal, I shall unleash my seidr upon, and what magic cannot improve, I swear I will fetch and carry and give to you whatever you need so you will be comfortable and happy. No healer will be as dedicated. No handmaiden as constant.”

I sat back. “You...really care? You care that much?”

“Sweetling? I may be your Loki...but you?”

He leaned forward and cradled my body against his, his voice husky and tantalizing, his breath barely brushing against my ear.

“...you are my Ástvinur. I cannot, will not be without you another moment. I refuse. Seeing you about to slip away...no. I have chosen you, and you are mine.”

@sourpatchkidsandacokecan @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @hopelessromanticspoonie @winterisakiller @redfoxwritesstuff @ciaodarknessmyheart @villainousshakespeare @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @vodka-and-some-sass @theheartofpenelope @sabine-leo @wegingerangelica @the-insomniac-cat2 @alexakeyloveloki @myoxisbroken @ladyfluff @toomanystoriessolittletime

[vanessaxyvonne]

Page 58 & Heartbreaks || V + NV

When: April 27th, 2021

Where: Nearby Cafe in Downtown Santa Monica

Warnings: none.

Featuring: @niklausvondra

Nessa was still reeling after running into Nick at La Playa, maybe it was some sort of trippy high or maybe she was drunk. It had to have been fake, right? She sighed, taking a seat at the cafe with her boba tea as she buried herself into her book, basking in the silence until she heard the little bell that someone had walked in which caught her attention, and there he was, walking in...and her heart, sunk.

Nick:

Niklaus still couldn’t gather his mind around how long it has been since he strolled around Santa Monica. Ever since his parents shipped me out of country to visit his grandparents, he’s been struggling with his own demons and while that his father decided to use his journal of poems to publish without his permission to get more money into their bank. He ran a hand through his messy curls and entered the shop, looking around until he saw her again, the feeling in his gut dropping, he knew that if he turned around and right back out that would be a dick move or would it be the best choice? Without a second thought he raised his hand in a small wave.

Their eyes met. He saw her, he waved, she knows he waved, she quickly glanced, there's only one person around and they're asleep. Carefully, Nessa offered a half smile and waved back at him, after all it'd be impolite to if she didn't. Maybe he'd leave...maybe he'd stay. She wasn't banking on him staying to talk to her, after all. She could feel her heart hammering against her chest as her gaze went back to the chapter she was on, but she couldn't focus as her eyes kept glancing over to him.

Nick:

Niklaus chewed on his thumb nail and walked towards the counter, ordering himself a London fog and mentioned that he would be sitting over by where she was sitting. Ever since that incident and him running after Nicole, he knew that hurt her. Hell he hated the fact he let his sister words effect him to agreeing to cut ties off with Vanessa. He strolled up to where she was sitting and chuckled, “fancy seeing you here.”

Nessa took a sip of her tea and tried focusing once more on the pages, her mind was a fog, trying to push the last time she had seen him. The blank stare they both shared before he left...she truly thought it would be the last time she'd see him until a few days ago...until now. At the sound of his voice, her head slowly rose, her eyes meeting his, "Quite fancy," She responded with a light-hearted laugh. "I reckon you're looking for inspiration, yeah?"

Nick:

”Inspiration?” His deep voice rang out, in a questioning manner before laughing, “I’m just grabbing myself a cup of tea, wake myself up of at least attempt to wake up before going to Nikki’s to help with packages.” If his sister knew he was standing here with Vanessa, she would probably be fuming. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from keeping conversations, his heart ached, yearning but now they were two different people. Strangers.

Nessa's eyes slightly widened at Niklaus' voice. It was so deep...the last time she had seen him, there was still that hint of boyishness left in it. God, she missed him--and she hated it. "Ah, that's right, she's got the flower shop that people have been raving about," She added with a genuine smile. As much as Nicole equally broke her heart like Niklaus...she was genuinely happy for both of them. They achieved their dreams, or so she hoped. It was hard, how the person she once loved, was now a stranger. "You've got a lot more tattoos now."

Nick:

”Yeah, she’s pretty proud of the outcome. Ranting and raving about it nonstop, it’s quite tiring to hear,” nick shrugged his shoulders and chuckled, “I did...pretty soon I’m just going to be a walking doodle book, my fathers words not mine, cleaver though, who knew the old man had it in him to make jokes. “I saw that you’re making it big in the fashion world, that’s wonderful to see you making your name known.”

“That’s great!—You know aside the constant ranting and raving. Just so you know the first few years of starting up will be like that,” Nessa warned with a chuckle. She could imagine Nick being driven up the wall. She inspected his tattoos for a while before her eyes met his again, her nose going up in a scrunch as she laughed once more, this time, it was much more, her. “Well in that case you should pitch to your dad about getting washable markers or watercolors to paint yourself, you’d look like a doodle book then, yeah?” At the mention of her making it big, it tugged slightly at her heartstrings, he had always believed in her. “Yeah,” her smile softened. “Thank you. It took a bit, but they couldn’t say no to the world’s prettiest girl, could they?” She teased. Her eyes fell back to his tattoos again, inspecting the newer ones until her eyes fell on the anchor and she purposely pointed it out, “I really like this one.”

Nick:

Nick couldn’t help but to laugh, the thought of telling his dad that is amusing, he knew his mom would find it hilarious but his dad would just simply glare at him. “And even if they did say no, they’re clearly blind.” He said softly, his eyes not wavering from hers until the barista brought his tea, breaking eye contact with Vanessa and flash a smile in thanks to the barista, turning back to Vanessa. The mention of his tattoo, he looked down and chuckled, “ah yes...let me tell you, the pain of getting it was terrible but I think it turned out good.”

And there came that laugh...that laugh that Nessa missed so much, just the thought of it made her heart skip a beat as much as she tried fighting it off, it caused that same curious smile of hers to appear on her face. At his compliment she shook her head with a smile, "You've got me there. Luckily, the odds were in my favor." The way he held each other's gazes practically mirrored every moment they had together in the past. When his gaze drifted over to the barista, she smiled politely at them and closed her book, setting it off to the side to allow more room between them. "I can't even imagine," She said with a curious look. "It's amazing!--Which, I should also say too for the record I got my first one a few months ago. I figured you'd be proud."

Nick:

Niklaus had several tattoos covering his body, most of them were impulses and the others held smaller meanings, most of all he knew that it bothered his parents which was why he got them. "If it's a basic tattoo...I wouldn't be so proud." he jokingly stated, giving her a hard time when in reality, he would be proud, he was proud of whatever she does and maybe that was his downfall. Nick still wanted to know if she craved him as much as he craved her, wanting to reach out to caress her lips and even kiss them, clearing his throat at those thoughts and placing a fake smile upon his features. "I'm glad you're chasing after your dreams. I did tell you that you could make it."

Nessa tried studying some of his other tattoos without making it too obvious that she was staring. When she knew him, his arms were still bare for the most part, but now here he was, all tatted later...and looking incredible. "Well for your information it's a song lyric that goes across my ribcage," She playfully stuck her tongue out at him before chuckling. There was still this lingering ache that Nessa felt, the urge to run her fingers across the ink across his skin, the urge to run into his arms again. She instead opted to take another sip of her tea to calm her thoughts, and gave a half-hearted smile. "Yeah, you did. I just..." wished you were there to celebrate it with me..., she thought to herself. She trailed off and shook her head. "It just took a bit of time, lots of patience, but, it was well worth it.

Nick:

Niklaus nodded his head in understanding, he wondered if life would’ve turned out different if they were honest with Nicole, maybe they would’ve lasted longer. But at least, things were bittersweet and he couldn’t take anything back. “Sounds accurate, life has a way of turning out different.” He took a seat and settled in, bringing his cup of tea to his lips and slowly taking a sip. “How long has it been.”

It was at that moment Nessa wished she had talked to Nicole after everything had gone down. She should've fought harder rather than shy away, heartbroken. At least...to an extent, there wasn't too much bad blood between them. "It certainly does. Sometimes it's ugly and sometimes it turns the ugly into beauty," She smiled. At his question, she nearly froze but took a sip of her own tea to think. "Eight years," She whispered.

Nick:

Nick hummed under his breath, “Seems longer,” he replied back softly, setting the cup down on the table, his long fingers tapping against the mug and looked up at her. “I think you should try and mend things with Nicole, like you said it’s been eight years—I know for a fact she misses you,” I miss you those thoughts dwelling in his head.

"Seems much longer," Nessa nodded in agreement. She rested her chin on the palm of her hand and looked up at him for a moment. "Yeah," She sighed softly. "Eight years is long overdue. I mean we all have had mistakes we've made and all, we were young and dumb, after all," She chuckled lightly. "I miss her...and you," She admitted.

Nick:

Nick chuckled lightly, he knew his twin sister and knew that she was still stubborn and probably need to have a talk with her about learning to forgive and move on. “Right...” he tried not to overthink her words, letting it get the best of him, “but I’m sure you two will have time since we officially moved back, not going to lie, I missed Santa Monica.”

Nessa's smile dropped slightly at Nick's reaction. She had to make it known that she missed him somehow. She missed both her best friend and him...and it was hard. "Yeah...whenever she's free I could always pop by her shop or we could go out for a cuppa," She offered with a smile. "Just...Santa Monica?" She asked curiously.

Nick:

Nick pressed his lips together and nodded his head, not wanting to cross that line again. He was already hurt in the past and he knew his choice over her probably hurt him as well. “Yes, just Santa Monica.” His voice rang out in a dull tone, lifting his cup back up to take a drink.

And there it was, that reassuring moment of heartbreak. She exchanged a half-hearted smile and took a sip of her tea and dragged her book back in front of her. It wasn't just any book...it was poetry. "Well, you best get on your way so you don't miss out on the new sights and sounds of the city."

Nick:

Nick’s eyes drifted down to look at the book, the sharp inhale as he quickly pulled himself together and practice the self restrain, tapping down on the table and stood up. “Yes, sight seeing...very American. I’ll see you around Ness, and I suggest reading page 58.”

Nessa tried not to make eye contact with him for a moment to gather herself, her thoughts, trying to push down every bit of heartbreak. Finally she took a breath, her gaze was emotionless, "I'm sure you'd need it," She suggested. Before he walked off, she breathed out, "Did I really...mean nothing to you, Niklaus?" She asked.

Nick:

He paused, his voice stuck in his throat and looked out the window before glancing over at Vanessa again, giving her a small smile. “I have to get going, after all, it’s a gorgeous day.” Nick avoided the subject and resist the urge to reach out to squeeze her shoulder, taking a step before adding, “page 58.”

Nessa furrowed her brow when he completely avoided the subject which revved her up. Sometimes, Nick was infuriating like that, but she sighed and smiled a rather...poster-like smile. "Right..you're right." Looking back at her book, she was just two pages from page 58 and she huffed, flipping to the two pages until her heart dropped. For a moment she stayed quiet until she said, "And in the end I will seek you out amongst the stars. The space dust of me will whisper I love you into the infinity of the universe."

Nick:

Nick walked out with his cup in hand and left the cafe, smiling as he felt the sun warm him up, something he hasn’t felt in a long while. He started walking towards his sisters and glanced over his shoulder to look at her one last time and out of sight.

Nessa looked up to stop him to see that he had left and she sighed, closing her book and shutting her eyes. This was just another test. He'd always run from her...it was like trying to holding water, always slipping through the cracks of your fingers. 

[generallynerdy]

And when I am called to quit this life, my feet will not spurn the sod (Cody X Fay)

Summary: Cody is dying. He can feel it. For a second, when a gorgeous, terrifying woman stands above him, he thinks that he’s hallucinating in his final moments. But then, she’s healing him. Fay is too late to save any of his siblings, but she’ll do her best to save this one commander. In the process, she finds something made of darkness in the man’s head, shrieking at her touch. Could this be a lead on the Sith Lord she’s chasing?

Warnings: Blood and Injury, Major Character Injury, Burns, Fake Character Death, Fix-It of Sorts, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Near Death Experiences, Mentions of Rako Hardeen Arc, Vomiting Word Count: 2,115

Author’s Note: this is the first of many star wars one-shots that won’t leave my brain,,,please don’t convince me to make any of them into a series because I’m a weak bitch and I probably will. I didn’t know Fay existed until I read a few fics with her and now I’m in love whoops. Title is from The Optimist, a poem by J. W. Hammond. WOW this is a rarepair, I actually think it doesn’t have any other fics on AO3? Wow. What have I done.

Read the rest of the series on AO3

*

Cody is dying.

He can feel it as easily as hunger or exhaustion, despite the ringing in his head.

The explosion was massive and he was at the forefront of it. No, wait, that's not right. He was the furthest from it. Why was he far away? The memory is fuzzy.

He gasps, pained, wheezing, as he tries to move, tries to speak. Fire crackles around him, smoke and dust filling the air. His lungs burn with it and he's certain there has to be something impaling him because it hurts more than just a bruised lung. Why does he know what that feels like?

The men. He was leading the men away when the explosion happened. There were mines in the ground, he didn't realise-- oh Ka'ra, how many are dead? How many--?

He tries to sit up again and stops, falling back when he hears screaming. It takes him a long moment to realise that it's his voice, his screams.

"Peace."

Cody thinks he's hallucinating it, maybe imaging the voice of an angel in his final moments. *He must be, he decides when a woman appears above him, her dirty blonde-- almost brown, really-- hair falling over her shoulder to reveal a pair of slightly pointed ears. Her eyes are bright despite the frown on her face, almost eerily so.

Cody doesn't know why he's imagining some sort of Sephi woman come to take him away. He generally finds the men of the species more appealing.

"Keep breathing, Commander," she tells him, her voice light and airy, but determined in a familiar way. "You'll be able to do it without it hurting soon."

Cody coughs a little, trying to ignore the taste of blood in his mouth and the fact that it's dripping down the side of his face, too. He can barely get in any air, but he tries to speak regardless. She can't be his imagination. No, she would've called him Kote, not by his title.

"Who--?" he tries to say.

"Shh, keep your strength," she murmurs.

He can't see what she's doing, but with a jolt of movement, the pain in his chest becomes stronger and he screams again, almost against his will. The thing that was impaling him is gone-- she removed it.

Panic rises in him. He’s going to bleed out. He’s going to die right now, right here, in this mysterious woman’s arms.

“Breathe,” she warns again, firmly this time.

Cody wants to laugh, wants to tell her she sounds like General Kenobi with that heartbreaking last-minute, death-bed hope. He usually has nothing to hold onto, nothing but the people around him and he holds them fiercely. If this were him, he would refuse to accept that Cody is slipping away, not until his last breath.

What he fails to realise is that this woman isn’t denying his death because she doesn’t want it to happen; she’s denying it because she can and will prevent it.

He flinches as best he can when he feels her hands peel apart his armour. It’s burned into his blacks and when it pulls off his skin, he wants to scream again but makes a weak, wounded noise instead. Then, her hands on his bare chest, fingers pressed against his wounds.

“Buy me a-- a drink first,” he wheezes out, chest heaving.

Her laugh is a song, which is a stupid, cheesy thought that sounds like something out of Rex’s holofilms. Cody almost wants to bleed out just for thinking it.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re exactly like your Progenitor?” she asks dryly.

He snorts. “He was the rough draft. I--”

The gasp leaves his throat without his permission, a flaring heat stretching out from where her fingers meet his chest. It surrounds his entire body, cradling him in a gentle heat and almost numbing his pain.

When it reaches his head, however, a stab of pain goes through his skull. He writhes with the wave of intense pain, vision going fuzzy with tears.

“Stop, stop, stop--” he begs, sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes out, moving to rest her hand on his face. “It’s not me.”

Her fingers are cold against the heat she’s brought on, ice-cold as they dance across his skull, seeking out the source of his pain. They stop on a spot on the right side and press firmly there. When Cody gasps again, she stops as quickly as she started and the heat recedes from that place in an instant.

“Let any Sith in your head lately?” she asks.

He shakes his head viciously. “No, no-- why?”

“We’ll worry about that later. Take a deep breath.”

Attempting not to focus on that worrying tone, Cody does as she says, inhaling as deeply as he can, though it hurts. The moment he gets a good breath in, the warmth intensifies.

His eyes widen, terrified, but then it’s all gone; the warmth, the pain, the dizziness, the fuzzy vision-- everything. He flings himself up from the ground, hand flying up to his head. His fingers still come away bloody, but he can tell the wound is gone.

“How did you--?” he starts to ask her. He sees her robes and stops immediately. “I didn’t know Jedi could do that.”

She smiles. “Most can’t, I admit. It’s taken me a long time to learn. Anything still hurt?”

He pauses, assessing, before finally shaking his head. “Thank you. Did-- did anyone else--?” He hesitates to ask.

Watching her face fall is a punch to the gut. “No. I’m sorry, Commander, but you were the only one still breathing when I arrived.”

Cody shuts his eyes tightly, willing away the tears that threaten to break again.

So many siblings. So many gone, all but him. It always seems to end this way, he thinks bitterly.

“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,” he whispers.

He jumps when the woman places her hand on his, eyes opening. “Commander, I know you’re grieving and recuperating, but the Separatists will be all over this field soon. I have a request to make of you.”

Cody frowns. “General?”

“Ah, just Master,” she corrects, her smile a little sad-- something Cody has noticed with many Jedi when he calls them that. “Master Fay.”

“Marshal Commander Cody, of the 7th Sky Corps and the 212th Attack Battalion.”

Her smile widens. “Obi-Wan Kenobi. He’s lucky to have you.”

He glances at the ground, but only for a fraction of a second. “Thank you, sir, but I think it’s the other way around.” He pauses. “You said something about a request?”

“What I felt in your head...it was pure darkness,” Fay mutters.

She reaches forward again, the tips of her fingers on the very spot she’s speaking about. Cody finds himself leaning into the touch, reminded of the sharp difference between her skin and the heat that had come over him. He stops when she smiles a little at the movement, somewhat sheepish.

“Obi-Wan thinks I’m dead,” she says abruptly.

Cody blinks a few times. “Pardon?”

Fay sighs. “Myself and three other Masters faked our deaths so we could hunt the Sith Lord over Dooku. I think that they might have to do with whatever is in your head; it has the same darkness.”

He knows what she’s asking of him before she even finishes.

“You want me to come with you. If I disappear, they’ll assume I died in the explosion,” he works out.

Again, the smile that comes over her expression is sad. He’s clever, Fay thinks, like many of his siblings, but it doesn’t make her feel any better about the offer. She would never wish this fate on anyone, no matter the blood on their hands.

“I don’t want to take you from your family,” she admits, “but you may hold the key to finding the Sith Lord in your head, Commander.”

“I--” he pauses. “General Kenobi faked his death once. It felt-- It felt like the galaxy was ending. When he came back, I was...pissed. Couldn’t look at him for weeks. If I do the same thing, I don’t know if they’d forgive me.”

His thoughts drift to Rex. Rex would kick his ass for even thinking of pulling a Rako Hardeen.

And what about the other commanders? After Ponds...well, Cody doesn’t think they’d be able to lose anyone else.

But they could end the war. This is different from just catching a handful of bounty hunters trying to kill the Chancellor, this is saving the galaxy. What kind of soldier is Cody if he passes this up?

But what kind of soldier is he if he abandons his men?

(Good soldiers follow orders. Good soldiers follow orders.)

It’s not like he has much of a choice in this matter, though. He can’t exactly explain his miraculous survival of the explosion or the fact that he’s completely uninjured. What would he tell General Kenobi? That a long-dead Master healed him?

And how could he live knowing there was something dark in his head? Not ever finding out what it was?

“I’ll come with you,” he declares finally. “I need to know what this is. If it helps end the war, I have to.”

Master Fay grimaces. “You don’t have to do anything, Commander, if you don’t want--”

“I want to. I want to save my vode, sir. I can’t let this --” he gestures to the chaos around them, “--happen to any more of them.”

Fay lets out a deep breath. Cody is something. He and Obi-Wan must make quite a pair.

“Alright,” she says. “You’ll have to leave the armour; it stands out too much.”

He nods and takes her offered hand, standing with her. “I want to leave something for my brother, Rex. He won’t say a word, I trust him.”

“And I trust you, Commander,” she says with a smile. “I’ll contact the other Masters and give you a moment.”

“Sure, sir.” After a second, he clears his throat. “And, uh, Cody is fine.”

Fay hums. “Cody? You don’t have to call me sir. Just Fay. Or Master, if it physically hurts you to keep from using titles.”

Cody can’t help but laugh. “Thank you, Master. I’m glad we understand each other.”

*

Rex feels sick standing over the explosion site.

“Rexster? Rex?”

He snaps back into attention, finding a worried Ahsoka squinting at him. “Sir?” he asks, hoping it doesn’t come out as broken as he is.

Her grimace tells him that it does.

“We don’t know that he’s down there, Rex,” she says softly.

Rex swallows roughly. “Yeah.”

He’s trying to keep the hope, but it starts to fade with every step they take and every body they find. Not a single one of them made it out alive. He knows, logically, that Cody would have been at the front of the squad and the farthest from the explosion, but the damage is extensive.

“Sirs! Over here!” Jesse calls.

The sight of Cody’s armour, splattered with blood and reeking of burnt flesh, makes Rex gag. He has to rip off his helmet and duck away from the Generals, Ahsoka, and Jesse, retching.

When he returns, General Kenobi is kneeling beside the pile of displaced plastoid, grief etched on his face. He picks up a vambrace with shaking hands and lets out a weak breath. Ahsoka, meanwhile, sobs, letting General Skywalker pull her into his side.

Rex steels himself and moves toward them again, waving Jesse off when he gives him a concerned look. He kneels beside General Kenobi, who puts a hand on his shoulder.

He picks up Cody’s helmet, numb.

He can’t even find it in him to cry.

The Generals give him a long time there to think, to grieve. Jesse stays by his side, waiting and watching his six.

"Ni partayli, gar darasuum,” Rex says, finishing the remembrance. He holds Cody’s helmet in his hands, pressing his forehead against it in a Keldabe kiss. Despite himself, he chokes out; “Ni partayli, vod.”

He opens his eyes, meaning to pull the helmet away, and stops abruptly.

There’s something carved on the bottom of Cody’s visor, in Mando’a. Rex frowns. That’s a new addition, he’s pretty certain, at least since the last time he saw his brother.

It takes everything Rex has in him not to sob with relief when he translates it.

Cody is a stupid bastard and he loves his stupid bastard brother. He’s going to kill him.

Rako.

Fucking Rako.

“Wherever you are, I hope you know I’m gonna kick your ass when you get back,” Rex whispers to the helmet as if Cody is there with him. “And all the commanders are gonna help me.”

*

River’s Tags: @hahaboop & @mystoragehatesme

Masterlist

[adanfourty]

Life In Neon ~ cHapters Of the dreaMing hEart

Part I: A Piece Of Mind

----------------------- I. Simple abundance in an empty life II. Stop III. Projection IV. Come To Theism V. Enter the Threshold

Part II : The Sea of Moonlight ------------------------------ White Feathers Atrium Universal Rain Shade Naissance Home

Part III: Pandora's Clock ------------------------- First. Second. Then I see you Third. Air Fourth. Trumpet of Million's child Fifth. Realitv Sixth. Water Seventh. Closure Finale. Memoire, a scene in a lifetime

Part I: A Piece Of Mind

----------------------- In A Room Without A View

When there is reason, I awake in silence

Please enter, The door is open

I. Simple abundance in an empty life ...

The scent of passion after loneliness A hope of jubilation in life Coming closer to a dream A prelude before the plot

This time, the sunset becomes sunrise in my heart

Her sway, wavering in soft motion Guarding, away from polarity

She is herself not another other than her own self Only she can dance alone without a hint of loneliness That whiff of uncommon independence without arrogance With her right palm always open to the wind, A sign of welcomed company, only if she grants

She's a prelude to a drama An overture to a rhapsody

II. Loose-skin-loose drift, truth abuse truth to mute [St*p]

A new consciousness arises from the abyssimal gap, along with the voices of the singing colours, with the company of colourful rain.

A sighs escapes her as her old consciousness deteriorates.

Though silence is golden, it can also be a sign of unbelievable pain.

Terribly one sided, the consciousness gains space only in her extreme. Though it resembles a lesser four letter word, it cannot be spelled as of yet.

To her it came, through her it goes.

It escapes with swiftness by the way of her fingers and unto the three middle strings.

Now the top.

Now the bottom.

A play of ease and enjoyment, like a teardrop of meaning. There's release and meaning in her words, spoken through the melody escaping her fingers. Weaving phrase by phrase into sentences. Line by line into paragraphs. And chapter by chapter into a story, written in the air to her listeners' ears.

She tells her tale.

A drop of colour in melody's landscape First vivid, then lucid, then luminous The story of song and emotion, of motion and sound

Hikari luminates her enticing configuration Dancing fingers, dancing harmony Another conciousness slowly takes presence...

III. Grapple dream drama and colliding day of another mind [?`jection}

She said that fate can intertwine and leave you speechless Between your eyes and mine we share the same story Especially in this corrupted world of mounting decadence Nothing can hold truth and honesty together

As I wave my hand in the air, I motion you to come closer Start this endless romance

Not between you and I But between trust and committance

Wait for silence Wait for sleep Wait for peace

Then we can touch ..in dreams..

Metropolis doesn't want us to sleep Less it let us inhabbit our dreams Only to pieces of the shattered It can only resolve in our disloyalty

Total mindcrime it says, cannot rebuke There's no rebutle, but an end of statement

Pandemonium clouds temporary judgement A short analysis of ourselves

We cannot be subjected to distinctive terms We are fictional

City of blurring lights in swaying darkness Inverse luminary overshadows heartly judgement

"Tell me more..." "Tell me about myself"

IV. Let silence fall assunder as a boundary (ome to 7heism

Escape in makna ~e%ca]>e~ Don't let it be abstract

Have we been transformed? Apostle of today's corporate culture

Would you have changed a thing ? Destruction of the left brain regime

There is a cycle, which determines life and dharma In the starlit sky of human's silver sea of madness On the seeming horizon, inately seen A lonely silver surfer, Comes to push the wheel for me.

"Gotta move" (

"Gotta move" ^

"Gotta move that wheel right round" )

"Push the wheel of dharma round"

Repeat,

Repeat until the end of perdition

This re|>etition is road to redemption

This hand, can you feel it's touch? Now don't let go.

V. Enter this threshold, where you're }afe w/ m{E

Could it be that you and I have grown to love each other, In the dense aura of this lonely city, full of bitterness? True feelings can never hide much long, For whatever covers, cannot hide from true sight

The wind carried your cries, your wishes, your tears. And when I held my hand out to the sky, I caught some of your dreams.

The misty air partialy hides the growing flowers Blooming without sunlight, to the music of the marionettes Quartet players with classical aptitude Flowing melody in rivers of song

Endless...

Love, love, love, love, beautiful life In the eyes of a lover

Love, love, love, love, merciful touch As if in another dream

Dahlia...

Yes we are, I say we are destined Nothing else but nature that guides The wind, the solstice, the leaves Le ciel's faint whispering Warm snow welcomes this gardenia

Let's enter together...

Part II : The Sea of Moonlight ------------------------------

I dream of a blue nightingale

Not a dream. a perchance SDelirium guide me through this dance

a pointer. an address SPathway leading to this glass

not a form. a code SLanguages, conversations I do not recall

From a faraway place . . . The structured becomes the harmonic, then the frail

White Feathers: ---------------

Start of a lasting imperfect feeling A blissful impression unhindered This slight cut, an apothema Sweetening the shape of a tale

More poetry than justice A judgement in a poem

The tale paints itself a caligraphy Cornering prose to naratic ballad

Few words write themselves as prelude to a dream An overture towards realization Forging a small footstep for an elegy A move towards the end of a chapter

Before planting a kiss on the cheek Take a step out of square one

Atrium Universal: -----------------

I can feel the city itself Living, pulsing through me

I can feel the city itself Breathing in my own breath

At night's first saunter Tides, affairs subtly sweeping

Affairs yielding agnomen Pastly borrowed, then lent, now buried

Not a monumentous rite, A forecourting repose of endeavor

Melfluous, degree, decimal

The wall, the crack, the breach A light, a hope, A piece of reverence A sigh, a gleam, A benevolence

Neon. again a blinding, Charges, pistol, crackpot

Rain: -----

Swaying Petals, Fluttering Sight

Resting in silence Peace in the chaos that surrounds

Hiding within metropolis' fog

Out of reach Out of touch

Lit lanterns sway westbound Path seeking seem astray

Only patience can persevere Only time can lead the way

Only a woman

"A deepened interlude as an intro to a greater truth."

In phrases she speak In riddles she keep

Feel, a longing to be Only little she has

Not much left in her palm Desperately trying to keep

Err on the side of safety

"Here belies the safety of my sanctuary."

Trusting no one Careful not to love

Metropolis. weaves her coccoon

Silence within a storm

Survival is her language Passion is her secret

"Lesser I believe in myself, so I hide."

Shade: ------

A tide to ebb, A shoreline A flow, a motion A gaze

Once, a woman Twice, a sun Thrice, a nephentes

I feel the breze A neophytic caress, innocence So much to long for So much to ebb and lose

Subliminal violence An abstract for laterality

I'll always remember The news of a fog, The songs of a deaf

No echo in the halls No lesson but in our own

A feeling, inside her Notwithstanding a fall Silence for the requiem Not now, not for awhile

This feeling, inside me A pace not too far from fiction Splitting images on one screen My futile vision embracing

His feeling, inside him Bewildering encompassion of a trilogy Another mind, a friend, a rushed exemption Coming closer to a closure, then rebirth

Naissance: ----------

The birth of a soul, Deus ex machina

I feel a distant sun caressing A slow perchance for fate and fancy intertwined

What cometh this way Grasping scars emerging from days past

What shroud cloaks this day A slow immedicine, The unsounding of my parts

My love, a mirror, a friend It needs a chance, a chokepoint degapped

Heal me, A cessation from discrepancy

[tides of Helen]

This time window we must cherish, You and I and eye of The All Seeing

There's none other, Than the mindmaze in the mirror

I became, I bethroned, I abjected Thread, my dearest thread I dearly depart myself, bidding A home for a respite

Home : ------

The walls cry of absence and whispers

A slight touch of the palm graces, The plight of the plaintiff behind the fate Cursors move up the struggles of the vein, Inconclusive ill of melancholy

This notion of separation, Reaps the heart to its dires On bended knees we sink, At this river of futile tears

The ambience of loneliness and division, Portrudes above our conscious minds Heisting the current abode, Unfathomable desire to mutually caress

Beyond this boundary exists my other half Beyond this wall lies another...

Another,

Sustain contain then stop the ambience surrounding My speechless thought echoes throughout without surpass

and another,

Oboete [remember] Never forgetting specified frame of memory First clandestine then disctinction to final separation

and another,

..

I hear this loudness from inside my ears Humming, fainting whisper, to a soft speech

and another.

...

No more can I reject my objection towards presence PLighT is a revocable sister of her brother, fate

And you.

I miss you

The corridors of fate seems to form an unwanted maze No escaping reflective clarity, images beyond seen mirrors

Such is the configuration of this longing A lamentable presence, expelled from fate

It has been two long years, It has been an eternity

Your modulating kiss fades from memory As each deafening ambience ravage me

I, to my heart : [Perhaps to silence, I have spoken for far too long.]

Now the peregrine, Now the calmative

a boundary of mist separates while the only road leads to home

I've nowhere to go But to return to the confines of my sanctuary

[pulang]

Y've reached I home

Part III: Pandora's Clock -------------------------

I have come at a crossroads A silent tantrum of mind and consciousness

Please take my hand Brace the future with me

First.

The solitude of a solitary mind At this junction of overlaping converses

A gaze, then a hand A reach from inside

The solitude of a solitary mind At the junction of overlaping converses

A gaze, then a hand A reach from inside

[E] "Would you dance with me?"

Dec, the 12th of each cycle A courtship between Soleil and Capricorn

Of your latter solstice I find my solace Under luminous frost After a day after days before a new season

[Dahlia] Rest dear Soleil Shine a lesser warmth Shine greater southbound

Then through motion and period Embrace at former solstice

A garden in winter Not far from closure Enclosed in glass And luminosity

Come dear lucidity Let us speak to warm ourselves Let us become classic

One past, presenting a future

In this garden we trust Grace a prelude to truthful fancy

In this garden we lust Skin to skin without a mindful hinderance

In this garden we bind fire and ice

A simple presence felt between us and our dance Resultante, Of motion and perceived decadence

.the second conciousness.

A girl in the mirror Yet to set her feet, Yet to step to the real

A face becoming clearer Vivid smile doubtful eyes

Is she to be welcomed?

Don't let her future mimic the past This is not a point of vacancy Don't let time's vagrancy become turmoil This is a coming whirlwind

A new stream of conciousness is the resultant There can be no regret

Sleep, breathe deep, deeper in a shallow sleep

This is a form of regression Unfolding a dream of recurrence

~Mataku From my eyes

.Mata Ku. To eyes of myself

..Ma Ta Ku.. Then my own eyes

...Mata Milik Aku... These eyes are mine

[E] A cyclic process of birth, death and rebirth Sequential teardrop from a cloudless sky Freefall to a deep mirror of factful fallacy far from fiction

More to truth full of lies and truth, then lies, and lastly truth The answer to a riddle of the sequences and the abstract

A fracture of this mindspace leaks into the open Bequeathing beautiful lies of autumn and of lust But the winter in me is still vast, far from passing Not a drop of colour but a blackless landscape of total blur

Second. Then I see you...

On a road once shared before the crossroads Gleaming with a blueish haze of tenderness Before the coming of daylight's echoing shine Take me to a world outside this shallow sleep

Walking to currentness.

Cascading deep dark blue shade follow folly Interred in my living bones, blades of blunt burden Remain in viewable secrecy, lucidly reasoning for an answer Unwritten forgiveness uttered through a wordless whisper

Reflections, There's me in my head and me in the mirror I can see me very clearly, and I don't like it

The vivid image of reflection has a mind of it's own Why do reflections answer me with such prejudice?

...

A revisitation, A reflection of light Duplicating a world Forming an inversion Making you, Not quite yourself

...

Cascade the masks of emotion to emulate prudence Infer I have, that this is a motion of incredulity

I remain

Asking The Heaven for forgive~ness My hope is now in the clarity of my written bequest

Third. Air

Interlude to preciousness

The world is only an interlude I can't wait for the night to cast it's cloak {of dreams}

A gateway to my paralel life, another conciousness Lucidly living in a shallow sleep

Fourth. Trumpet of Million's child

Dawn to daybreak with a string of trust Warm caress of loyal sunlight Distress and jubilance harbours, Away the stray

A soulful sailor's song Lamenting grace and riddance

Yearly yearning without regard Clasping for release

Melding heartplace and effect Arriving distances to encumbrance The headplace earthing Excelling to explace

Love is a peaceful embrace A feeling, most emtious Of innocence in riddles of sin and temperance A forgiveness for the plightful son

[E] I found who I am at last By a glimpse of fate, enduring A slight mention in destiny A moment alone with my dear fate

A close brush, an eventful sigh Relief, a respite to sensefulness

One last time, Take away my breath

Deliver me my chance, To exhale my last sigh

[Dahlia] I am standing on a ledge A stare to this decending fathom

Cold air sweeps behind me As I tearfully leave my presence

I cannot give you more I cannot be a fitting piece

Musing over life and precedence. Now I'm tired.

I've tried so hard to stay afloat. I'm too tired.

Goodbye now, For I am never truly gone

Fifth. Realitv

[E] A life outside of this TV screen A roundabout of moving pictures preceeding Of passion, of circumstance, of changes My faults and lies, my trials and crimes

Curious apprehension of what may yield I behold to myself, my own mindsight A view to a thrill, a dream of a dream A dull lucidity, a makeup of frigidity

My past turns present My presence sinks into the past Another besetting recurrence Another triumph lost

Sixth. Water

[E] How is my lifeline?

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. A freight train coming my way.

There is a door nearer to the right. Marking exit from a disaster.

(Not out of lifeline)

But indeed. It is I, myself who can save me. It is I, myself who conjured the door. It is I, myself who live my life. Not someone else.

And it is I, myself who choose what I believe in. Not someone else not me.

I'm still breathing, I can still exhale Without hesitation, normalcy without change A sense of endless freedom without boundaries Miracles coming at an enjoyable rate

Now here's that jazz [0}

Flood of tears don't drown me You'll never catch me again crying a flood Now that I'm holding on to my dearest hope I have to hold her gently Careful not to break her to pieces

Seventh. Closure

Strewn paleness, The setting sun colours the sky

A thousand rays bidding farewell, Bidding another rest

And I wish I am not here

Wavering clouds speak with the doves A faint sentence caught in my ears

"There's nothing left to hide."

My melodies will take me Wherever this heart is needing to set

You took away all my strength, Now please take away my pain

Leave my cold outside this shell Never let it rain inside these doors

Please lead me to your promises Then please take away my pain

I am in need of refuge

This is the final scene Before the curtain falls . .

Please, Make me believe in hope, And please take away my pain

Finale. Memoire, a scene in a lifetime

Now I must rest, I must be at peace

Hibernating from culture PlacIng membrane, a distance to bid myself

Sayonara for a moment Please do not forget, oboete my dear Remembrance is for sentient bliss

Keep me in your mind And please, bathe your memory of me in absolution

[cchexmex]

Kotalblack, more voice fluff. Leaves of Grass, Song of myself-Walt Whitman.

“Cross my heart, that’s what happened. Left a nice shoe impression on his stupid forehead.” A gruff laugh, ending with a low and long sigh. Kotal chuckled, pressing his face tighter against Erron’s chest-chasing the sound. Another sigh, Erron drifted his hand between Kotal’s shoulder blades-pressing into him with the palm of his hand, hard circles, pushing away the tension that laid in his muscles. “I’m boring you with my stories, ain’t I?” Erron chuckled, his voice teasing-almost a whisper. It brought a smile to his face, each story from him, no matter how many times he told it-always filling him, words that comforted and stilled his mind.

“Never...” Arms linked around his waist, he squeezed gently-bringing out a grunted laugh from Erron “I could listen to you speak all night...”

A soft hum from Erron, he looked up-catching the sight of his rucksack tossed onto a corner of the headboard. “You wanna hear a few poems? I know how much you love them...”

One poem, long enough to count for more. The book held up in Erron’s hand-small silver wired spectacles pushed up high on the bridge of his nose, free hand scratching softly at Kotal’s skin. “I celebrate myself, and sing myself, and what I assume you shall assume. For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.”

Melting, heart singing in his chest. The smell of the book-tattered and old. Water stains marked dark on stiff pages. A book he’d often pull out on a slow day, pencil in hand. Scribbles Kotal had been offered glances of, drawings pressed on top of pages where text had faded. A well worn book, words read out loud on warm breezy days-tucked under the shade of broad trees, sentences read in turns, words memorized. Muscles becoming looser, another squeeze while he still could-the warm embrace of sleep calling out to him as he listened to each word and listened to each thump of Erron’s heart. In and out, the swish of hot blood throughout his body-the drum of life of the man he loved beating brightly in his ear.

“What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children?” Erron spoke slowly, a soft pause between each word-taking in low breaths of their shared air.

“They are alive and well somewhere. The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, and if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, and ceas’d the moment life appear’d.”

To sleep with his voice lingering in his head, to wake with that voice calling out his name. Sinking deeper, mind blanketed by warmth and the smell of him heavy in his nose-the thump of his heart the most beautiful sound in his ear.

Words in his language spoken, reaching him like light drifting through leaves-so painfully soft, gentle words that always left him feeling like his chest was bursting. The stumbled hiccups of syllables, the stop and go pauses as he tried to form the words, gone. Just the soft assured tone, spoken effortlessly-yet he could hear all the meaning behind it, hear the heat and feel the life he gave to them. He tightened his grip around his waist-burrowing his face further against Erron’s chest, feeling the squeeze of pressure around his shoulder as Erron held him tighter. “I love you, Erron.”

[taehyungiestummy]

Stuck -- Chapter Ten

Masterlist     Previous     Next

Word Count: 4444

           “I can’t believe this day has come,” I sniffle, holding back tears as Emily and I say our goodbye. “We’ve been together for so many years. Joined at the hip, some have said. Now, we are in an airport about to part ways for a while. It’s crazy.”

           “I love you too, Amber,” Emily tucks some hair behind ear. “This hurts me too. I’m leaving the love of my life, good friends, and the best friend I have ever had.”

           “It’s been so long since we’ve been separated for a long period of time,” I feel a tear run down my cheek.

           “Hey, don’t cry,” she stealthily wipes the tear away with the side of her index finger. Not messing up my glasses in her action.

           “We’ve lived next to each other for years. Been in almost all the same classes. I’ve never imagined having to part like this.”

           “You’ll be fine without me. It’ll go by fast, anyways.”

           “I know. It doesn’t make the pain go away. I’ll hurt for now, and these seven boys will cheer me up.”

           “I have no doubt about it,” she tenderly smiles at me.

           “They hate seeing me sad,” I giggle, feeling some sadness drift away.

           “Text me as often as possible. Tell me about anything and everything. Plus, it’s easier than calling, and I know I’ll be calling Joonie a lot.”

           “I should let you say goodbye to him now,” I fidget with the end of my sweater sleeves.

           “Just give me a hug already, you dork,” she grabs me by the shoulders, pulling me into her. “You are overthinking what is going to happen to our relationship while we are apart,” she whispers to me. “Don’t. Stop it right now. Nothing is going to happen. This is me showing tough love, so don’t take it any other way.”

           “I’ll try to stop overthinking,” I whisper back. “I’m sure I’ll be fine in a couple hours. It’s just, the initial parting is hard.”

           She holds me out by my shoulders, smiling as she takes me all in. “You know, I’ll be planning your birthday party on my ride home.”

           I smile, shaking my head. “Great. Another birthday of surprises.”

           “You know you loved it.”

           The two of us giggle, hugging one last time. Then I’m walking away so Namjoon can say his goodbye.

           Taehyung is sitting in a chair by our gate, arms open for me as I make my way over to him. “Come here, princess. Let me hold you.”

           I place my backpack in the empty seat next to him before climbing into his lap. My head rests on his shoulder as I grip his shirt.

           “You are strong, jagi,” he kisses the top of my head. “What do you want to do on the plane?”

           “Read,” I blink away the tears.

           “Perfect, I actually made you a playlist for when you read.  It’s mainly classical music, or instrumental versions of songs. Piano covers are very pretty, so there’s a lot in the SoundCloud playlist for you. Also a few slow songs with singing at random throughout. Like good break points so you don’t burn out while reading.”

           “That’s very sweet of you, Tae. You have to make me playlists for other things.”

           “I remember you saying you like to listen to music while reading, but it always seems to distract you. I just wanted to help, and expand your music tastes.”

           “I’m excited to listen to it as I drown myself in a book.”

           “What else do you want to do?”

           “Have another Hangul lesson. Yesterday was good, but I’m excited to learn more. We need to review what you’ve taught me already too.”

           “We can do that,” he rubs his hands over my back. “Are you going to play Pokémon on your DS?”

           “Maybe,” I smile, looking up to see Taehyung smiling down at me. “Do you want to watch me?”

           “A little bit,” he shyly smiles. “You are cute when playing video games.”

           “I also want to write, but not poems. I haven’t written a real story in so long, and I have somewhat of an idea for something.”

           “Looks like we have a lot to get done,” Taehyung kisses my nose.

           “Little one, I have breakfast,” Yoongi walks up to Taehyung and me, handing me a bagel with cream cheese. “Jimin and Jungkook are coming with the rest for everyone else, so you will have milk soon enough.”

           I maneuver to be sitting up more and give Taehyung more mobility with his arms. “Thank you. This is just what I needed. Food and my friends.”

           Yoongi runs his fingers through my hair. “You look like you need to recharge, girlie.”

           “Do I really?” I begin chowing down on my bagel.

           “You’re been so good so far, princess,” Taehyung takes a small bite of my bagel. “You can power through this. All of us will help you.”

           “Here we are, with the food,” Jimin smiles as he and Jungkook step up.

           “Adorable girl, here is milk,” Jungkook hands me a bottle of milk.

           “Thanks,” I quickly gulp down some milk.

           “Aw, kid, you look beat,” Hoseok, followed by Seokjin and Namjoon, take a seat across form the group already here.

           “Did some young men keep you up last night?” Seokjin looks disapprovingly at the maknae line.

           “We went to bed at a decent hour,” Jimin defends, handing food out to the three new boys. “She’s people tired.”

           I smile, “I like that. That is why I look beat. Too many people.”

           “She needs to recharge,” Taehyung lets me take a bite of his breakfast burrito. “So, she’ll be reading for the first part of our plane journey.”

           “Emily doesn’t want you sad, Amber,��� Namjoon reassuringly smiles. “Don’t let her leaving suck energy from you.”

           “I’ll be fine,” I grin back at the leader of Bangtan. “Just need a little time. Food is the first step.”

           “I knew I liked you the most for some reason,” Seokjin smirks, teasing his bandmates.

           “I think cutie is everyone’s favorite for some reason,” Jimin gives a big smile, his eyes scrunching up. “She’s so likable.”

           “I agree,” Taehyung kisses my cheek before finishing off his burrito.

           “Stop,” I whine, feeling my cheeks beginning to fire up. “Too sweet.”

           “Gah, kid, you are so shy to compliments sometimes,” Hoseok places a hand over his heart. “Too pure for this world.”

           “Who would have though a girl would bring all of us so much happiness,” Jungkook pokes my cheek. “For different reasons for all of us.”

           “I’m glad I can be such a positive light in all your lives,” I smile. “And I’m glad you all do the same for me.”

******

           “This is relaxing,” I smile, adjusting my sunglasses and placing a bookmark in my book.

           “Just like last year,” Yoongi pinches my side. “Is that your last book?”

           “Yeah,” I wiggle around to sit up more in the lounge chair I’m sharing with Yoongi. “I only brought three, because I knew I’d have other things to do.”

           “Like what?”

           “Writing, playing video games, dancing,” I rest my head on his shoulder. “Learning Hangul and talking to you guys. Lots to do as we travel.”

           “You haven’t colored?” Yoongi clicks his tongue in disappointment. “You’ve changed.”

           I chuckle, “No, I am still a cute brat. Nothing has changed. I brought a coloring book, you just haven’t want to color yet. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been seated by you and Taehyung. And we haven’t hung out as just the three of us either.”

           “I can fix that,” he tickles my side for a few seconds.

           I giggle, slapping the boy’s hand.

           “Lunch has arrive,” Namjoon announces as he and the rest of Bangtan step up to the section of outdoor patio we have claimed.

           “It all smells so good,” I place my book on the small table next to the lounge chair. “Chicken tenders and fries. God, such a universal meal.”

           “Was she good when were gone, hyung?” Taehyung takes a seat on the lounge chair near my feet.

           “Taehyung,” I roll my eyes. “I’m not a child.”

           “She was perfect,” Yoongi teases, gently pinching my cheek.

           I groan, looking at the five other boys who are already chowing down on their food. They are no help.

           “That’s good,” Taehyung pulls the small table closer to him to set the food container down on. “Princess, are you hungry?”

           “Very,” I reach out to try and grab some fries, but Taehyung lightly slaps my hand. “Hey,” I pout.

           “I’ll feed you,” he picks up a few fries, placing them in front of my mouth so I lean forward to take them.

           “Little one was still reading until a minute before you arrived,” Yoongi bites into his sandwich.

           “Did she make any funny faces while I was away?” Taehyung rips a piece off a chicken tender, popping the piece into his mouth. “I always take pictures when she’s making faces.”

           “Mouth closed, Taehyungie,” I swipe a few fries before he can stop me.

           “No, I didn’t notice any faces from Amber,” Yoongi grabs my sprite from between us, taking a sip. “She mumbled a few times, but that’s it.”

           “Guys, what the fuck?” I take my soda from Yoongi. “I’m right here, and you are treating me like a damn child. I am about to blow.”

           “Jagi, no need to use naughty words,” Taehyung pops some chicken into my mouth. “We’re just having fun.”

           I glare at my boyfriend. “I’m fine, Tae. Do you hear that everyone?” I slightly raise my voice. “I am okay. Emily and I have been texting, and I am still happy. No dips, nothing.”

           “That’s good,” Jungkook smiles at me. “You can see it in your eyes. They have a sparkle when you are truly happy.”

           “You’ve seen that too?” Jimin looks at the maknae with wide eyes. “She’s like an anime girl.”

           I chuckle, “It’s all in your head. They don’t sparkle.”

           “I’ve seen it too,” Hoseok turns to look at me. “Not really a sparkle, but they do something when you laugh.”

           “Jagiya, you are my anime girl,” Taehyung leans forward to give me a kiss. “I love you and want the best for you.”

           I run a hand through his hair, “I know you do. I love you too. It’s just, I’m okay. Don’t treat me as lower. If I am feeling down, I will tell you.”

           “I like babying you,” he leans away. “You are my princess, and I want to take care of you.” He smiles, pouting just a tad.

           “No, don’t pout,” I whine.

           “Amber won’t deal with your crap, Tae,” Seokjin shakes his head.

           “No, no,” I sigh. “His pout is too cute.”

           “Of course it is,” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Taehyung is just too cute.”

           The innocent boxy smile has now taken over my boyfriend’s face. “That’s why you love me.”

           “Yes, and many other reasons. Just, feed me,” I nibble on my bottom lip. “I’m still so hungry.”

           Lunch flies by without much more incident. Taehyung continues to feed me, Yoongi keeps drinking my Sprite, and we all talk about random things. Then, after relaxing in the sun for a while, we all decide to cool off in the pool.

           “I love floating,” I sigh as Taehyung puts his forearms under me to keep me floating. “Hey, babe?”

           “Yes jagi?” Taehyung leans in so I can see his face. “I swear, I didn’t mean to touch your butt.”

           I smile, “It’s oaky. You can touch my butt sometimes. It is not like you squeezed a cheek or something.”

           “It’s a little too public for that,” he winks at me.

           “Moving on,” I chuckle, feeling my cheeks heat up. “I was just thinking about how we haven’t gone on a date since I have been with you again. It’s fine. I’m not complaining, of course. Seeing as I am traveling with my boyfriend, brother, and five close friends.”

           “You just want a few hours with just the two of us. To focus on our love for one another, and have heart to heart conversations. We can do something when we are home for a brief time.”

           “That sounds nice. Coffee shop date or something else?”

           “Do you want a public date so people will see how we are actually in love? Get pictures circulating that aren’t a year old,” Taehyung smirks. “We can talk about it later.”

           “Okay,” I wiggle out of my boyfriend’s arm, standing up and facing him. “You were right, about wanting to get pictures out to the public too.”

           “Because of the hate?” His face is rid of his smirk in seconds.

           I sigh, cupping one side of his face with my right hand. “Don’t blame yourself, Tae. Just don’t. It is not your fault. No amount of hate would push me away from you. I love you so much. So yeah, I want to get caught out in public to shut up some haters. Is that a crime?”

           “No, no,” he moves his head to kiss the palm of my hand. “I understand. I feel so bad you have to see nasty words said about you.” He grabs my hand, lowering it from his face. “I don’t understand why if they don’t have anything nice to say, just don’t type it out. I love you so much, and I want to shield you from anything hateful.”

           “I know. I love you so much, and I can look passed some jealous people.”

           Taehyung tenderly smiles, “That’s why you are perfect for me. You are tough, and don’t take shit from anyone.”

           “We are soulmates, Tae,” I smile back. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to be with you. I’ll be with you forever.”

           He quickly cups my face in his wet hands, pulling us together for a kiss. “Thank you. My princess, placed in my life at the perfect time.”

           I giggle as best I can with my face squished by two large hands. “I love you too. Now, let’s go mess with the others.”

           Taehyung flashes that boxy smile I have fallen so in love with, releasing my face from his hands. “Ah, my dorky queen. Come on, let’s mess with them.”

********

           “Our own room,” I smile, popping in my retainers I rarely wear anymore. “Well, only one door separating us from Jimin and Jungkook, but it’s close enough.”

           “It is nice,” Taehyung smiles from his place already in the hotel bed. “What did you just put in your mouth? I don’t think I have ever seen you do that.”

           “My retainer,” I plug my phone into the charge I have on the hotel desk. “The summer before my first trip over to Korea, I got my braces off,” I respond to Emily’s text, letting her know that I am heading to bed. “And, you wear them all the time for six months. Then, only at night,” I jump into bed, crawling up to Taehyung. “I’m bad because I rarely wear them. Only when my teeth hurt,” I laugh, shaking my head. “Probably not good, but my teeth are still straight. I do take them with me everywhere I go. They are just uncomfortable and dry my mouth out.”

           “Such a bad girl,” Taehyung giggles, tickling my stomach for a few seconds.

           I flail away from my boyfriend, laughter forcing it’s way out of my throat for a few seconds. “Such a pervert.”

           “What?” He pouts, innocently batting his eyelashes.

           “Don’t act so innocent,” I shove him with my foot. “You aren’t pure. We haven’t been together that long, but I know how dirty you can be.”

           He smirks, “Have you seen how sexy you are? It’s hard to hold back, but I do because I know it’s too soon, and you aren’t ready. Like, your one piece today was cute, but your little curves are so hot.”

           “Tae,” I scoot up to him, crossing my legs like a pretzel as I face him. “You must be happy that I am wearing my normal pajamas again,” I grin.

           “I only made you wear a sweatshirt because the other two are boys just like me, and would stare at you with bad thoughts. I do. Jimin did!”

           “What?” Jimin calls from the next room.

           “Nothing, Chim-Chim!” I roll my eyes at my boyfriend’s outburst. “It’s okay that you made me wear a sweatshirt to hide my boobs,” I giggle., cheeks heating up in an instant. “Anyways, I’m happy to be back in my normal summer pajamas.

           “So am I,” Taehyung grabs my wrist, pulling me towards him so my head is in his lap.

           I adjust my t-shirt with holes in it--thanks to my scissor crazy boyfriend--so my tummy is covered, and pull my feet into my pillow. This is how our pillow talks shall be like form now on.”

           “Is it comfy enough?” Taehyung slowly runs his fingers through my hair.

           “Perfect,” I lazily smile. “Anything you want to talk about?”

           “Tell me about the story you started on the plane. You were too cute writing it. Mouthing words, looking off at nothing, and your little hand holding the pencil.”

           I giggle, “I’m glad you like my little habits. I saw you take a few pictures. You know, you can post anything on my Instagram.”

           “Now I do. I promise only to post pictures you approve, or I know you look super cute in.”

           “That’s why you are the best. Seriously, if you post something I don’t like, I can just delete it. Just post whatever you like.”

           “Will do,” he runs the pad of his finger over the outside part of my ear. “Now, what is your story about?”

           “Ah yes,” I lick my bottom lip with the tip of my tongue. “It is in the beginning stages, so I don’t have a ton figured out, but I have a good idea. Basically, a girl is adopted by two women, and will have many siblings. Her older brothers are protective, and the girl her age is her best friend. The younger siblings she loves playing around with. What really sets her apart though, is that fact that she is mute.”

           “Mute? Like, she doesn’t talk? At all? Or is she deaf? What, that wouldn’t make sense.”

           “She talks very little. Her life was hell before being adopted, and causes her to shut down.”

           “But she finds a voice, kind of, through something that she loves, am I right?”

           I giggle, “Maybe. I haven’t decided what will happen. It will go through a fast timeline from adoption to high school where the bulk of the story will probably take place.”

           “You’ll have to let me read it. I’m not sure I can give good advice, but I’ll do what I can.”

           “Actually, I think there’s a future story you’ll have more fun reading.”

           “Oh, is your brain bursting with ideas? So much to write with so little time.”

           “My brain is always thinking of stories or ideas. This new story, however, can’t start until December. I’m planning it, though, when the other story has writer’s block. It is going to be something.”

           “What’s it about?” Taehyung places a hand on my hip.

           “Hwarang,” I smirk. “I’ve looked into the facts about the drama you are it, and I wondered about a girl in the ranks. It could be interesting.”

           “Ah, is my jagiya writing a fan fiction?” He teases. “You haven’t even met Hansung, and you want to date him.”

           “Who says the main girl will get with Hansung? Maybe it will be one of the other beautiful guys. It may even have multiple endings. I’ll just have to wait for the show. I’m gaining ideas as I read more on culture, and the little out on the show.”

           “Two episodes a week. You’ll have to write a lot a week to keep up.”

           “I can do it, no doubt,” I run my finger over Taehyung’s short covered thigh. “Tell me some stories about acting. Anything that comes to mind.”

           “Well, I learned how to ride a horse, so that was fun. There’s a lot of video of me doing that. I’ll have to show you some time.”

           “I bet you looked great in riding gear. Hell, I know you did.”

           He chuckles, “Maybe. Anyways, the wig I had to wear wasn’t that comfortable, but I powered through. It got better as the days went by. Playing Hansung was so much fun.”

           “Being an actor was fun, period, I’m guessing. Every picture you sent as you all dressed up as Hansung, you looked so happy. Not to mention, oh so handsome.”

           “So much flattery. We really know how to build each other up.”

           “Because I love you,” I coo. “More acting stories, please.” I turn onto my back so I can look up at Taehyung. “How were the other boys?”

           “Great,” he smiles, looking down at me. “My Hwarang-hyung. All of them find me adorable. I brought the cast together.”

           “You were the maknae,” I giggle, reaching over to poke his side a few times. “I bet they didn’t know what to think of you. It’s good you brough everyone together. That’s something you do best.”

           “You are the maknae right now,” he taps my nose. “Emily is gone, and now you are the very youngest out of us.”

           I giggle, “Don’t tease me. Being the youngest can be hard.”

           “Oh, but you aren’t that young. You turn eighteen this year. That’s pretty old, jagi.” He tickles my tummy for a few seconds.

           I’m out of Taehyung’s reach as soon as the laughter flows out of my mouth. “Not again. Not tonight. No tickles.

           “Cuddles?” He pouts, holding out his arms for me.

           “With that pout, of course,” I tenderly smile, crawling over to snuggle into my boyfriend’s side. “Oh, oppa, I almost forgot. I made a new friend on the internet.”

           “You did? Are you going to tell me about this new friend?”

           “Of course,” I pat his tummy. “It all started when I said I’m really into this group called Day6. The rock group, you know? The boys who play their own instruments.”

           “Yes, I remember you showing me some music videos. One of them likes us, and they have pretty good songs.”

           “Yes, Jae outwardly loves BTS. That boy is a huge dork.”

           “So, your new friend is a fan of this group?” Taehyung pushes his fingers under the waistband of my sweats at the hip.

           “Let me tell my story,” I gently slap his chest.

           “Go ahead then, princess,” I gently slap his chest.

           “Okay, so, all the sudden I get this used being tagged in all of the comments of every recent picture. I had to check out the hype that everyone clearly needed me to see. So, I clicked on the name, and the Instagram that popped up was that of an artist.”

           “They’ve drawn you, haven’t they?”

           “Me, us, the other boys. In fact, they make comics of all of us doing random everyday tasks, or doing crazy things that the fans suggest. I’m not sure what fan bases all follow her, but she draws so much. She ahs original characters, and does many other groups. It’s amazing the skill she has.”

           “What’s her name?”

           “Willow Eve, but she prefers just Eve. After a few minutes on her page, I follower her Instagram, and then sent her a message. We talked, swapped emails, and she sends me art before it’s posted.”

           “That’s cute,” Taehyung coos. “Are you best friends now? Do you talk about boys?”

           “Good friends who gush over our boyfriends.”

           “Who is her boyfriend?”

           “Jae, from Day6. That’s why people wanted us to meet. We loved the other one’s boyfriend’s group.”

           “You should meet once we are home for a while.”

           “Already planning it,” I smirk. “I’ve also asked if Vernon’s girlfriend would like to join.”

           “Vernon, from Seventeen? That Vernon.”

           “Yes. We’ve emailed since last year, and I helped him get a girl. She is never going to be in the spotlight.”

           “Do you know her name?”

           “Abigail. She’s thinking over setting up a meeting. The fear of being found out is very strong in her.”

           “I can’t believe I got jealous over a boy who would never want you because he had his eyes on someone else the entire time. And I made you cry because of it.”

           “You did, but I’m okay now,” I sit up, pressing a kiss to Taehyung’s lips. “We both learned from that.”

           He smiles, running a hand over my hair. “Where would you meet the other girls?”

           “Probably the coffee shop,” I tiredly smile, resting my head on this shoulder. “Emily would be with me, and Laurel would come with Eve. Abigail would be with her friend that she hasn’t told me anything about yet. I want us all to be friends. We all have something in common.”

           “What’s that?”

           “Our boyfriends are idols,” I life my head up. “Can we go to sleep now? I’m super tired.”

           “Sure thing, princess,” he kisses my forehead.

           “You’re the best, oppa.”

           We take the next few minutes to climb under the covers and get comfortable. Taehyung even turns on the night light app he downloaded on his phone for me.

           “When we get back home, we have to have an apartment party to shut the boys up,” Taehyung has his hands up my shirt, running his nails gently over my back.

           “I want to see our puppies,” I feel tears building up. “They must miss us, yeah?” My voice cracks.

           “Baby, don’t cry. Of course they miss you. You’re their mom. They love you.”

           “How do you know?” I feel the tears escape my eyes. “I love them, and I miss them so much.”

           “It’s okay, princess. We will be home soon,” he places kisses all over my face. “Don’t cry. Please, it hurts my heart.”

           I sniffle, “I’m okay. It was just a few tears.

           The door flies open, light spilling in.

           “Ugh!” Taehyung groans.

           “Sorry!” Jungkook sighs. “I didn’t know you were trying to sleep.”

           “What do you need, Kookie?” I yawn out.

           “Just, to have a good night. And, um, this is weird to say.”

           “I love you too, Kookie. It’s oaky to say. Now, goodnight.”

           “Oh,” Jungkook stutters. “Love you too!”

           Then the door is closed, and the room is plunged back into darkness.

           “I love you the most,” Taehyung gives me a small squeeze.

           “I know,” I snuggle into his side. “I love you just as much.”

           “Goodnight princess. Big day tomorrow.”

           “I am ready. Now, shut up so I can sleep.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hope you enjoyed reading! It was either make this a really short chapter or make it long, and I went with long because why not. I would love to know what you thought. :D Also, hard to find a gif, so I did my best.

[jiminies-ahmee]

SONG SCENARIO: DO KYUNGSOO

Requested by @kyungiebaby, I didn’t really like how this turned out, so I’ll do a part two xx 

Details: Based on Ariana Grande’s ‘R.E.M’ 

“Last night, boy, I met you. When I was asleep.” 

Sharp eyes holding brown orbs, the colour of fine chocolate, watched you intently. Plump lips – almost pillow-like curved upwards into the shape of a heart, the most endearing of smiles. You weren’t entirely sure when it had started exactly, perhaps it was after you’d started daydreaming about him. Nevertheless, these features were scribbled onto the pages of countless books and textbooks during lectures. And now, here they were in front of you, at arm’s length. It seemed too good to be true, too dream-like. 

“You’re such a dream to me.” 

Your shaky hand reached to touch his cheek and gently caress the skin, “Is this real?” You whispered. A chuckle, almost equivalent to that of honey’s sweetness slipped past his lips before he placed his warm hand over yours. 

“If you can believe.” 

In a rushed manner, you moved your hand over his lips, “Before you speak, don’t move, ‘cos I don’t want to wake up.” 

At your words, he let out yet another chuckle, “I love you, Y/N.” He leaned into your body, his feather-like lips rushing against your forehead. Filled with utter and complete bliss, you closed your eyes and opened them to find yourself alone. 

You were met with the bleak, white ceiling of your dorm, your ears met with the usual hum and bustle of yet another morning of college. With eyes squeezed shut, you hoped to fall once more into the sweet, sweet land of dreams, but life did not seem to be on your side. Your face contorted in annoyance before kicking the covers aside. Though you were sure you’d returned to reality, your body felt as if it were floating on a cloud, your mind still filled with the beautiful face of the stranger in your literature class. 

Of course, you knew far too much about the man for him to be a stranger. You knew his name was Kyungsoo, that he loved writing and reading and that he preferred romance over mystery novels. He almost felt like a friend to you, always returning your awkward and bashful smiles with his gorgeous one. 

“You’re such a dream to me.” You sighed, pouting at the feeling of self-pity running through your veins. You wondered how you were able to get through 24 hours with the man of your dreams forever stuck in your head. You’d become a full-time daydreamer in your 3rd year of college. A full-time high school girl with a pathetic and hopeless crush on a person who didn’t even know her name. 

If only you knew… 

Your class for literature was being held in the afternoon of the summer day. The blue sky and slight breeze between the leaves seemed all too familiar to you – it was as if you’d been lived this moment before. Shaking your head at the thought, you held your books close to your chest as you made your way to the lecture hall. In all honesty, literature hadn’t really been a favourite of yours until Do Kyungsoo had joined your class. From what you’d heard, he’d moved from a major in music to literature. It made you wonder what sort of instrument he played then. You thought piano, but you never had the courage to ask for confirmation. 

As you approached the class, you drew in a deep breath, preparing yourself for what was to come. You’d made a pact with yourself (after having such a vivid dream) that you should try to avoid Kyungsoo. Whatever the hell that you’d envisioned in your sleep the night before couldn’t possibly be true – nor could it become a reality. 

You wanted to laugh at yourself for even thinking about the possibility of dating Kyungsoo. You could see it in the hungry eyes of the other girls (and sometimes boys) in your class: Kyungsoo had stolen the heart of everyone. Including you. 

You kept your gaze down as you entered the lecture hall, choosing to sit towards the back in hopes you’d be left to your own demise. As you settled in your seat and organised your notebook, you heard the approach of footsteps which you decided it best to ignore. If you can’t see them, they can’t see you… Right? 

Wrong. Only a few seats to your right sat an intrigued Do Kyungsoo. Yes, your infatuation with the quiet, yet seemingly kind man had been made a point of, but little did you know Kyungsoo knew a little bit about you too. 

Realising you had not yet seen him, he awkwardly cleared his throat, his eyes glancing your way in hopes you’d look over. You did not. He chewed on his bottom lip, eyes focused on his clean page, while his mind drifted off into space. Perhaps he was simply overreacting; you held nothing against Kyungsoo and he was quite sure of that, so maybe you weren’t as talkative as he’d thought. He looked your way once more before letting out a soft, “Hey”, in your direction. 

Startled by the sudden, but gentle greeting, you looked to your right. Do Kyungsoo. Do Kyungsoo. Do Kyungsoo. 

“M-Me?” You stuttered, attempting to close your notebook filled with secret sketches of the man sitting right beside you this very moment. 

“Yeah, Y/N right?” You nodded, “Hi,” He giggled, “I never properly introduced myself. I’m Kyungsoo.” He paused to glance at the empty seat that acted as a barricade between the both of you. It was almost like your personal bubble – your space. “Do you mind if I sit there?” He asked. 

“No, of course not!” You choked out. You felt as if your heart was flipping over and over again at the speed of lightning. You wished you could pause this moment in time to make yourself look a little more presentable, but unfortunately that sort of technology was yet to be created. 

“I read your poem from class the other day and it’s really beautiful. I actually haven’t been able to get it out of my head.” He laughed, “Your partner must be a very special person for you to think of them in such a way.” 

Your heart stopped. Your partner?! 

“O-Oh, no. I, uh, don’t have a partner.” You whispered as the lights in the room dimmed and the lecture began. Its entirety was spent looking straight at the lecturer and fighting back the urge to turn to Kyungsoo who you could feel glancing at your every few or so minutes. Though it seemed you were engrossed in the lesson for the day, you were really trying to plan your escape route. Luckily, you’d chosen the end seat of your row, so dashing out of the room once the lecture finished would be a piece of cake. 

It would have been if it weren’t for Park Chanyeol.

As you managed to gather your things in a split second and run towards the door, your crashed into the toned chest of the giant-like man. He apologised profusely, his arms gripping your shoulders gently as he bent down to check if you were okay. You most certainly weren’t okay, for by the time Chanyeol had picked up your things, Kyungsoo was by your side. 

“Chanyeol, you can’t go around abusing your height by knocking people down.” Kyungsoo remarked as he glanced your way. You ignored his gaze, embarrassed beyond belief at this point. You knew he now understood your plan of leaving before he could question your pathetic single self and now he had you where he wanted you. 

“Are we still good for the writing session?” Chanyeol asked Kyungsoo. 

“Oh, actually, I have plans with Y/N, can we do it later tonight, Chan?” You didn’t see it, but Chanyeol glanced your way before smirking at Kyungsoo and nodding. 

“Of course, no problem. I’ll see you around then. Sorry again for before, Y/N.” You managed a weak smile in Chanyeol’s direction before you felt a tap on your shoulder. You had never dreaded to face someone more in your life. 

“You seemed to be in a bit of a rush before, do you have somewhere to be? I don’t mean to be a nosey person –“ 

“No, no, it’s all good, I just couldn’t stand being in there for any longer.” You let out an uneasy laugh, to which Kyungsoo simply nodded and smiled. 

“Well, in that case, would you like to grab something to drink with me? If you have time, of course.” 

“I love you!” You blurted out and your eyes widened, “I-I mean, I’d love to. Sorry, that’s what I meant to say. Wow, I’m really digging myself a hole at this point. I’m so sorry, this is extremely embarrassing.” You rambled, and if only you could have seen the glint in Kyungsoo’s eyes to reassure you.

But it was simply too late, his plush lips which you’d only dreamt of until now were finally pressed against yours. And he pulled away before you could even savour the moment. 

“You’re quite good with starting conversations, aren’t you?” 

[motifsinthecity]

Favorite Albums: 2018

30 | Arctic Monkeys | Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino (Domino) 29 | Cardi B | Invasion of Privacy (Atlantic/KSR) 28 | Joyce Manor | Million Dollars To Kill Me (Epitaph) 27 | Candy | Good to Feel (Triple-B) 26 | Jesus Piece | Only Self (Southern Lord) 25 | Low | Double Negative (Sub Pop) 24 | Vein | errorzone (Closed Casket Activities) 23 | Sleep | The Sciences (Third Man) 22 | Logic | Bobby Tarantino II (Def Jam/Visionary Music Group) 21 | Death Cab For Cutie | Thank You For Today (Atlantic) 20 | Fucked Up | Dose Your Dreams (Merge) 19 | The 1975 | A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships (Dirty Hit/Polydor) 18 | Curren$y, Freddie Gibbs, The Alchemist | Fetti (Jet Life/ESGN/ALC/Empire) 17 | Black Thought, 9th Wonder, Salaam Remi | Streams of Thought (Vol. 1 & Vol. 2) (Human Re Sources) 16 | Alkaline Trio | Is This Thing Cursed? (Epitaph) 15 | Blood Orange | Negro Swan (Domino) 14 | Travis Scott | ASTROWORLD (Cactus Jack/Epic/Grand Hustle) 13 | Noname | Room 25 (N/A)  12 | Zeal & Ardor | Stranger Fruit (MKVA) 11 | Freddie Gibbs | Freddie (ESGN/Empire) 10 | The Armed | ONLY LOVE (No Rest Until Ruin) 9 | Pusha T | DAYTONA (G.O.O.D. Music/Def Jam) 8 | Vince Staples | FM! (Def Jam) 7 | Beach House | 7 (Sub Pop) 6 | mewithoutYou | [Untitled] / [Untitled] EP (Run For Cover) 5 | Foxing | Nearer My God (Triple Crown) 4 | boygenius | boygenius EP (Matador) 3 | Turnstile | Time & Space (Roadrunner Records) 2 | Nine Inch Nails | Bad Witch (The Null Corporation/Capitol) 1 | Deafheaven | Ordinary Corrupt Human Love (Anti-)

I've been thinking a lot recently about the meaning distance can afford us.

In many ways, distance creates the attachments that ground us in this lifetime. Distance defines our relationships to a multitude of persons, places, and things--perhaps even with ourselves, the persons we were, and the persons we might be. While we often measure our lives in relation to the material possessions and the status others hold, it is often the distance we must travel, both figuratively and literally, that dictate our ability to connect with others during our lives.

I found this theme of distance and meaning continually emerge as I listened to Deafheaven's latest offering in 2018, aptly titled, Ordinary Corrupt Human Love. At 7 tracks, the San Francisco five-piece continue to evolve their black-metal-by-way-of-shoegaze sound, which serves not only as an artifact to their place among their musical peers, but as a testament to how far they've traveled since their inception. Deafheaven's journey is indebted, in part, to the buzz Ordinary… has garnered regarding its aesthetic composition. That's because few bands in recent memory have been tied so closely to the duality of their sound, from the oppressive nature of metal to the sway and drift of shoegaze. Even Pitchfork joked it was the best Smashing Pumpkins album this year. However, such a narrow read brings a swath of opinions. Many a think piece have covered whether Deafheaven's brand of extreme music is "metal" enough, "pretty" enough, or simply authentic enough. Indeed, the chasm is wide in the hyper critical expanse of 2018's internet, but Deafheaven have never been interested in formula--they relish residence in the in-between--and the road to Ordinary… is littered with the pitfalls of expectations, ones they've judiciously set aside.

This is because the seeds for Ordinary's… lush mix of driving metallurgy and art rock can be found all throughout the bands prior releases; yet it's assembled here with a new sense of impressionistic romanticism. Four of the songs off Ordinary… orient listeners with the group's more traditional arrangements, where chiming melodies give way to frenzied guitar, thunderous drums, and rapturous solos. Ordinary… offers two strong contributions to these types of mainstay compositions, from the stutter-stop ascension and gossamer suspension of "Honeycomb" to the slashing and spiraling glory of "Glint." On both these songs, Deafheaven provide vibrant and electrifying arrangements that capture the extremity of the human condition. Guitarist Kerry McCoy offers invigorating and euphoric guitar melodies that seem to embody everything from pleasure, to pain, to sorrow, to joy, all married by George Clarke's impassioned and throaty howl. Again, the duality of Deafheaven's sound is only interesting as a surface observation. The real richness comes from the confluence of their influences, which render these songs with force and vitality.

While "Honeycomb" and "Glint" provide us with the familiar Deafheaven blueprint, the band's growth is certainly on display elsewhere on Ordinary… "Near" effectively breaks up the record with its shimmering glow and reverb-heavy drift as Clarke sings "Thought I saw you there/Wishing you were near…" There's a warmness to "Near" that's tender and firm, an evocative oasis in an otherwise dizzying record. Another strong standout is "Night People," a somber, gothic chamber piece, where Clarke duets with the resident queen of doom folk, Chelsea Wolfe.  Both Clarke and Wolfe's mournful harmonies come together over dusky piano and cavernous drums, contemplating eventual decay with mournful couplets, such as "And the black sand of your body slipped through…" and "I found myself at your side…" in what might be someone's penultimate moment in this lifetime. In some ways, the tenderness of "Near" and "Night People" represent complimentary meditations on dealing with distance. "Near" focusing on the longing we attach to the future, while "Night People" explores the agony of loss as our loved ones leave this life without us.

Indeed, the idea of distance is inescapable on Ordinary… If Deafheaven's breakout work Sunbather (2013) was about the disintegration of the self, and New Bermuda (2015) centered around the savagery and oppression of locality, then Ordinary… revels in the elegance of decay, a function of time and the inescapable truths we face as we are transformed by life's kiln. The band touches on this cycle of birth and death--how the world can throw our trajectory into far out places--on the album's closing track "Worthless Animal." Here, Clarke's rasp juxtaposes the innocence of a new born fawn:

When a fawn Stumbles into the road Honeydew high And deep in afterglow Mind swarming Mind small Honeydew high Transforming the soul

With the slaughter of a feral dog:

Then search to pin the legs Of the stalking dog That lends its teeth To sticky, sad bedlam War cries quake through lurching light

I bury a blade between its ribs Bear hug the soft canine frame Then smear ash Then smear the ash on its brow

Set against a "November Rain" by way of kraut rock guitar phrasing, "Worthless Animal" glistens like an unending ocean, holding close the beauty and tragedy that often shade life's mysteries. Deafheaven carefully hold the intimacy of innocence alongside the horror of our choices to show us the points between them aren't so far away--that a lifetime is simply a blink in an instant, a star in the sky, the distance between us. Ultimately, maybe distance serves as a function not just our relationships to persons, places and things, but to time and attachment as well. By this, I mean that we are all spending the time needed to find away to let go of that which no longer suits us, to ultimately transform our relationships to things, and become who we were always meant to be.

In the steps of many artists before them, Deafheaven settle on the notion that the only way to bridge the distance between ourselves, who we are, and other people, is through the imperfect ways we love one another. The band displays this on the immaculate "You Without End," which features airy guitar slides, angelic piano, and half-step drums, set against a whisper silk spoken word poem delivered by Nadia Kury. Indeed, "You Without End" is as vivid as the daydream it describes:

He pained, shifting his attention toward the mirror across the road Back into his daydream The spliff burned his fingers the second he drank, and he tossed it toward the gutter The smoke burned into his eyes, blinding him As he blinked through the tears, the pain began to recede Back down the promenade and homeward bound, as he approached the intersection of Brooklyn and Lakeshore, a flock of geese burst from the darkness and flew, shrieking into what was left of the evening.

Kury's evocative words give way to McCoy's dizzying and soaring guitar work, which erupts in dissonant ecstasy as Clarke exclaims:

Let it go as it grows on forever And let it go Let it go as it grows Breathe it in Let it go as it grows on forever And we breathe it in And we breathe it in And then the world will grow And then the world will grow And then the world will know Of all true love, true

"You Without End" is a reminder that time doesn't have to dull our spirit where love exists as a possibility for more. The way we bridge the gap between ourselves, the way we traverse the distances we face in this lifetime, they lend us purpose and meaning for ourselves and those we meet for as long as we know them. A connection like love is rooted firmly in the transformations we make in life, with and for others, and the extraordinary experiences we often face through ordinary means. What Deafheaven have done is provide an incredible statement on the power of love, that against all odds and in the face of all kinds of distances between us, we can endure with each other, without end. All we need is our ordinary, corrupt, human love.

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient book of Proverbs and book of Psalms

for August 31 of 2021 with Proverbs 31 and Psalm 31, accompanied by Psalm 73 for the 73rd day of Astronomical Summer and Psalm 93 for day 243 of the year (now with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 31]

[Inspired Word]

King Lemuel’s royal words of wisdom:

These are the inspired words my mother taught me.

Listen, my dear son, son of my womb.

You are the answer to my prayers, my son.

So keep yourself sexually pure

from the promiscuous, wayward woman.

Don’t waste the strength of your anointing

on those who ruin kings—

you’ll live to regret it!

For you are a king, Lemuel,

and it’s never fitting for a king to be drunk on wine

or for rulers to crave alcohol.

For when they drink they forget justice

and ignore the rights of those in need,

those who depend on them for leadership.

Strong drink is given to the terminally ill,

who are suffering at the brink of death.

Wine is for those in depression

in order to drown their sorrows.

Let them drink and forget their poverty and misery.

But you are to be a king who speaks up on behalf

of the disenfranchised

and pleads for the legal rights of the defenseless

and those who are dying.

Be a righteous king, judging on behalf of the poor

and interceding for those most in need.

[The Radiant Bride]

Who could ever find a wife like this one—

she is a woman of strength and mighty valor!

She’s full of wealth and wisdom.

The price paid for her was greater than many jewels.

Her husband has entrusted his heart to her,

for she brings him the rich spoils of victory.

All throughout her life she brings him what is good and not evil.

She searches out continually to possess

that which is pure and righteous.

She delights in the work of her hands.

She gives out revelation-truth to feed others.

She is like a trading ship bringing divine supplies

from the merchant.

Even in the night season she arises and sets food on the table

for hungry ones in her house and for others.

She sets her heart upon a field and takes it as her own.

She labors there to plant the living vines.

She wraps herself in strength, might, and power in all her works.

She tastes and experiences a better substance,

and her shining light will not be extinguished,

no matter how dark the night.

She stretches out her hands to help the needy

and she lays hold of the wheels of government.

She is known by her extravagant generosity to the poor,

for she always reaches out her hands to those in need.

She is not afraid of tribulation,

for all her household is covered in the dual garments

of righteousness and grace.

Her clothing is beautifully knit together—

a purple gown of exquisite linen.

Her husband is famous and admired by all,

sitting as the venerable judge of his people.

Even her works of righteousness

she does for the benefit of her enemies.

Bold power and glorious majesty are wrapped around her

as she laughs with joy over the latter days.

Her teachings are filled with wisdom and kindness

as loving instruction pours from her lips.

She watches over the ways of her household

and meets every need they have.

Her sons and daughters arise in one accord to extol her virtues,

and her husband arises to speak of her in glowing terms.

“There are many valiant and noble ones,

but you have ascended above them all!”

Charm can be misleading,

and beauty is vain and so quickly fades,

but this virtuous woman lives in the wonder, awe,

and fear of the Lord.

She will be praised throughout eternity.

So go ahead and give her the credit that is due,

for she has become a radiant woman,

and all her loving works of righteousness deserve to be admired

at the gateways of every city!

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 31 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 31]

How Great Is Your Goodness

For the Pure and Shining One

A song of poetic praise by King David

I trust you, Lord, to be my hiding place.

Don’t let me down.

Don’t let my enemies bring me to shame.

Come and rescue me, for you are the only God

who always does what is right.

Rescue me quickly when I cry out to you.

At the sound of my prayer may your ear be turned to me.

Be my strong shelter and hiding place on high.

Pull me into victory and breakthrough.

For you are my high fortress, where I’m kept safe.

You are to me a stronghold of salvation.

When you deliver me out of this peril,

it will bring glory to your name.

As you guide me forth I’ll be kept safe

from the hidden snares of the enemy—

the secret traps that lie before me—

for you have become my rock of strength.

Into your hands I now entrust my spirit.

O Lord, the God of faithfulness,

you have rescued and redeemed me.

I despise these deceptive illusions,

all this pretense and nonsense,

for I worship only you.

In mercy you have seen my troubles, and you have cared for me;

even during this crisis in my soul I will be radiant with joy,

filled with praise for your love and mercy.

You have kept me from being conquered by my enemy;

you broke open the way to bring me to freedom,

into a beautiful, broad place.

O Lord, help me again! Keep showing me such mercy.

For I am in anguish, always in tears,

and I’m worn out with weeping.

I’m becoming old because of grief; my health is broken.

I’m exhausted! My life is spent with sorrow,

my years with sighing and sadness.

Because of all these troubles, I have no more strength.

My inner being is so weak and frail.

My enemies say, “You are nothing!”

Even my friends and neighbors hold me in contempt!

They dread seeing me,

and they look the other way when I pass by.

I am totally forgotten, buried away like a dead man,

discarded like a broken dish thrown in the trash.

I overheard their whispered threats, the slander of my enemies.

I’m terrified as they plot and scheme to take my life.

I’m desperate, Lord! I throw myself upon you,

for you alone are my God!

My life, my every moment, my destiny—it’s all in your hands.

So I know you can deliver me

from those who persecute me relentlessly.

Smile on me, your servant.

Let your undying love and glorious grace

save me from all this gloom.

As I call upon you, let my shame and disgrace

be replaced by your favor once again.

But let shame and disgrace fall instead upon the wicked—

those going to their own doom,

drifting down in silence to the dust of death.

At last their lying lips will be muted in their graves.

For they are arrogant, filled with contempt and conceit

as they speak against the godly.

Lord, how wonderful you are!

You have stored up so many good things for us,

like a treasure chest heaped up and spilling over with blessings—

all for those who honor and worship you!

Everybody knows what you can do

for those who turn and hide themselves in you.

So hide all your beloved ones

in the sheltered, secret place before your face.

Overshadow them with your glory-presence.

Keep them from these accusations, the brutal insults of evil men.

Tuck them safely away in the tabernacle where you dwell.

The name of the Lord is blessed and lifted high!

For his marvelous miracle of mercy protected me

when I was overwhelmed by my enemies.

I spoke hastily when I said, “The Lord has deserted me.”

For in truth, you did hear my prayer and came to rescue me.

Listen to me, all you godly ones: Love the Lord with passion!

The Lord protects and preserves all those who are loyal to him.

But he pays back in full all those who reject him in their pride.

So cheer up! Take courage, all you who love him.

Wait for him to break through for you, all who trust in him!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 31 (The Passion Translation)

[Book 3]

The Leviticus Psalms

Psalms of worship and God’s house

[Psalm 73]

God’s Justice

Asaph’s psalm

No one can deny it—God is really good to Israel

and to all those with pure hearts.

But I nearly missed seeing it for myself.

Here’s my story: I narrowly missed losing it all.

I was stumbling over what I saw the wicked doing.

For when I saw the boasters with such wealth and prosperity,

I became jealous over their smug security.

Indulging in whatever they wanted, going where they wanted,

doing what they wanted, and with no care in the world,

no pain, no problems—they seemed to have it made.

They lived as though life would never end.

They didn’t even try to hide their pride and opulence.

Cruelty and violence are parts of their lifestyle.

Pampered and pompous, vice oozes from their souls;

they overflow with vanity.

They’re such snobs—looking down their noses.

They even scoff at God!

They are nothing but bullies threatening God’s people.

They are loudmouths with no fear of God, pretending to know it all—

windbags full of hot air, impressing only themselves.

Yet the people keep coming back to listen

to more of their nonsense.

They tell their cohorts, “God will never know.

See, he has no clue of what we’re doing.”

These are the wicked ones I’m talking about!

They never have to lift a finger,

living a life of ease while their riches multiply.

Have I been foolish to play by the rules and keep my life pure?

Here I am suffering under your discipline day after day.

I feel like I’m being punished all day long.

If I had given in to my pain and spoken of what I was really feeling,

it would have sounded like unfaithfulness to the next generation.

When I tried to understand it all, I just couldn’t.

It was too puzzling—too much of a riddle to me.

But then one day I was brought into the sanctuaries of God,

and in the light of glory, my distorted perspective vanished.

Then I understood that the destiny of the wicked was near!

They’re the ones who are on the slippery path,

and God will suddenly let them slide off into destruction

to be consumed with terrors forever!

It will be an instant end to all their life of ease;

a blink of the eye and they’re swept away by sudden calamity!

They’re all nothing more than momentary monarchs—

soon to disappear like a dream when one awakes.

When the rooster crows,

Lord God, you’ll despise their life of fantasies.

When I saw all of this, what turmoil filled my heart,

piercing my opinions with your truth.

I was so stupid. I was senseless and ignorant,

acting like a brute beast before you, Lord.

Yet, in spite of all this, I still belong to you;

you hold me by my right hand.

You lead me with your secret wisdom.

And following you brings me into your brightness and glory!

Whom have I in heaven but you? You’re all I want!

No one on earth means as much to me as you.

Lord, so many times I fail; I fall into disgrace.

But when I trust in you, I have a strong and glorious presence

protecting and anointing me. Forever you’re all I need!

Those who abandon the worship of God will perish.

The false and unfaithful will be silenced, never heard from again.

But I’ll keep coming closer and closer to you, Lord Yahweh,

for your name is good to me. I’ll keep telling the world of

your awesome works, my faithful and glorious God!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 73 (The Passion Translation)

[writevswrong]

FANFIC * NESSIAN * PART EIGHTEEN

Nessian Part Eighteen by L.J. LaFleur

Nesta:

I adjusted against the wet floor, unable to stay asleep. The fabric of my tunic provided little cushion between the stones and my ribs. I exhaled heavily, hoping my worries would flee with my breath. Usually Feyre’s lullaby would put me right to sleep but I couldn’t get the echoing roars out of my head.

“Do you need a distraction?” Eris asked quietly.

Awkwardly shifting into another uncomfortable position, I gave up, lying flat on my back. “I’m fine,” I lied.

Eris began to sing in a language I had never heard. His gruff voice transitioning into something angelic.

I tilted my head towards him, opening my eyelids just enough to not seem too interested.

Fire danced from palm to palm, a story to match the flow of his hymn. Amber eyes watched me through the rising fire, no doubt observing my lack of stealth. Flickering flames lit his face, dancing shadows unveiling his many masks.

Staring at the little fire figures, my breath hitched. Two amber bodies, hand in hand as they walked through a burning forest. I swear I could hear their laughter as Eris continued singing. Entranced by the two beings, I turned on my side to get a better view.

Entangled within one another, I could hear their passionate moans. My soft cheeks tinted red in response. Howls in the distance spooked them. The figures quickly stood, leaving their clothing behind as they booked it through a maze of foliage.  

My eyes glanced to Eris, a single tear trailing down his face. I looked back at his hands, at the breathless creatures he held so tenderly. The wolves closed in, launching towards the smaller figure first.

His voice cracked, another tear escaping his long lashes as he watched the pack surround them. The song grew darker, shifting to an ominous tone. The wolves edged closer; my heart erratically beating as I heard their pleas for mercy.

I wiped the tears from my eyes, knowing all too well what was to come next.

But the wolves disintegrated, a different picture being created as he twitched his fingers upwards. I stole a look at Eris, he was focused on his palms--his voice softening. The bodies of fire slowly danced from one hand to the other and back again.

I found myself utterly attached to his foreign words.

Before the song ended, I felt myself drift. Even as I tried to pry my eyes open to watch the ending—I couldn’t stay awake. One more glance and the silhouettes had slowed to a stop. They were barely moving, wrapped up in one another to form one large flame in the center of Eris’ palm.

My aching heart softened, the rhythm matching that of his song. I let the darkness swallow me. Sleep welcoming me with open arms.

The hallway seemed longer than before or maybe it was just the anticipation that slowed my steps. I needed to see what I had done. I needed to witness the aftermath of my burning rage. I quickened my pace, pausing just before the doors of the library.

I held my breath, carefully pushing the doors open.

Exhaling quickly, my eyes nearly popped out of my head. The demolished library had been fixed. Lacquered shelves nailed to their original place; hundreds of books replaced. No trace of the carnage I had left behind yesterday.

I grinded my jaw, the unnerving feeling of being watched tingled the hairs on my neck. I ignored the warning signs, the smell. Instead I headed to the right side of the room, towards the section of poetry I had shredded just before the end of my undoing.

Guilt had filtered through the cracks of my anger. Tearing the pages became more difficult as the seconds ticked on. But I kept going…until he stepped forward. It wasn’t until after he left, after I cried for what felt like hours—that I had a moment to focus on the devastation around me.

My bloody fingers brushed across aged parchment. Blurry eyes focusing on the beautiful handwriting. The name and title ripped away; a mystery because of my own insanity.

 You are the mountains

I am the sea

Both rumble, sometimes unheard

Sometimes unseen

 You are the moon

I am the sun

Both light the infinite darkness from here

And beyond

 Mates, I pray

Mates, you say

 You are the mountains

I am the sea

We are infinite

In time, in death

We are one

It’s destiny

 Mates, you pray

Mates, I say

 Why that poem had caught my eyes then, why the pages of several more sonnets of the sea drove me mad--I didn’t know. But I needed to read, I needed to find some peace in this prison.

My healed fingers traced down the edge of the shelf, hunting for a title that might stand out.

Guilt riddled me to my core, years of it taunting me. It was more finetuned now, focusing on the worst parts of my past. I knew that I was exhausted but I needed to stay awake. If I didn’t…I, I drowned. Asleep or awake, I was drowning--in that fucking cauldron, all over again.  

Not only did I need to stay awake for my own sanity, but for Elain’s too. She wasn’t the same. Whatever she faced, whomever it was, it changed her forever. It took her innocence, her heart.

I didn’t trust any of them, even if Feyre did. She had trusted Tamlin once. Feyre had loved him, his people—the same ones who came for me and Elain.

And one day, I would kill them all. For Feyre, for Elain and for me.

I lost track of looking for the book of poetry. My trembling fingers paused at the end of the shelf as I tried to control my uneven breathing. The darkest parts of me threatened to escape, to embrace the fragile heart in my chest.  

“No tantrums today, Nes?” Cassian quipped from the doorway.

He was here the entire time, watching me as I internally struggled. I knew that much. Inhaling through my nose, I adjusted to his overpowering scent. As much as it corrupted my senses, it somehow comforted me. It even smelled warm, if that was possible--like an ageless fire.  

Devastatingly slow, I turned to face him. “Do not call me…” I stopped while scanning his hard body. Lines of blood slid down his obsidian wings, “you’re injured.” I scowled, pressing my lips together in a solid line.

Memories flashed before me, blocking reality. Images of his twitching fingers lifting towards me as crimson gushed out of his shredded wings; his fading light. My stomach churned, the burning acid rising.

Cassian shrugged, “I’m still healing, I guess.” He bit his lower lip, holding back.

“I thought you were immortal,” I pushed. Why was I still talking to him? Why did I care?

“Immortal in a sense. But it doesn’t mean we don’t bleed.”

My eyes traced over him again, “are you following me?” The sight of his blood stirred the nausea further.

Terrors of that nightmare sunk their teeth in my mind. A puddle of blood formed beneath his boots, spreading across the floor as it had on the day my human life ended.

Cassian’s pupils flared, his tone darkening, “what is it?”

“Nothing,” I snapped before thinking.

His brows rose, the familiar smirk retreating.

I observed the sweat that dripped down his neck, as if my vision had zoomed in like a magnified glass.

Cassian sighed, releasing the words that plagued him, “I’m sorry.”

I stayed silent, raising my chin as I studied him further. A face of confliction, of determination and angst yet unnerving sadness still lingered. His dark hair tied tightly in a bun; loose strands tapered off in different directions like snakes. He flew here, on damaged wings and a broken soul.

“I’m not one to break promises,” Cassian shuffled forward, trapping me against the wall of poetry. “What they did to you…” Ponds of hazel ignited, an endless inferno.

The knot in my throat grew as I thought back to the cauldron again. I straightened my spine, our bodies nearly touching.

“What they did to me?” I asked softly, a taste of sweetness before the deadly poison. “You have no idea. Not even an inclination as to the…” I paused, my voice close to breaking. “You are not the first to fail me, nor will you be the last.”

Cassian loosened a low growl, “is that supposed to enlighten me?”

“It’s supposed to humiliate you.” I spat out; pulse sputtering. I pressed my hand into his burning chest. He was so hot to the touch, yet the color was leaving his naturally bronze cheeks. “I was a fool to think a lowly bastard would keep his word. Would protect me and my family.” I withdrew my hand and stepped around him.  

A snarl shook the shelves around us. I froze mid-step, waiting for his cruel reply. 

His raspy voice barely above a whisper, “I held on because of you.”

Turning on my heel, I barked, “held onto what?”

Cassian crossed his arms, crimson lines threatening to stain his clothing. His expression fell--the anger peeling off of him, replaced by frigid stone. “I’ll leave.”

“Well, bastard commander, please do.”

Cassian bared his teeth, sending shivers down my back. He bit his tongue before saying his retort.

A silent apology filtering out of his eyes.

He had noticed, shit. I didn’t…I didn’t mean to show my emotions. I wasn’t flustered before, I wasn’t so distracted before the cauldron.

That damn cauldron.  

Cassian’s demeanor shifted, a serpent tongue licking his lips seductively. “When you come to accept this sick twist of fate, when your bones quake with longing and your heart beats with desire. Just know, Illyrians have had hundreds of years to practice,” his eyes lingered over my breasts then back up, “to fuck.” Cassian smirked at my flushed cheeks, “whenever you’re ready, Nes,” he winked while stepping away.

“Pig,” I breathed, I could feel the warmth racing to my chest. Rosy patches filtered up my neck, threatening to stain my skin forever. “You’re a disgusting pig,” I muttered. The anger distracted me from my moment of shame and weakness.  

Cassian’s deep chuckle cut off. His eyes widening as blood dripped from his mouth.

“Cass? Cassian?” I sternly asked, my brows knitted together as I watched him drop to the floor. As the oozing crimson seeped out of his ravaged wings, I heard his cries of pain.

The surrounding books began to rattle violently. Library walls crumbling beside us.

I launched forward, crumbling to my knees, towards Cassain’s limp body. “Wake up,” I begged, “wake up…”

Where we once stood, a tomb of knowledge, had disappeared completely. The room became clearer as I whirled around…I knew this chamber. My gray-blue eyes flickered to the small dais that led up to the cauldron.

“No…” I whispered, my eyes darting from Cassian to the cauldron. Not here, I couldn’t be here—not again.

Cassian laid on his stomach, his torn wings spread out. Tendrils of scarlet racing towards the cracks in the floor.  

Feyre, Rhysand, Mor and Azriel…all of them with a clear picture of horror on their faces. A blend of rage and agony—all helplessly watching.

My eyes burned with tears as Elain was thrown out of the cauldron, riding a wave of death till she smacked into the floor. Before I knew it, I screamed—threatening curses rushed out of me in between roars. Hands tightened around my arms, restraining me from leaping forward.

The King of Hybern lifted his chin towards me, “the hellcat now, if you’ll be so kind.”

I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak. My focus on Elain shifted to Cassian. He had sworn to protect me, to protect her. The pounding in my chest shattered my ability to speak. Cassian wasn’t moving—slumped on the floor in a pool of blood.

The penetrating ringing in my ears muffled all other sounds.

He was gone.

Dead.

Guards hauled me forward—towards the cauldron.

I pulled and shoved, I fought and I would fight until they killed me. I would not go in. My nails dug into their armor, shredding what skin I could reach. I threw my leg into one guard’s groin; bucking with every step. But the guards were too strong, there were too many.

My racing heart, my hollow breathing…I was not enough. I could not save Feyre, Elain nor myself.

They hoisted me up to the water of my demise. My bare feet hit the waiting liquid. It was cold and wrong, making bumps race across my skin. Something was beneath the surface, I—I couldn’t see it. But I somehow knew.

The dark water whispered my name, beckoning me to sink.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta…

I thrashed and kicked, I would not go in. I couldn’t go in. Cursing roars rushed off my tongue but I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel anything as I looked one last time at Cassian. His hand was in a different position than before, like he had reached forward but failed to move any further.

Could he be?

I was thrusted in, dark water up to my covered shoulders. My last chance, I thrashed forward—liquid spewing at the guards who held me down.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

An icy thing touched my bare foot, caressing up my calf—I screamed.

My bloody fingernails clawed at the men again. This time scratching two in the face, nearly taking out their eyeballs. No, no…I couldn’t go beneath the surface—for whatever was waiting for me, I would surely die.

“Put her under,” the king hissed.

Three guards shoved my shoulders down, then pushed on the top of my head. I kicked my legs, hoping to stop whatever creature waited beneath. Freeing my arm of one guard’s grip, I pointed in defiance. Baring my fangs, I delivered a cursing finger, a death promise for Hybern’s head.

At once, all three men crammed what little of me remained above the surface into the pool of fate.

Frigid water enveloped me, caressing every curve. An icy hand dragging me deeper. I didn’t look down, afraid of the monsters that swam beneath. I was scared to face what latched onto me.  

I had to get out, I had to swim away.

The singing whispers grew louder, piercing my eardrums the farther we went.

I slammed my foot on the monster’s grip until I was released. My arms reaching towards the light as I attempted my escape.

The icy grip pulled on my ankle, tightening when I jerked in response. A bloodcurdling scream evaded my chest. Water entered my mouth, flooding my lungs. The iron hand adjusted around me, tighter and tighter as it dragged me down.

The more I coughed, the more ice entered my core. My eyes bulged, staring at the distant surface. I could feel life escape me, the only thing keeping me awake was the burning sensation that tore apart my throat.

The descent into darkness stripped me of my human form. Corroding the flesh of Elain, of me. Tears drifted out of me, engaging with the body of water I was trapped in.

This is where I die; where this world ends and another begins.

 Cassian:

It was too fast—everything that was happening. How out of control the situation had become. Spreading my wings, I let the searing talons of magic shred through me. Horrific screams released from my core. The only way I knew I was still alive, that I was still fucking breathing was because of her screams.

The King of Hybern seethed, “put her under.”

My legs locked into place, scraps of my wings remained but I pushed forward. An inch, barely that—as I lifted my arm towards her. Blinded with rage and agony, I tried to get up. I had to get up.

I had promised her. I gave my word that I would protect her and her sister. It was too late for Elain, but…I had to reach her.

The gods-damn guards pushed her in, shoving her beneath the surface.

“Nesta...” I breathed, a surge of fire bored through me as I stared up at her. She couldn’t hear me, instead she had lifted a finger—a vow to end him.

I had never been prouder.

Sliding to position, I waited till their focus turned to Feyre who was vomiting across the floor. Pulling myself closer to the cauldron, little by little as the room remained focus on the other Archeron sisters. Moving forward, I released a muffled moan…my bloody hand reached forward. I dug my fingers into the crimson cracks and pulled. A trail of red behind me; I kept moving.

Close. So damn close. I could make it.

I launched to my feet, nearly passing out from the pain and dived into the cauldron. Multiple guards tried to pry me out but I swam deeper, faster—as if my entire future depended on it.

Light filtered down, illuminating Nesta’s body. Her eyes nearly shut, she was fading. Nesta’s limp arms held out towards the surface. She had to know I’d come for her. My lungs burned the farther I went, but I was too close now. Coils of blood swirled in the water, clouding the distance between us.

Blindly, I reached out for her hand.

I clutched onto an icicle. Nesta. I needed air. I needed to get us out. I tugged, pulling myself down to her. Blue lips and a pale complexion…

Nesta…

Wrapping my arm around her waist, I shot us to the surface. Something grabbed at my boots, trying to drag me back down. I raised my leg, putting what remaining strength I had into that kick.  

Whatever it was, it had let go. We were free.

My wings held us back, a weight of despair piling on. I couldn’t lose her.

Breaking through the surface, I gasped for air. The bloody water drained off our faces. Slamming my body into the side of the cauldron, we tipped over. Red hued water gushed onto the floor, our bodies sprawled next to one another.

“Nesta?” I got to my knees, quickly crawling towards her. The shattering pain in my spine made me cry out it pain. “Shit!” I yelped as I nearly collapsed on top of her. “Nesta…” I flipped her on her back, forcing my calloused hand down. “Breathe, Nesta. C’mon…” I muttered, pressing my lips to hers.

A wall of tears built in my eyes, “get up—wake up.” I slammed my hand on her again. “Breathe, damn it!” the burning in my eyes increased as I felt the warm tears rush down my face. “Nesta,” my voice cracked, “get up, Nes.” I pressed my quaking lips against hers, tears dripping onto her pale skin.

Water spewed into my face as she coughed. Nesta gasped for air, struggling to get the oxygen down her windpipe fast enough. “Don’t…” Nesta breathed heavily, “call me, Nes,” she finished, still choking on her words.

Without hesitating, I collapsed beside her, our raspy breaths piercing the silence.

“You’re alive,” I nearly cried in relief. My fumbling hand found hers. They were cold, but increasing in temperature.

Nesta stayed silent, still catching her breath.

My eyes adjusted as the stone chamber shifted into something new. Walls of pink, hundreds of shelves filled with novels. We were in her head again, in the place she had never let anyone in. 

“I thought,” I shakily exhaled, trying to keep my emotions in check. “I thought I lost you.”

Nesta turned her head to face me. I could feel her eyes scanning over my silhouette.  

 Nesta:

The ache in my throat prevented me from speaking. Was he here? Or was this another dream? Was there a difference anymore?

“How are you here?” my hoarse voice barely recognizable.

Cassian tilted his head towards me, “I don’t know.” He raised his hand toward my face, wincing in pain as his palm rested on my neck. Cassian’s thumb brushed up and down my jaw line. “You’re alive.”

I nodded, closing my eyes as I let his touch continue. My galloping heart settled, in a trance from his warmth.

“Where are you?”

My eyes shot open, “no.”

“Tell me, Nesta,” his thumb stopped moving. Copper eyes penetrated me, searching for any clue I would give away.

“No,” I sobbed, traitorous tears flooded out of me.

Cassian shook his head, pulling me closer until our bodies collided. “I know you’re in the Autumn Court. I know it was Eris. Where are you?” he demanded, his voice thickening with malice. “Why…why won’t you tell me?”

“Because…”

“Why?!” His voice raised, shaking the surrounding walls. “Why?” He asked again, this time with more control.

I bit my lip, watching as the amber tears didn’t burn his golden skin. Several minutes had passed before I could finally speak.

“You will lose me either way. Whether I’m trapped here or back in the Night Court.”

He exhaled heavily, nearly giving up—but I knew better.

“I won’t stop searching for you.”

“I know.”

“Then tell me,” he stood to his feet, reaching out a hand for me to grab.

For a moment, I saw the damage I had done, the melted flesh of his arm. I sighed, closing my eyes to clear the image. The bastard was head strong, I’ll give him that.

“You don’t…” I grabbed his hand, feeling the electricity pulse through us. Stuck, my words were lost on the tip of my tongue. Something snapped in my chest, a heartstring, perhaps?

Cassian wiped his face, clearing the frustration off his skin, “please…”

“When you come here. When you find me. What will you do?”

“Take you home, wherever that may be for you.” Truth laced his words, the color in his face returning.

I debated whether or not to tell him. Whether I should keep my mouth shut, save him from me. “Maybe I deserve this…the torture, the pain. It’s what I’ve inflicted on everyone else for so many years. It was about time it caught up to me.”

“Save your gods-damn speech for your sisters. You could have murdered a whole village and I would still come after you.”

“Liar.”

He shook his head again, balling his fists as he bit his lip so hard he bled.

Staring at the floor, processing his words--it came to me. “After I take your life, who will be next?” I asked him, repeating Mor’s words that had crushed me.

Cassian’s face fell, transforming into something between anger and realization. “Is that what she said to you?”

“Who?”

“Mor.”

My spine stiffened, mental shields dropping in surprise. The smell of the dungeon filled the air, suffocating our breath with a retched scent. Cassian’s eyes widened. I turned behind me, towards the windows facing the magnolia trees.  

The windows had vanished, unveiling my cell. Eris moved towards me with a worried expression. “Nesta?” He asked, fear rising in his voice. “Nesta?”

“The dungeon,” Cassian said through clenched teeth. Fury lit in his hazel eyes, his inner monster released.

“Cassian, don’t….” I begged, “please”. He needed to stay away, he had to stay alive. They needed him, the family—Velaris.  

“If he lays a finger on you…” he warned, his voice turning guttural, “I’ll kill him.”  

“Cassian,” I pleaded, pulling at his scarred arm, “don’t.”

He wasn’t listening, instead he focused in on Eris, on my cell. Soaking in every detail he needed to find me.

I slapped him, the only thing I could think of. Cassian’s hand lifted to his jaw, holding the sore spot as his eyes ravaged me.

“Listen to me…” I snapped, my heart thundering so loudly that it reverberated off the rosy colored walls. “I will not lose anyone else I lov…” I stopped before I could finish, before I revealed more than I wanted to.

“What?” Cassian’s hand dropped, his questioning eyes searching deeper and deeper into me. “What were you…?”

I swallowed hard, wishing I had just kept my mouth shut. “If you come here, if you die,” my voice shook.

Cassian raised his chin, “I have failed you,” he cleared his throat, “…in more ways than I care to say.” His calloused thumb brushed over my cheekbone. “I refuse to do so again.”

“No…” I begged, “no.” Shaking my head as amber tears grew with a vengeance.

“Flaming beauty,” he smirked, disappearing from my head.

“Cassian!” I screamed, reaching for him only to swat air. “Cassian!” I cried.  

  “Wake up woman,” his voice rang against the stone walls. Eris shook my shoulders violently, fire spreading down his hands and onto my shoulders. “Nesta!”

I gasped for air, unable to focus my eyes on anything in particular. Blurry, everything was just a blend of autumn colors.

“For cauldron sake, woman.” Eris breathed, fire circling down my arms. “Nesta?” He asked more calmly, waving a hand in front of my face.

“What happened?” I asked, hissing at the searing pain on my wrists.

“You were whimpering…then screaming.”

My eyes focused on his auburn hair, dropping to his amber eyes. “Get these things off of me,” I demanded. I winced again, this time from the overwhelming nausea.

“If I take those off, what will you do?”

“What?”

“Who will you…?” Eris stopped, his back as stiff as a column. His chin turned slightly to the left, a pointed ear raising.

“Eris…”

Eris glared at me, a warning. He turned on his heel, “brother, what brings you here so early?”

“I could ask the same for you,” Aedin stepped into the cell, his ravenous eyes finding mine.

The battle of brothers. Words forged with steel. A deadly end for one, if not both.

Aedin laughed without humor, “Ferron wants to see her.” He moved one step too close.

Eris stood next to me, closer than before. He positioned himself between me and Aedin. Eris’ wicked smirk displayed, as he looked me over then back to his younger brother. “I have plans for her first.”

“Father demands it.”

Eris growled, his body turned primal as he quickly grabbed my wrist. Winnowing us away before Aedin could react.

The shadows sung to me, calling me to step away from Eris. Urging me to move through the darkness and swim beneath the surface that separated this realm from another.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta…

“Eris…” I whispered. Before I could say another word, the darkness disintegrated. We were in someone’s chambers, a bedroom built for the future High Lord of the Autumn Court.

Golden leaf sconces lit with orbs of fire. Tapestries hung on every wall—similar to the ones in the throne room. Carpets with copper threading sparkled in the dim lighting.  

I walked around the room, praying the edge would wear off by doing so. A large bed was displayed in the middle of the chamber. Decadent velvet fabrics hung off the copper frame of the bed.  

“Your room?” I presumed, as I stared at the overtly autumn décor.  

Eris shrugged, “not my taste.”

“What is your taste?” I asked to distract myself from the growing anxiety. Though we were out of the darkness, I could still hear the singing whispers.

“You swam among us. You walked through darkness. You danced in the deep. Until you found, your way to victory. Come play with us,” the voices echoed, “come play with me,” a single, hollow voice sung to me.

Bumps raced across my skin.

His voice.

Not Cassian’s, not Eris.

Not Hybern’s.

The one who haunted me whether I was asleep or awake. A corruption of what little sanity I had remaining.

“Nesta…” He sung to me.

The restraints glowed brighter as the fire in my core sparked. “Ronan...?” I mumbled, glancing to every corner of the room.

His sickening laughter echoed through the chamber.

Acid rose up my throat, searing my esophagus. “Go away,” I muttered, my heart beating so loud I could barely hear his humorless laughter.  

“You need to eat,” Eris interrupted, his bushy brow raised, “who’s Ronan?” He took a long sip from a silver goblet.

My eyes flashed to Eris, to the cup he sipped from. If that was wine or ale, really any form of alcohol--I wanted it. “No one,” I replied, “what were you saying?”

“You need to eat before we enter Ferron’s dungeon. You need your strength,” he said sternly, still keeping a watchful eye on me. Eris held the goblet towards me, “Autumn Court specialty.”

I reached towards the shiny cup, “I thought I was in the dungeon.”

“We have several.”

I could feel myself sink, at an unstoppable momentum as I thought of the hundreds—thousands—who have died on this soil. “How many beings must rot beneath your feet.”

“I’m in the south tower, separated from the others.” Eris observed me as I downed the sweet and spicy cider.

I wiped my mouth, relieved as the alcohol swiftly eased my nerves.

“I couldn’t stand to hear their screams at night,” his voice trailed away, distant memories plaguing him.

“I’m not hungry,” I mentioned, in attempt to reel him back in.  

Eris laughed at my growling tummy. “You say that, but your gurgling stomach says otherwise,” he winnowed out of the room.  

I pressed on my stomach, the chains invading my tunic with a blistering chill. I didn’t bother to protest any further, not to an empty room at least.  

He reappeared with a large tray of food. Setting it on the wooden desk that overlooked the farm lands in the south.

Instantly, my appetite was spoiled by the plate of red.

“Our traditional breakfast. It’s not bad, if you enjoy a healthy amount of spice in your food.” He tried to crack a smile but scowled instead, shaking his head as he focused on the farthest tapestry.

I stared at the bloody sausages, the side of eggs spiced with specks of black and red. The lump in my throat grew as I scanned over a bowl of sliced pomegranates and another filled with spiced gray mush.

Eris pulled out a chair, beckoning me to sit, “is something wrong?”

All I could focus on was the scarlet dripping out of the sausages. Images of Hybern’s detached head flashed before me. I looked at my hands, at the crimson stains I would never be able to wipe off. Vomit threatened to expel from me. Tunnel vision prevented me from looking anywhere else but this damn tray.

Eris slid the food out of view, “what do you like to eat?”

“Hm?” I asked, snapping out of my daze. The orbs of fire grew brighter, illuminating the dark corners of the room.  

“Eat. What do you like to eat?” His amber eyes narrowed, “anything in particular?” Frustration hardening his posture.

“I’m not hungry,” I retorted. Ice racing threw my veins, making its way up my forearm.

Eris sighed heavily, “hopefully your stubbornness will get you through Ferron’s sessions.”

“How many?” I asked coldly, focusing on the farmer’s young son helping guide the horses.

“How many?” Eris asked perplexed, his eyes settling on me.

I finally peered up at him, “how many has he tortured?” The ancient cold from the faebane chains had slithered up my arms, invading my shoulders.

“Enough,” he murmured, wetting his soft lips.

“Will he...?” I couldn’t say it, Tomas and Aedin’s laughter stalked me. Their words slicing into my soul as if it were happening for the first time.

Eris scrutinized every line that struck my face. Every worry that I had felt since being captured. “He won’t.”

“How do you know?” I parted away from the desk, edging towards the window to gain a better view of freedom.

Eris stood beside me, his hands pulled behind his back. “Because I’ll be there to make sure he won’t.” He didn’t look at me, instead he studied a farmer raising his scythe. “Not everyone in the Autumn Court is as cruel as those you have met.”

The farmer brought down the long, curved blade. “You still have yet to convince me.” The penetrating ice worked its way over my shoulders…descending to my heart.

“Am I not proof enough?” He asked incredulously, his jaw tightening.  

Prying my blue-gray eyes off the field work, I observed one of the most dangerous men in Prythian…and criticized him, “you stole me away. You took me from my home.”

The corners of Eris’ lips twitched upwards, “if it was your home, you wouldn’t have run away.”

“I did it to protect them,” I argued, heat flushing my pale cheeks.

Eris’ body shifted, opening himself towards me, “from what?”

“From me.”

In case you missed the previous parts...

ONE

TWO 

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

[impressivepress]

Félicia Atkinson: The Flower and the Vessel

On Félicia Atkinson’s 2017 solo album Hand to Hand, she said, “I wanted to make sounds like cacti, with water and secrets inside.” She succeeded: Pairing almost unnervingly intimate whispers with heavily abstracted synthetic tones, the album guarded a vivid interior life beneath its prickly exterior.

But as Atkinson began recording the music that would become The Flower and the Vessel, her perception of the relationship between inner and outer realms began to shift. She was pregnant at the time, and she found herself feeling estranged twice over, caught between her surroundings and the new life growing inside her. In hotel rooms at night, as she composed on her laptop and murmured voice memos into her phone, she asked, “What am I doing here? How can I connect myself to the world?”

The Flower and the Vessel is Atkinson’s answer to that question. It is, she says, “a record not about being pregnant but a record made with pregnancy.” The music carries within it the idea of form coming into being; it moves away from the freeform drift of her previous albums and glides toward a nascent kind of order.

Though the album uses sumptuous sounds like a Fender Rhodes, marimba, and vibraphone, its essence remains pensive and sometimes unsettling. Many of the record’s hushed, interwoven elements guard their identities. Contrasting rhythms form a lattice of complementary pulses: On the ominous centerpiece “You Have to Have Eyes,” a deep boat-engine throb mixes in with rapid-fire insect oscillations, creaking doors, and a voice looped like lapping waves. “You had to have eyes in the back of your head,” she murmurs, her voice turned strange and glassy by digital distortion.

As always, there are Atkinson’s uncomfortably close whispers—lips practically brushing the mic, the grain of her voice rendered in molecular detail. She slips between English and French, and though the meaning of her words is not always apparent, the tone of her voice lends a dead-of-night intensity that renders the music’s pockets of silence all the more potent. It is as though you were locked in urgent conversation with her, or even eavesdropping on her very thoughts. But the invasive nature of the tactic—“Whispering is a way to get inside your ear,” she has said—puts an ominous, alienating spin on what we normally think of as an intimate sound.

With many of her texts repurposed from found sources, the precise meaning of most of these songs remains hidden. In “Shirley to Shirley,” she reads excerpts from a conversation between the artists Shirley Kaneda and Shirley Jaffe in Bomb Magazine in an electronically processed voice. In “Un Ovale Vert,” she reads a portion of one of David Antin’s improvised “talk poems” and then, in French, intones images from her own visual art (“a white ball, a green oval”). She is fascinated by the way ideas pass from medium to medium; the methodical way she arranges her sounds is almost painterly. (She also cites ikebana, the Japanese art of flower arrangement, as an influence on the album’s careful sense of balance and proportion.)

The album closes with “Des Pierres,” an 18-minute collaboration with Stephen O’Malley, of Sunn O))), which threads Atkinson’s whispers through nebulous clouds of milky drones and guitar feedback. She calls it an “open reading” of a history of images in stone—that is, the accidental “landscapes” found in gems and geodes—written by the French literary critic Roger Caillois. It’s a characteristically erudite reference, but its presence can be traced throughout the music: the guitars roiling like cloudy agate or glistening like an expanse of obsidian. Again, Atkinson returns to the idea of inside (the crystalline image revealed in a cross-section) versus outside (the rock’s nubby exterior). In the album’s opening track, she whispers a poem to her unborn child, meditating on the way that her voice travels through her body to her baby’s ears, and here, at the album’s end, she plunges us deep into that amniotic world.

~

by Philip Sherburne · July 9, 2019

[hadtochangemyurlquick]

The Others - Emison

(It’s not like you’re particularly beautiful I’ve met beautiful people I’ve hated beautiful people I’ve loved beautiful people)

Maya had her confidence, maybe that why Emily let her in. Because Maya was free of societal norms, and free of oppressing parents and free of the confines of popularity. Her confidence seeped into Emily’s soul and nestled into her heart and let her believe that she could be confident too.

When they first made love that night, surrounded by candles and heat, Maya had touched her the way Alison used to touch her, and Emily swore it was the same.

But Maya’s confidence was faked, and the lies she told made her too much like Alison and the break up was inevitable.

(But it’s your smile And your eyes And your voice And your words that flow through my body like the alcohol I use to forget)

Paige was confident too, not exactly in the same way but strong. She would protect the people she loved but in a different way than Alison. Paige was brash and bold and strong, while Alison was harsh, and cold, and tough. So Emily loved Paige, because Paige made her smile, and made her relax, and never her made her feel insecure.

But Alison could keep a secret, Paige couldn’t bother. Not even with the important ones, like whispered kisses on a cold summer day.

(It’s your hands That feel like they were made for me to hold)

Samara was when Emily almost admitted to herself that she had a problem. She was blonde with blue eyes, and sweet and genuine, they both even had obsessions with bracelets.

But Samara’s smile was different, and her eyes were a darker shade of blue, so Emily didn’t really try to get her back. She was just another in a sea of blondes to help her forget.

(It’s your laugh and how I spend all my time trying to come up with ways to hear it)

Sara Harvey it was even more ridiculous. She was blonde with blue eyes, and needed Emily. She was a queen bee at her old school and Emily always knew she was keeping things from her, and just like with Alison, Emily didn’t care.

Because when she kissed her the rushing in her ears stopped, and the pounding in her head slowed, and she loved her as hard as she could, and punched her even harder.

(It’s you and me And me and you And you and her And her and you And I’ve dripped off the page And I’m a girl you text occasionally And I’m nothing to you now)

Talia was a liar. She lied and she lied, and she seemed more mature, she was cute in an impish way and Emily couldn’t have cared less about her. She was Alison but less beautiful, less strong, less genuine, less confident, she helped her cater a party and that was it. Emily didn’t care much when they broke up because she moved on to California and bigger and better things.

(But god do I wish I could be something And god do I try to be I tried to be)

Sabrina was difficult, because she knew nothing, her hair was a dirty blonde which was as far away from Ali as Emily could manage. She always smelled slightly of weed which reminded her of Maya but she knew nothing about A.

They would’ve been good (emily knows this) if AD hadn’t so permanently settled into her life like a never ending bad dream. She tried, she did, she really did, but even when AD drifted away things felt too changed for her to love anyone.

(I see myself getting another chance in the next few years I’m not usually wrong I’m going to screw that one up too)

Alison kissed Emily on the kissing rock and then Emily kissed Alison in the library and it felt like a never ending pattern of broken heart and lost trails to happiness. Every single night Alison was gone and dead Emily would whisper to herself that she only wanted “one more minute, just one, is that too much to ask?”

(I’ll see you in New York Or maybe higher up)

All Emily wanted to do was jump in front of the gun. Partly because she couldn’t stand the thought of Alison truly, truly dead, and partly because she wanted to give the blonde a taste of her own medicine.

(You’re not a particularly beautiful person You’re rough and cold and dark And make me question my confidence And my own beauty)

When they kissed again, and never talked Emily almost thought it was because of her. Like she hadn’t done it well enough. Hadn’t kissed enough girls yet. She wasn’t good enough. She hadn’t loved Alison hard enough. (Alison never told her that she could never be sure if Emily was a mermaid or a siren, ready to pull her to safety, or lead her to death, and that Emily loved her too hard and she already felt like drowning.)

(But your smile has dimples And your eyes are warm And your voice is intoxicating And your words may give me a hangover but I never black out)

They held hands before Emily left and the warmth stayed with her just like her eyes, and the gold of her hair, tilting off the sun. She kissed girls in college like it was nobody’s business, but she loved no one, still committed to a girl back home set on falling in love with someone else, regardless of feelings.

(Your hands may be distant But they’re there

Your laugh may be smaller But I still get to hear it

And you’re not a particularly beautiful person But you’re the most perfect person in all your imperfections)

And then it was five long years later, Alison was pregnant, Emily had a relationship, and they were kissing anyway. Because sometimes all you really need is love and an old song to guide the way home, just like any good friend would.

(And maybe one day it won’t kill me to hear about her And ask about her And know about her

But right now It does

Please leave me alone)

And finally Emily demanded the truth, demanded that she stopped kissing her, demanded an answer. Or else the last thousand girls were pointless.

And Alison gave her one in the form of a diamond ring on Emily’s finger.

And they lived happily ever after swimming through seas and ignoring siren calls.

—–

The poem is called Beauty (letters to my ex) that I wrote myself, which is somewhere on my blog. Sorry to everyone who had to scroll past that shit!

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

early pact conversations

The halls of Fort Amol were uneasy tonight. The Dunmer and the Nords didn’t reside among each other easily, but with their two heroes absent tensions ran particularly high. So Jorunn kept out of sight as he made his way to the central chambers, unwilling to be confronted until he had his word with their leaders himself. Sai must have favored him, for he arrived at the central chambers unmolested. But then he paused, for drifting from behind the door was a heated argument, and he couldn’t help but pause to listen. “… Nid ov rok.” That was a woman’s voice, deep and smooth, but rather than Aldmeris it spoke a language Jorunn had only ever heard in bard-songs, the old language of dragons. “Rok dreh yah mu fah ok muz.” replied a man in the same harsh tongue, his voice so quiet that Jorunn had to strain to hear it. “Rok los hun.” “Rok nid los hun, rok los kiir!” the woman said with anger. “Hi lost kiir fod hi meyz jul.” replied the man. “Zu'u nid los rok!” “Rok los med hi.” “Zu'u los nid Jul do bastard.” the woman hissed. “Zu'u lost nid… Zu'u los nid bron!” “Nuz hi dreh bo bronne.” “Zu'u bo hi. Zu'u HATE rok.” “Hi hate ok red hair.” “How DARE you–” The man spoke a single word, causing the walls to shake, and then the door swung open, and Jorunn found himself caught plain-faced in his eavesdropping. The inner chambers of Fort Amol seemed far, far too small to house two gods and a king, and yet here they were. Wulfharth stood still at one side of the room, large as a giant and placid; Almalexia floated at the other side of the room, so angry that the furious energy rolling off of her was nearly palpable. Almalexia reacted first. “You dare to eavesdrop on us?” she demanded, turning to Jorunn. “Rok nid tinvaak dovahzul,” Wulfharth said softly, his voice a rasp, “Be still.” Almalexia drew herself up, alighting on the ground. She closed her eyes and seemed to steady herself; then her expression changed, she relaxed, assumed a benevolent smile that failed to reach her eyes. “Of course,” she said warmly, turning to Jorunn, “What is it that you need? Have our scouts returned?” Sai might’ve been with him, but Jhunal was absent. “How did you learn to speak dragon-tongue?” Jorunn blurted out. The smile left Almalexia’s face immediately. “My companions might indulge frivolous questions, but I’ve less patience for them.” she replied. “If you’re here only to ask–” “She learned it as a child.” Wulfharth said, interrupting her effortlessly, though his voice was soft. “Ysmir!” “She was born, fatherless, to the woman who ruled Mournhold at the time the Nords dominated it.” Wulfharth continued on. “The first blighter-Jarl taught her our language.” Jorunn, uncomfortably, looked from Wulfharth to Almalexia; the former’s brow was creased, the latter’s face burned with anger, to the point that furious tears glinted in her eyes. “Geh.” she said curtly, looking away. “And you, Ysmir, learned it from the dragons who reared you. But it’s far in the past. Jorunn, the scouting reports.” “Not so far in the past.” Wulfharth whispered. “You would not have summoned me were that the case.” “Forgive me,” Jorunn interrupted, awkward, and he bowed deeply to the Goddess. “I didn’t mean to offend.” “Stand, Skald-King.” Wulfharth ordered. “An ally who will not share their history is no ally. And you have questions.” Jorunn, uncomfortable, looked from one god to the other. “… I think they can wait.” he answered cautiously, taking a step towards the door. “I just, ah, the scouting reports.” Almalexia crossed to him and took them, not gently, from his hands. “The scouting reports.” she agreed. “You may leave.” “Almalexia.” Wulfharth began– But Jorunn knew enough to know when to remove himself from a situation, and this was as good a time as any. So he bowed and excused himself from the room.

…

For the sourness of their last meeting, Jorunn couldn’t have been more surprised to return to his chambers a few days later and find them occupied by the Mercy of the Dunmeri Tribunal. Almalexia didn’t float but stood upon the ground, her face downturned as she looked over the papers of his desk; military reports interspersed with songs or poems. “… This isn’t the first time I’ve ended up with an elf in my bedchambers,” Jorunn announced himself, “But…” Almalexia turned to him, frowning, but ignored the comment. “Who was your father, Jorunn?” “My father?” Jorunn sat on the edge of his bed and shook his head. “I don’t know. Nurnhilde never let me ask.” “And your mother, her name was Flame-Hair, wasn’t it?” Almalexia looked back to his desk. “It’s from her you inherit your red hair.” Jorunn found that he couldn’t think of a reply to that; he tugged at a loose strand of his own red locks. “Aye, I… Suppose that’s right.” Almalexia thumbed through a poem. “In Resdayn,” she said idly, “It was said that a mer with red hair had human blood in their veins. My mother’s hair was brown.” “Your father was a Nord?” “I don’t know. The question was never answered, because my House would have cast me out were it the case. My mother only ever told me that I was the child of Boethiah.” She paused, then. “… I was born on Vvardenfell, and I used to think that I’d one day find someone who knew. But anyone who might’ve known died before I convinced myself to ask them. There was one man, Voryn Dagoth, the man who taught me to resurrect Wulfharth… I believe he knew, and would have told me. But the truth is more frightening than any specter and I confessed I was frightened. The Nords who ruled Mournhold were not gentle men. I would not sleep easily if I knew for certain I was of their blood.” Jorunn hesitated. “I understand.” he admitted. “My sister… she knew, but she never told me. Mother hated to speak of it. Fildgor thinks it was one of the Storm-Fist clan, but he doesn’t know either…”  “Does that bother you?” “To tell the truth? No, never. My sister and my mother were incredible women, and I didn’t need more than the pride of being related to them.“  "I wish I could have met them."  "So do I."  A silence fell between them, but not an uncomfortable one, and though Jorunn had many things to say, precocious youth he was, he kept silent until the Goddess opposite him stood and turned to him. "Jorunn,” she said seriously, “I congratulate you on your strength. It is rare for a Goddess to administer praise, but you are deserving of it. It takes great strength to take a throne that was never meant for you, but you did so, not out of ambition but for a love of your people and a wish to see them protected. So I give you my praise and my blessing for this brave thing you’ve done."  The unexpected sincerity made Jorunn blush and, flustered, he rose to his feet and bowed deeply. But that made Almalexia laugh and she touched his shoulder. "Rise, Skald-Prince. Wulfharth was right about you, you’re a noble-hearted idiot. But all good Nords are."  "Wulfharth called me an idiot?"  "It’s praise coming from him. It means he trusts you.” She paused, then added. “As do I trust you, I suppose, for I wouldn’t have told you this, otherwise. Be honoured; the trust of a Goddess is not easily won."  Jorunn straightened up and smiled, "But the trust of an ally? Oh, wait, come to think of it, Dunmer don’t even trust their allies, do they?"  "Oh– save me from the Nords.” Almalexia turned away from him, but he caught the glimpse of a smile on her face. “Don’t grow insolent, Skald-Prince. We shall see how things seem come morning."  "Geh, Judiil."  "Judiil? Zu'u los judiil, hi los konahrik-i."  "Right, right, judi. Pruzahvulon, judi?"  "Ha! Very good. Pruzahvulon, Jorunn."  And then she was gone, and it was only later that Jorunn realized she’d taken the drawing he’d done of his mother Queen Mabjaarn, the one with snowberry juice staining red her hair.

["I do not trust him.” “He sought us out on behalf of his people.” “He is a child.” “You were a child when you seized power.” “Do not compare me to him!” “He is much like you.” “I am no Jarl’s bastard. I never stole his land or… I am no Nord!” “But you came for them for help.” “I came to /you/. I hate him.” “You hate his red hair.” “How dare–”

…

“Yes, your queen.” “Your queen? I am your queen, you are my-general.” “Right, right, my queen. Goodnight, my queen?” “Ha! Very good. Goodnight, Jorunn.”]