#crescent waxing poetic

[crescent-cubed]

Friendly reminder that anything can be art if you do it with enough emotion. Love, sorrow, hate, it all counts. You're taking a piece of yourself and putting it in an object, a concept, or even in nothing, but that emotion lingers. You may come back to it, or you might throw it away as soon as you're done.

The important part is that you made something.

You left a piece of yourself behind, and it's right where it's supposed to be.

[theodore-sallis]

“…Man-Thing!” Savage Tales (Vol. 1/1971), #1.

Writers: Roy Thomas and Gerry Conway; Penciler, Inker, and Letterer: Gray Morrow

[daliunderstars]

Look at who have we become!

[avocado-writing]

BrooOOO I've been thinking about Roland Blum going to absolute TOWN on some pussy, like you're on your back and he's sitting up on his knees in the bed with your legs over his shoulders. He holds your hips up to his mouth by your ass, going full feral on your cunt--

You're sopping, and his beard is drenched as he slurps you to hell and back. He actually GROWLS into your pussy with pleasure using that gravely voice, practically purrs too and the vibrations from his throat radiate straight to your clit. The texture of his beard, his prominent nose, his switch from sucking you like candy to smashing his whole face up in there and shaking like a dog!!!! His head is tragically out of your reach, otherwise your hands would be buried and pulling on his gorgeous curls! He misses it too, but your wanton cries spur him on, he loves hearing you drunk on him and unrestrained, sobbing his name. You try to keep yourself grounded, digging your nails into his thighs, and what you can reach of his forearms as you hold on for dear life. It leaves marks, scratches he wears proudly on his soft flesh.

He can get a little mean, waxing poetic about what a little slut you are and slapping your clit to hear you shriek, when it's his turn to be in control. He did take moments to drag his tongue on your inner thighs, and left bite marks in his wake. Now, you're squirming in his grip as you're wound tighter and tighter, already having cum at least once, and you want more but your body simultaneously cries out and pulls away. "Such a gorgeous fuckin' pussy," he muses, "lookatcha, fuckin' tremblin' for me." He's pulled back from your cunt, watching as you clench around nothing at his words, before adding his fingers into your eager, sensitive hole once again. He uses the flat of his tongue on you again, demanding to know who this pussy belongs to (him, of course, in this moment at least-- only him).

It's when he starts fluttering his fingers side to side across your clit that you really need to be restrained, his other arm holding you against his chest as your muscles contract and your legs quiver. Roland watching with lust ("ahhhhh, fuck yes. There it is") as your pussy gushes and you cum with a wail-- but his ministrations don't slow, and you're squirting again and again, and he makes another lecherous groan as slick drenches his chin, flowing down your ass, his chest and drips along down his front.

"Theeere ya go sweetheart. Atta girl," he coos, seeing tears of overwhelming pleasure in your eyes. He finally slows the motion of his fingers, rubbing instead with the full flat of his hand, letting you ride out the waves and grinding against his palm. (Your cum has run all the way to his elbow, adding a lewd shine to the dark hair and budding crescent marks there.)

Your mind must've liquified, probably cummed out completely. Roland gently lets your bottom half down to rest into his lap, a leg on either side of him and his raging hard-on prominent against your ass (he came while eating you out already, his cum mixed with yours in the messy puddle beneath you). He rubs your stomach for a moment watching you. When your eyes meet you see the self-satisfied smile grin plastered on his dripping face. "You still with us, sweetheart? If I ate your soul right out your snatch, tough luck but I'll take it as a win."

You tell him to shut up, tugging him forward by his beard to shove your tongue in his mouth. He hums, maneuvering you fully onto the bed (and off to the side of the mess you've made). Roland gets a little caught up in sharing the taste of you, your fingers in his hair. His jaw and tongue are incredibly sore, but he likes the pain if he's honest. (Which he isn't.) The two of you lay together lazily then, basking in the afterglow.

Eventually you pat his shoulder, getting his attention: For the love of God, please get off of me and get me a towel. He barks out a laugh, giving your nipple a pinch (with another huffed laugh) before heading to the bathroom, ass fully in display to you (and yes, you do watch as he goes).

"Order up," he jokes, quickly producing warm wet washcloths and fluffy dry towels. He's rinsed his beard, attempted to slick back his hair.

You thank him, and the both of you start cleaning yourselves, lending a hand to the other if necessary. The whole time, Roland serenades you (more like talk-singing, but it counts) with some obscure song. You give up on cleaning and instead head to the shower, Roland following suit.

You shampoo his hair, massaging his scalp-- he gets hard again, and massages your sudsy breasts together as he kisses and sucks your neck. Eventually you drop to your knees and suck him. You then let him fuck your soapy tits, and he blows his load across your chest.

When you're done showering, you move to the couch, order takeout, and watch Cutthroat Kitchen til you both pass out.

I've never seen The Good Wife. (Maybe this is just about Michael??) I've been typing this for 3 hours. It's 1am. I didn't expect to write a whole fic in your inbox. The walls are beginning to spin. I hope you like it at least. If not I'm so sorry.

hey anon? I shouldn't have read this at work. all i could do was stand there, horny and shellshocked. you're a poet and an artist.

everything about this is perfect. when roland blum goes down, he goes down. he won't stop until he feels you fluttering around his tongue from multiple, strung-out orgasms. it's this ^ fic. it's utterly and precisely this fic.

i'm going mental for this lol

[kinokom]

The Patron of Gluttony

[Any Gender] MC / Beelzebub, Reader x Beelzebub

⚠️ > slightly suggestive

🍄🐌 || This is just me simping for Beel and waxing poetic about it wwww

I consider him. Rosy-cheeked. Lashes fluttered shut. The unsure line of his lips. A demon wearing the face of an angel.

He is in my hands, the cream plushness of his chest fitted in my palms. I am digging crescents into him, while his own hands are petal soft and gentle, thumbing circles into my hips. My fingers draw along his strong arms, his broad shoulders, and circle around the delicacy of his pulse. When his eyes lock with mine, they are bigger than I've ever seen them. Wide with trust and a feeling that poets have not given a name to yet andー

I have never been so hungry before.

I rest my eyes and nuzzle along his collarbone. But his face is pressed to my vision. There's a tenderness to him: the sharp angles of his face softening under my touch. His ears pinking. His boyish flush.

No matter how large he is, he is small in my embrace. Beel loves me, and I know he loves me, and it is a bit too much; to love and be loved in return.

I love you. I press it into his neck. Against his warm cheeks. Wherever my lips can touch. I love you, I love you, I love you.

I run my tongue over Beel's skin, tasting salt and flesh and the remnants of his divinity. I even taste the hiccupy gasp that leaves him. He trembles.

"Be still."

Beel nods. So good and so cute, like he always is.

I can't help it. I cup his face in my hands and kiss him. His lips feel like the sun, and I soak in his warmth. I can feel his honey sweetness in my throat, it warms my chest.

When poets speak of sweetness, this must be what they mean. They must be talking about Beel. I feel like I could lay him out like a platter of pastries and feast.

I've never been so hungry.

I look at him, and Beel is grinning. Almost knowingly.

Something dawns on me. No one knows hunger more than the avatar of gluttony.

Beel giggles. As bright as the sun's reflection on water.

"Feeling hungry?"

Well.

I know nothing of heaven now, anyways.

I open my mouth,

And I bite down into him.

FIN 。

🍄🐌 || よ!!!! thanks for reading my barely held together rambling... i'm not the best writer but beel is on my mind and won't leave...

[hiding1ntheforest]

Mona & Lunar Energy

Identifying the Anglo-Saxon moon god and exploring the characteristics of lunar deities, as well as the qualities of lunar energy and the many ways it is manifested.

A crucial element to my own religious practice that I’ve discussed very little is the worship of the moon god, Mona, and the integration of lunar energy. Solar energy, Sunne, and sun worship plays an important role in many pre-Christian religions, but I’ve observed that Mona, the moon, and other lunar deities often take the backseat of discussions pertaining to the celestial bodies and their influence. This article will discuss who exactly Mona is, the importance of the moon in relation to paganism, and how I’ve experienced lunar energy. 

Mona, in simplest terms, is the moon god among the Anglo-Saxon pantheon. There is little information about Mona and his worship amongst the Anglo-Saxons, though we can come to a few conclusions by looking first at the etymology. “Mona” is derived from Proto-Germanic “meno,” a word that indicates measurement. Furthermore, “month” stems from the same word. The Anglo-Saxon calendar operates off of solar years comprised of lunar months. Secondly, we can learn more from comparative sources. The moon deity venerated amongst those farther North is Mani, the child of the rather elusive Mundilfaeri and brother to Sol. Information on Mani is not as extensive in comparison to other deities, though he is still mentioned several times throughout the Eddas. Within Voluspa, Mani is mentioned as “able to reckon the year,” further establishing his connection to time and measurement. In Vafthrudnismal, it is stated that Mani, along with his sister, Sol, were taken by the gods and made to drive the chariots of the moon and sun as a result of Mundilfaeri boldly naming the pair after the two celestial bodies.  Additionally, this portion of the Poetic Edda reiterates the importance of the moon god in relation to time, “waxing and waning moon the wise gods made to tell the time for men.” Alvismal lists the several names Mani is called among the gods, men, spirits of Hel, dwarves and elves, and Mani is mentioned again in Grimnismal where he is chased by the wolf Hati along with his sister during Ragnarok. The Prose Edda tells of two children, Hjuki and Bil, who are taken from the Earth by Mani and follow him throughout the heavens. Scholars speculate that these two figures may be the personification of the many phases of the moon. In Germania, Tacitus asserts that the Germanic peoples believed the new moon and full moon brought prosperity and success in business. The phases of the moon were crucial to our heathen ancestors in regards to measurement and the passage of time, the harvest, and the tribe’s operations. 

It is widely accepted that lunar energy is of a feminine nature, and that moon deities are essentially always female. However, male moon deities are much more common than expected. The moon god worshipped by the ancient Mesopotamians was Sin, also referred to as Nanna. It is speculated that Sin connotes the crescent moon, whereas Nanna indicates the full moon. Nanna was of particular importance to the inhabitants of Ur, who viewed him as their divine leader. Nanna’s prominence in Ur can be attributed to his rule over the tides, which dictated the vegetation of the marshes and growth of the cattle, which was a central trade among the people of the Euphrates river. Various Sumerian and Akkadian birth incantations call on Nanna, suggesting that he may be a fertility deity. The moon god within the Egyptian pantheon is Khonsu. Khonsu, like Nanna, was tied to cattle, but was additionally viewed as a healer. It was believed that Khonsu had the ability to drive away the evil entities that may harm man and cause him bad health. Thoth, another lunar deity among the Egyptians, is often associated with Khonsu and assists deceased individuals in passing through the Hall of Truth. Moreover, he was specifically worshipped amongst scribes due to the story of Thoth gifting the hieroglyphs and literature to humanity, as well as his role as a record keeper, tracking each day among the humans. Occult knowledge, wisdom, and magick were all later attributed to Thoth. 

Many typically view the moon as the opposite of the sun, and subsequently the moon’s characteristics as the inverse of the sun’s. I simultaneously agree and disagree. To me, the moon certainly presents a unique set of qualities that separates it from the sun, though like all objects of nature, they are in harmony and agreement. Remember, Mona and Sunne are siblings, so that the lunar and solar are in a way connected, and their qualities impact each other’s. The lunar and solar work together, like all natural things. Intuition, deep thought, innovation, fluidity and rejuvenation are all lunar qualities. The creative quality of lunar energy is exemplified through the way the moon effects the tides and the harvest. The movement of the tides, Mona driving the chariot of the moon, and other lunar deities having some ties to travel indicates the fluid, ever-changing nature of lunar energy. The sun is still and unwavering, while the moon is evolving and  free-flowing. Lunar energy inspires within us a great need for knowledge and thought, an aspect personified by several lunar deities connected to speech and literature in some way. Additionally, I’ve observed that worshipping and spending time connecting to Mona has brought me a sense of inner peace, a return to logic. Frankly, I’ve gone into prayer or have left an offering to Mona while being quite worried or upset about something, and I’ve been repeatedly left with a sense of calmness. The confused mess of thoughts in my mind were no longer, instead being able to think through my troubles and approach a profound sense of acceptance. Lunar energy enables us to think and communicate clearly, and acts as a catalyst for all of our creative endeavors. The moon and all things lunar symbolize the arcane, the covert, and the nuanced. 

[moonydabest]

Patron Saint of the Waxing Crescent Moon, Snakes & Medicine

Why thank you <3

What is venom but the potential for it's own failure?

Every strength can be turned into a weakness, every weakness a strength in disguise.

Ah shit, I'm being poetic again.

[mothfishing]

We’re over the moon for this heavenly plush! Gorgeously textured with velvety craters, Amuseable Moon is full of fun. A midnight matey for bedtime hugs, this pearly-white pal is curvy and cuddly. With squidgy cord booties, a weighted bottom and a peaceful smile, this moon's waxing poetic. A magical crescent and a marvellous present.

[silverjetsystm]

to Mr. Knight: "I know what you're doing. You're trying to distract me. No more talking."

Mr. Knight had been waxing poetic, moonlighting monologuing in-between tossing crescent darts and making a tactical retreat. "Not the first time. I was getting tired of using the same routine with someone who doesn't enjoy it~"

[mysyerious]

WHISPER A LITTLE PRAYER FOR ME

dedicated to the idea @raelwrites gave me about frank whispering prayer as he kills in khonshu's honour;

[rushed ending + can you tell I hate writing dialogue?]

"please, I'm begging you-"

"are you?" frank drawled, clearly bored,  "if you were beggin', you'd be on your knees."

and maybe it was the gun pointed directly at his head, maybe it was the hardened stare of a man who just massacred his fellow gang members unflinchingly, but the man knelt down one trembling knee at a time and held his hands aloft, clasped in prayer.

and yet,

"you really think god can save you?" frank chuckled, crouching down to stare at the man directly, "it was a god that put you in this position in the first place."

the final whispered plea was overshadowed by the echoing of a bullet emptying from its chamber.

frank takes a moment to look at the slumped body before inching closer to smear the blood in a resemblance to khonshu's moon disk, as he had done with the others, because the entire reason he's here right now is because khonshu disappeared on business—and frank knew his god wouldn't miss him punishing unless it was of true importance.

he leaves little markers of his devotion to him, because frank doesn't know what else to do. because he can wax poetic about khonshu all night long on paper but somehow speaking those words feels suddenly so much more vulnerable, acknowledging that he is killing low-level gang members because he misses khonshu isn't something frank is ready to do.

he paints khonshu's symbol in the blood because if khonshu comes, when khonshu comes, to look at the scene frank caused in his name, the god will see the remnants of franks worship.

and frank knows he can build up to prayer like he built up to dedicating words on paper to him.

it was the echoing of a rough voice that knocked frank out of his thoughts, wiping his hand on his thigh and standing as daredevil rounded the corner.

"frank.. what's this?" his confused voice rung, toeing briefly at a now-misshaped crescent in the drying blood.

frank clicks the safety back on before he answers, "nothin' to concern yourself with red." and it really wasn't. what frank got up to in his spare time was nothing the masked vigilante needs to know about.

daredevil thought otherwise, because suddenly there hand firmly placed on his chest that kept him from leaving.

"are- are you ok?"

frank grumbled at the hand but just as quickly pushed it aside, he had a date with khonshu to get to.

"I don't bother you, you don't bother me. wasn't that the agreement we made?" frank stops at the rusted doors. "besides, we all do confusing things for those we love."

[crescent-cubed]

Fuck it, new pinned post with tags and stuff lol

#cubed one's content - My stuff! Stuff made by me!

#ask - what's on the tin. Any asks I get!

#reblog - Stuff not by me! Or stuff that includes people who are not me!

#text - Posts with text!

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#art - Posts that have art in them!

#audio - Posts that have sound!

#video - Posts that have video!

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#ask game - Posts about an ask game!

#friend tag - Posts that have my friends in them!

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#blog-keeping - Posts like welcome posts, important information, etc!

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I also try to tag fandoms for posts too!

My other blogs!

@friendball-irl - My first Pokemon IRL RP blog!

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My really awesome and talented partner Tori has a blog here! @twodragonsinatrenchcoat

My Posts That I Think Are Cool

spiritually i am a mouse

[rawrmeansilyindinosawr]

dear you,

you're 26 now and the weight of the world is still on your shoulders. the drugs keep taking up so much of ur life and u don't want it to stop because it makes life more interesting and gives u perspective so what the hell. sobriety's a joke and if you're holier than me you can get the fuck out. you're tired of being small, confused, addicted. to loveless lies. pisces men. staying up all night. you love sleeping in and also having a bedtime. being boring. normal. craving a sense of peace. you're still erratic and wear what you want based on how you want to feel and impulsive but now you count how much everything costs because u knew what it was like to have nothing at all. just a few months ago. and everything's still twisted and sick and sick and twisted but it is what it is and that's exactly how u like it.

you're braver and louder and more rustic and darker. not just the tattoos or the way you dress. everything consolidated into a dark feminine energy, sensual flair, romantic elegant gothic. all black. you don't take another second to wonder if someone down the street needs to get told to shut the fuck up. you want to read more and collect information in ur brain about everything there is to learn about the world and emerge and rly hope you get into that poetry program. there's so many ways that you can choose to go backwards. there's so many easy ways to betray yourself over and over and over again until you feel like there's nothing left.there's so many ways to continue to rot in the molded peach pit of your January lover, waxing crescent, wanning gibbous. some things are not meant to be and you have to accept that. somethings that hurt that feel good when they hurt doesn't mean it's actually good. somethings that U find endearing and poetic to feel don't mean they are feelings that u ought to feel forever. they're just familiar.

last year at 25 you promised yourself to stop smoking cigarettes. you lied. but you don't blame yourself. they feel like ur first love still. and outside of those child like eyes at 26 u realize promises r always gonna be held loosely. n pinky promises can still be broken. like marriage and babies and running away in fast cars with just a jar full of change.

you're still scared of food but you're done romanticizing your youth. scraped skinned bloody knees from falling on cement just to prove u bled. like shedding skin meant transformation. you'll still romanticize passing trains that light up polluted skies, 11:11 wishes, getting tucked in at night, and ring pop proposals that mimic wedding bands, though.

you're ok with sitting in silence and being alone. ok with not having to talk and entertain the crowd, the room. you're confident in how u make a statement either way. you know you're here to open the hearts of others. to make them feel. cuz if there's one reason 2 be alive it's to write. about romance, beauty, memories, love. the eternal things. the things that could break you down, build u up, make u cry.

you're confused why 26 feels more like a commitment to be alive and have a future and that makes u feel neutral. but like u have to kind of swallow that lump in the back of ur throat that says ur gonna do it all wrong or gonna fuck it all up. you flashback now to the time when you were 13 looking in the mirror when the clock stroke midnight and u were waiting for a visible change on ur birthday. it's funny now to think that's all that was to think about change.

you're being more comfortable with who you are, and wanting to share that with others; whether that is dramatic, expressive, way 2 depressive, aggressively over exaggerated....you are never gonna try to make urself small for the comfort of others. shallow u could never be. an ocean u will embody when u reach a million more of these days of birth, these happy birthdays. it feels unreal to have made it another year. I hope it continues to feel good rather than dreadful. I won't blow out my candles this time wishing I was dead, I'll wish for peace of mind. and the strength to live day by day by day by day one day at a time.

[montereybayaquarium]

We’re over the moon for these stellar jellies! The sea-lestial wonder of moon jellies always gives us a crescent smile that won’t ever wane. (Sorry to wax poetic, just going for some satellite (no) hearted pun)

[cooliogirl101]

so what happened with nana and shamal? are they a less intense version of gin and hisana? 🤔

The first time Shamal sets eyes on Nana Fujiwara, he is convinced he’s seen an angel. He takes in the warmth of her eyes, the silkiness of her hair, the way she smells like white tea and jasmine, and he leaps at her with welcoming arms, ready to embrace her and press himself against those soft, inviting curves.

He’s promptly enveloped in an enormous cloud of pepper spray. That basically sets the tone for the next two years of their relationship.

In general, Nana likes to think of herself as someone who gets along pretty well with people. She knows she has a bit of a temper, but she tries her best to keep it under control and to remain patient, calm, and understanding. 

That all goes out the window when it comes to Trident Shamal.

There are a lot of things about Shamal that she hates. She hates the way he leers at and chases after every girl he finds attractive. She hates his stupid, perverted grin and she hates the stupid, dopey look he gets on his face every time she sees him, and she hates his stupid, fucking ridiculous rule about ‘not treating men.’

Most of all though, she hates how he gets away with it. How every single member of the administration simply laughs it off, telling her it’s “just some harmless flirting, don’t worry about it.” One professor tells her she should be flattered and she almost commits homicide right then and there. 

Then to top everything off, she can’t even avoid him because as the top two members of their class, they always end up getting paired together for projects, which was...just typical. 

Honestly, Nana thinks the fact that she hasn’t killed him yet is an enormous testament to her self control. She could probably put that on her resume under ‘special skills’-- has refrained from murdering classmate (was there a word for that? Classmate-cide? Peer-tricide?) despite being given literally hundreds of reasons to do so. 

Not to say she hasn’t imagined doing so. Vividly. She ended up doodling so many scenarios that she had to get a second notebook. 

~~

Any other day, and Shamal would have been thrilled to have Nana Fujiwara, the loveliest, prettiest, most adorable girl in his class, knocking on his door. Any other day and he would’ve been more than happy to wax poetic about her beautiful smile, her fiery personality, her large, doe-like eyes, the soft curve to those plump, inviting lips, the-- well, the list goes on. 

Right now however, he hadn’t showered in three (or was it four?) days, he was drenched in his own sweat, he was running a fever of 39.5 C, his head was throbbing painfully, everything hurt, and to top everything off, the room smelled strongly of vomit. 

“Shamal, I know you’re in there! Open up!” Shamal groaned miserably, covering his eyes with one arm as the pounding at the door caused his headache to go from ‘someone trying to drive an iron spike through my head’ to ‘iron spike is now on fire and accompanied by a hundred tiny hammers, please kill me now.’ 

“Goddammit Shamal, you were supposed to send me the draft of your half of the project three days ago! Open the door!” Nana continued to shout through the door. “I swear to god, if you don’t open up, I will kick your door down, don’t think I won’t--oh.”

Nana blinked, irritated scowl melting away at the sight of his appearance. She frowned, a touch of concern creeping into her expression.

“Are you...okay?” She asked hesitantly. It was the first time he’d heard Nana Fujiwara sound hesitant and Shamal hated it. 

Summoning up whatever last reserves of strength he had left, Shamal put on his best flirtatious grin, eyes curving up into crescents. 

“Aww, you don’t have to be worried about me, beautiful!” He cooed, then clenched his teeth as he felt his stomach swoop nauseatingly. “I’ll be fine, just had a lil’ too much to drink last night.” He leaned casually against the doorframe, which had the added benefit of keeping him mostly upright. “I just need to sleep it off and then--”

“Yeah no, you’re clearly not okay. Stupid question,” Nana murmured, clearly ignoring everything he’d just said. She stepped closer, placing a hand against his forehead. “Jesus, you’re burning up. Come on, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No!” He shouted. Nana flinched, startled, and Shamal cursed under his breath. He hadn’t meant to do that. 

“No,” he repeated, calmer this time. “No hospitals. I’ll be fine.”

“Shamal--” Nana began. 

“They won’t be able to do anything,” he interrupted. “I’ve been through this before, I know how it goes. I just need to wait it out.” He swallowed. “Going to a hospital won’t help. Please, Nana, I--”

He suddenly doubled over, retching violently the rest of his words disappearing under a river of vomit. Shamal had just enough time to see Nana’s eyes widen before he slipped into blissful unconsciousness. 

~~

Shamal woke up to gentle hands dabbing at his face with a cool washcloth, the pleasant scent of white tea and jasmine, a familiar voice murmuring soft reassurances in his ear.

“Shhh, you’re okay. It’s just me,” the voice whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

“Nana?” Shamal asked, fighting to stay awake. “You stayed.”

There was a pause.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “Yeah. I stayed.” 

~~

Honestly, Nana had no idea what possessed her to actually listen to her obviously sick, half-delirious, idiot classmate instead of doing the reasonable thing, which would’ve been to dump him at the nearest hospital. 

Maybe it was the fact that he’d actually called her by her name for once, instead of some stupid pet name. Maybe it was the fact that she knew firsthand how miserable hospitals could be and could sympathize with his desire to avoid them at all cost. Or maybe it was the fact that she recognized the tone of voice he’d used when he’d told her that there was nothing the doctors could do to help him-- the kind of resigned certainty that could only come from experience, of having your hopes dashed over and over. It was a tone of voice she was well acquainted with. 

(“I’m sorry Christina, there’s nothing more we can do.”)

It could have been any one of those reasons, or all three of them. She tried not to think too much about it. 

It took another two days before Shamal’s fever started coming down and three before he started sounding halfway coherent again. On the fourth, she found him sitting in bed with his breakfast untouched on the nightstand next to him.

“Is something wrong?” Nana asked, frowning. “Are you feeling nauseous again?” When he shook his head, she continued, “I can make something else if you don’t like--”

“Why?” Shamal interrupted. 

“Why what?” Nana asked, puzzled. “Why did I make eggs? I was looking up things that are good to eat when you’re sick and I came across a recipe for Chinese steamed eggs. I wish I knew about this before, I mean like it provides protein but it’s soft like a custard so you don’t have to chew much and--”

“No, why-- why do all this? Why go to this much trouble for me?” Shamal demanded, gesturing wildly with his hands. “The cooking, and the-- the washing, and you even cleaned up my apartment, and I don’t-- I don’t understand why--”

“Well, what was I supposed to do, just leave your unconscious body lying there on Death’s front doorstep?” Nana asked uncomprehendingly. 

“I threw up on you!” Shamal snapped, sounding mortified. 

“Yeah, you aren’t the first person to throw up on me, and you won’t be the last,” she responded dryly. “I’d be in the wrong line of work if I let a little vomit get to me.”

When he still refused to meet her eyes, she sighed. 

“Look Shamal, I may not like you-- actually, I can’t stand you-- but that doesn’t mean I want you to suffer like this. You don’t deserve that, no one deserves that.” 

No one deserved to feel like their body was failing them. Nana swallowed, forcing her voice to remain steady. 

“I was in a position to help, and so I did,” she said quietly. “It’s as simple as that.”

“...as simple as that,” Shamal echoed. “You truly mean that, don’t you? No favors, no debts, just--” He laughed, a little disbelievingly. “You’d go above and beyond the call of duty even for those you hate, just because it was the right thing to do.” He shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “You really are something else, Nana Fujiwara.”

Nana glanced away, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. She wasn’t sure if he was just acting weird due to the lingering fever, or-- or dizziness from missing breakfast, but something about the way he was looking at her in that moment--

“I should take your temperature again, it’s been over eight hours since I last checked it,” she said abruptly. “I think I left the thermometer in the other room, wait here.” She marched off and tried to ignore how it felt like running away. “Eat your eggs.” 

[teacupfulofstarshine]

sunshine on my sunday best

summary: janus and remus get ready for a party, featuring fancy clothes and soft gays. (OR: my entry for dukeceit week 2021 day 4, free day)

a/n: i got seized by the inspiration bug, so i churned out some sappy gays for day 4 (free day) of @dukeceitweek

CW: brief, nonspecific mentions of funerals and corpses in a professional context (remus is a mortician), swearing

wordcount: ~1.3k

read it on ao3!!

“Darling, are you nearly done in there?” Janus calls, opening a polished wooden box and examining the gloves laid out within it. He plucks out a pair of golden-yellow gloves that he reserves for the most special of occasions and lays them on his vanity. “Remus?” Remus clatters around in the bathroom, doors locked, and Janus sighs. “May I take that as a yes?” 

“I’m trying not to stab my eye out with my mascara!” 

“A simple yes would have sufficed,” Janus says, rolling his eyes. He steps to the door of their bedroom, pulls it open, and calls down the hallway to their children.

“Are you two getting dressed for your cousin’s graduation party?”

“Yes, Papa!” they respond. Janus steps back into his room, opening his jewelry box, and tilts his head, considering. He selects a pair of golden cufflinks with “JS” engraved on them, a brooch shaped like a coiled golden snake with gleaming emerald eyes, and a golden tie pin. 

“Are you dressing up fancy?” 

“Of course I am! It’s not every day that our nephew graduates with a master’s degree at twenty-two. I assume you’ll be wearing something fancier than a crop-top hoodie and booty shorts?” 

“But I like the booty shorts!” Remus whines. 

“I put on good makeup for this,” Janus says. “I broke out the lace gloves for this. It is a nice dinner at a nice place.” 

“Chill out, Jan, I promise I dress up nice. Besides, I think Roman would kill me if I didn’t look nice for his son’s fancy party, and that’s not the way I plan to go.” 

Janus glances over to the framed photo on his vanity. It shows a younger Remus, only one white streak in his hair instead of his current salt-and-pepper gray, wearing a deep green wedding gown accented with silvery ocean patterns. Janus stands opposite him, in a gleaming golden tuxedo decorated with snake scale patterns and a motif of coiled snakes on the back. They are holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes, framed by an arch of golden-orange sunset roses. Janus smiles, drags one finger along the shining frame, and adjusts his wedding ring. 

“I know, my love. And you know that despite my . . . fondness for fancy dress, I will love you no matter what you choose to wear?” 

“I know, Jannie. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

“Only one?” 

“Oh, trust me. There’s far more, but if I get started on that I’ll wax poetic for days and we will almost certainly miss the dinner, and I think that’ll upset you.” 

“You know me so well, my love. You’re so sweet to me, and only me.”

“Only you!” Remus laughs. Janus hums, pinning his brooch to his lapel and clipping his tie. He looks in the mirror, admiring his face - glittering eye makeup, eyeliner sharp enough to cut a bitch, highlighter like diamonds, and a full, blood-red lip. For a finishing touch, he picks up a diamond lip gloss and swipes it across his lips. 

The bathroom door opens, and Janus turns to Remus to examine his outfit and promptly freezes. Remus has silvery eyeliner with curled eyelashes, no eye makeup to cover the laugh lines around the corners of his eyes that Janus adores so much. His face is contoured, bringing out his cheekbones, and he’s wearing pale green lipstick that matches his green gloves and four-inch green heels and emerald necklace. He wears a long, sleek black dress that hugs him in all the right ways, and Janus cannot stop staring.

“Janus?” Remus says, reaching over to set a hand on Janus’s shoulder. “Babe, you’ve been staring at me for like, five minutes. Is everything okay?” Janus blinks, clearing his eyes, and his husband’s concerned face comes back into focus. 

“Yes,” he says softly. “Yes, I - I’m sorry, my love. I lost track of my thought when I was looking into your eyes.” Remus flushes slightly, leaning down to press his forehead to Janus’s. 

“You can’t keep flustering me like that, Jan, not when I don’t have the time to throw you upon the bed and ravish you properly.” Janus lets out a very undignified giggle (one that he will absolutely deny if Remus tries to call him out about it later) as Remus sweeps him off his feet and spins him around. 

“Remus, please!” Janus gasps. “I’ll mess up my makeup! And you’ll mess up yours! And we have to leave, soon!”  

“Fine,” Remus pouts, setting Janus down and using the advantage his heels give him to lean down and press a little kiss to Janus’s hair. Janus shivers happily, leaning in to gently press his nose to Remus’s neck, before leaning back. 

“Fix your lipstick, dearest,” Janus says, primly smoothing Remus’s dress. “I’ll go check on the boys.” Remus grins, adjusting Janus’s tie clip before sending him off into the hall.

Janus sweeps down the hallway and knocks on the bedroom door, admiring the pale blue and dark purple origami butterflies adorning it. “May I open the door to check on you?”

“Yes,” Virgil calls. Janus opens the door and sees one of his children standing in front of the floor-length mirror. Xe’re adjusting xir purple and black suit, playing with the iridescent bow tie and frowning at xir sleeve. “Do I look alright, Papa?” 

“You look wonderful, dear,” Janus says. “Let me fix the cuff of your jacket, hmmm? It looks like you’re having trouble.” 

“Yes please,” Virgil exhales. Janus steps forward and fixes the cuff in one swift motion. He carefully readjusts the crescent-shaped silver hair ornament keeping Virgil’s bangs pinned out of xir eyes and makes sure that xir makeup isn’t smudged. “Thank you, Papa.”

“Of course. Is your brother nearly ready?” 

“I’ll meet you downstairs!” Patton calls from the attached bathroom. “Go on ahead without me, I’m just putting on the finishing touches. Won’t be more than a minute or two, I promise!”

“Very well, Patton. The car will be here shortly.” Janus heads for the long, spiralling staircase that leads to their foyer, with Virgil close behind him. Remus is waiting for them, draped in an elegant green lace shawl that Janus and Virgil wove for his birthday last year. Janus walks over to him and takes his arm, smiling at his husband. Virgil gags at them sarcastically as xe approaches, and Janus takes a minute to gaze over his family’s outfits, huffing out a laugh.

“What’s so funny, Jan?” Remus asks. 

“We certainly make an . . . interesting bunch all together, don’t we?” Janus says

“We look like we’re going to a funeral,” Virgil says, rolling xir eyes. 

“Oooh, I hope it’s open-casket! I want to roast the other morticians who don’t know how to to apply makeup to a corpse correctly. They never ever do it right, I’m the only one who does, and it pisses me off!” 

Remus continues to infodump about proper mortuary preparations for nearly four minutes. Janus glances at the grandfather clock near the staircase. “We should be leaving now . . . where is Patton?” 

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” 

Patton hurries down the stairs, and Janus gazes at his oldest child. He’s wearing a sky-blue dress with a pleated a-line skirt, patterned with cherry blossoms along the hem, and a pale pink cardigan sides around his shoulders. His purse is shaped like a pink kitty head, matching his pink tights and sky-blue kitten heels, and the clip in his hair is three crystal cherry blossoms. If it weren’t for his dark hair and abnormally silver-grey eyes, he wouldn’t look anything like the rest of his family. 

“The golden retriever arrives,” Remus says fondly, reaching over to ruffle Patton’s hair. Patton laughs, sliding his phone into his purse. “That makes all of us, then. Ready to go?” Virgil and Patton nod, and Janus snaps his fingers twice. 

“I’ll summon the driver.” 

[onewomancitadel]

I had an idea about connecting Cinder to the Moon. Do you think this is fitting for her character? Is a Crescent Moon a fitting symbol for her? Why or why not? -EmperorLuffy

Hi EmperorLuffy, hope you're having a good day.

Yes, I have gone on record a number of times connecting Cinder to lunar symbolism akin to Ruby (and a few other characters, such as Blake and possibly Ren). This partly forms my justification for why warm blue/purple/silver is her redemption arc colour scheme, along with her brooch.

Here's the first post I made about it last September.

The lunar/solar symbolism is present with every ship so far because the unity of opposite elements/symbolic wholeness is a persistent theme not just in RWBY but in myth and narrative in general. It's classically described by Campbell and Jung who are also story structures used in the show.

It's very suspicious to me that the moon is broken in half during the conflict of Salem, Ozma, and the brother gods, suggesting that there is some symbolic wholeness of the lunar elements to be put back together in order to resolve the origin of this conflict.

That the moon 'rising' is associated with Ruby (à la V6 opening), and there's a half of the moon that fell seems like a spectacular pun and is exactly the sort of shit I expect from Miles Luna (RVB fans know with the Fed vs. New, Red vs. Blue stuff, if anybody remembers him relating that pun to the producers).

Ruby 'Rose' and Cinder 'Fall'. Also, the moon falling is on fire.

That further than that, Cinder and Ruby appear to be cosmic twins in the story ('good' and 'evil' versions of each other, Cinder is Ruby's Shadow, Ruby is Cinder's White Shadow) just makes that linkage more apparent.

So, this is symbolic argument for Cinder's redemption as well.

In terms of absolute visuals, I'll give you what I believe to be the best indication she's lunar, and a very recent example:

A lunar eclipse.

(This type of visual symbolic imagery is done frequently, go look at the Red, White, Black and Yellow trailers for the most prominent introduction of it).

So in the sense that Cinder's redemption arc is a righting transformation of her character, the transition to silver (as opposed to gold) is also a symbolic righting, if they decide to do that.

There might be a way they decide to just keep it simple and do blue/gold instead, but honestly if they commit to the moon-on-fire business I think the silver fits better.

Also, as I have mentioned before, Jaune's metallic transition (lead -> gold) fittingly would reflect Cinder (gold -> silver) if their romance is foreshadowed in the way I believe it to be.

At any rate, I don't think we're really talking about moon phases (e.g. crescent, waxing, waning) as absolute symbolic imagery, it's just solar/lunar, and specific to RWBY we have the split halves of the moon.

However, you could make the argument that the phases of lunar characters like Ruby and Cinder follow phases of the moon, if you wanted to be poetic.

I think that the crescent moon for Ruby in particular is just because it fits her scythe (in visual association, it's usually just the moon with her framed against it) and the associated chthonic elements of that. Every character is kind of dual in that way (life/death in particular for Ruby), which is more evidence in favour of Cinder's redemption, lol, speaking from a purely thematic perspective.

So yes, I think the lunar imagery for Cinder is right, and makes sense from a symbolic and thematic perspective, especially read in relation to the Salem and Ozma conflict-of-the-world, with a very satisfying pun to it.

I am also extremely ham with this lunar imagery and her in my fanfic.

Thanks for your ask. (: