#frostbitten-Icarus

[tariah23]

im back to say after reading your tags/ramblings on this new jjk chapter yeah everyone shitting on shoko and yuta for this are like? how.

especially with shoko (as you know i think about her a lot) i'm not surprised she reacted this way considering she has seen all of her friends die basically and she definitely deals with dead sorcerers on the daily that she probably knew in life considering she's the main healer. in my headcanons she recognizes a lot of the people who eventually end up dead on her exam table.

plus as you mentioned her reaction to geto's mass murder is super chill. she was never going to have a breakdown over fucked up shit? at least not outwardly, unfortunately we don't really get a look in her head. also god forbid a woman have interest in dead/macabre things and/or not give 110% emotionally at all times.

personally i enjoy satosugu (insert multishipper nuance here) but the fandom surrounding the ship is very...... can you think about any other character? please??? can you also see satoru and suguru as individuals???? PLEASE?

the manga is not your satosugu fanfiction there are other characters here that matter...

IT’S SO BAD!!! THEY ARE ACTING LIKE HIS STUDENTS AND FRIENDS WANTED THIS!?!! And are refusing to look at the story from a narrative standpoint outside of shipper/fanon shit… They do this literally every time something huge and awful happens. They always end up making it about a damn ship, completely glossing over the characters themselves and their intentions. It’s so frustrating. The Gojo and Getou they talk about is barely even them… those are OC’s!!!

And the only reason why they’re talking so negatively about Shoko is because they hate women 🗣️🗣️🗣️!!! It’s crazy, she’s literally a doctor who specializes in the dead. She’s a mortician!!! Like, you’ve stated, she’s been burying her colleagues and friends since she was a teenager. I’m sure she’s used to the business now. Even if it’s hard, if you’re in this line of work, people who work with the dead tend to not find it as torturous and haunting as any normal person would because death is an extension of life. They don’t view death as this big, scary, horrible thing they way people who don’t work with the dead/aren’t used to dealing with death, are. That’s why in rl, morticians and doctors might come off as extremely fickle and end uncomfortably nonchalant regarding death. They don’t view dying and the dead in the same way we would. They find comfort in knowing that they can help the grieving pass on the best way that they can by taking care of their bodies in their most vulnerable moments on earth. It would’ve been nice to see more of Shoko’s reactions and knowing about more of her feelings regarding Gojo’s passing because like I’ve stated before, Gege really fumbled her character and because of the way he wrote her, it makes it easier for fans who already don’t care about her, to mischaracterize and misunderstand her intentions, labeling them as “callous,” and “inconsiderate,” despite her having always been this way since the very beginning. She didn’t even so much as flinch when Getou had confirmed to her that he’d committed a massacre, killing over 100 people in the process. They were talking so casually as if they were talking about the weather. She had to fix up Haibara, probably one of their very first friends who she’d most likely ever had to work on… it’s just, I hate how the people bashing her really DON’T understand her character at all and have never once tried to and they’re constantly proving my point. They expected her to be sobbing in every panel, grabbing onto Gojo’s tight…, Sexy ass, black t-shirt, holding on for dear life and screaming at him to wake up and they absolutely HATE that a female character wouldn’t give that to them 🚶🏾‍♀️. I’m so sorry Shoko… they’re acting like Getou would’ve been the only one to feel bad about all of this simply because they ship them and forgot all about canon.

As for Yuuta… oh brother. The fact that all of Gojo’s students do care about him and have always admired him… Yuuta didn’t want this at all… but he knew that he HAD to do it in the end and so did the others. Knowing the kind of trauma that he’d suffered himself. The pain and isolation that he had to deal with because he was too afraid of hurting people so he pushed them away and purposely isolated himself. He’s canonically tried to take his own life on multiple occasions. After meeting Gojo, he learned that he had just as much as a right to live as anyone else and that he mattered. He chose life. Gojo, alongside the friends he’d made, made a huge impression on him and it makes me happy whenever I think about it. He used his strength to protect others and learned to see his strength as a good thing instead of a curse that separated him from society. Gojo already knows what it’s like to be lonely and lived with that till the very end. But he made sure to let his students know that they all were worth living. This is literally why he wanted to become a teacher in the first place!!! Have the fans forgotten just how much he adores his students!?!! Yuuta knew exactly how Gojo must’ve felt… even taking over his body, he didn’t need to view his memories to find out.

Even if it is, from a narrative standpoint, incredibly disgusting, Gojo gave them permission because he values the lives of the people he cares about, especially the kids (ppl always forget that he loves children 😭… he’s do anything for them), above his own. When it comes to the kids, he knows that he’s the adult in the situation. Just like Nanami, it’s the adults duty to protect the children and he feels the same way. His corpse gave them a way to fight back and he gladly gave it to them as sad as this might sound… He’s always been this way and we all know why. Come on. He’d always seen it as his duty to protect and shield them from the horrors of the real world that would soon hurt them back. I hate that he’s still being used as a weapon in his death so much, it really makes me want to cry, I could barely sleep 😭… but man…, whenever stuff like this happens, it just goes to show that not everyone was reading the story with their eyes open. Blame it on shipper brainrot.

[catapparently]

Warm Me Through December Nights

MASTERLIST • AO3 LINK

In which Jude and Cardan go to visit the mortal world on a winter evening. Cue dancing under the snowflakes and much needed hand-warming.

Thousands of little snowflakes fluttered around us in lighthearted spirals, occasionally kissing our noses or our cheeks while others preferred plummeting to the ground to join their own in the endless heaps of glistening white. A slight shiver coursed my spine, though not from Cardan’s intoxicating presence by my side but due to the cold breeze slicing through the winter air like Madoc’s blade on one of his particularly moody nights . Cardan paused in his step, turning slightly towards me to give me that famous jaunty smirk he always reserves for his “darling nemesis”. It seems as though becoming his wife didn’t change a thing.

“Chilly already, Jude? In your own world?” he asked, small bells of tease and laughter jingling in his voice. We’d gone to the mortal world, mid-winter, to give Oak a little birthday present. It never snowed in Elfhame, but this arrogant man’s faerie body had already adapted, warming up a few degrees higher while I was left shivering and freezing endlessly.

Suddenly, strong, delicate fingers enveloped my right hand into a warm gloved palm. Cardan’s thumb gently stroked over my knuckles, one by one, carefully tracing the scars and hills he was all too familiar with. His grip tightened over my folded fingers in a sweet attempt to warm me up with the seeping warmth radiating from his magical blood.

He gently tugged me over to an empty street, the honey golden glow of the dim streetlamps painting starry streaks on his sharp cheekbones and ebony dark locks. I fell right into his intimate embrace, one of his hands latching onto one side of my waist while the other one held out my opposite arm, fingers intertwined with mine, his grip firm and real.

“Let’s dance, my sweet villain,” he murmured directly into my ear, molten saccharine words flowing like the finest of velvet straight into my mortal heart. “I heard that movement and exercise warms you up.”

With that, a soft twinkling hum of no particular provenance rose in the air as we spun and danced under the faithful watch of this December’s night’s stars. Though it did nearly nothing for my practically frostbitten fingertips, it sent a loving warmth blooming in my chest. Between steps, I gently lifted my head up towards him to press a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw. He laughed softly, the constant irritating smirk that I’d grown to love ever present on his face. Cardan leaned down until his breath playfully ghosted over my features, and his lips finally settled down, crashing upon mine like Icarus falling into the sea.

It surprised me every time just how such a man could have such soft lips. His kissing mannerisms were a mix of both worlds, too. Cardan’s lips would be sweet and gentle, handling my own with utmost care and devotion while his tongue battled fiercely and roughly, even a bit messily, unleashing a whirlwind of passion and the pent-up emotions of years of not having anything or anyone to permanently call his own.

His hands drift up to cup the sides of my face, thumbs delicately retracing the blooming blush of my cheeks. It was incredible just how soft and flawless his hands were, almost a bit feminine, devoid of the scars and calluses of a fighter, unlike mine. Though this did not make him in any way a gentle lover. Not in the slightest, and especially not in the way that his teeth playfully nipped my lower lip every now and then. His fingers moved to brush over the round curve of my ears in fascination before returning to their regular spot, fisted in my hair, palms resting on my nape, holding my head still as though he were afraid I’d pull away and deny him.

After a while, satisfied, Cardan pulled away, hands falling to the sides of my neck and shoulders. “There. That’s better.” Though the faint redness painting the tips of his ears and his frantically swaying tail proved that he wasn’t as self-confident and unaffected as he proclaimed.

I smiled at him, fingers brushing his hair behind his ears to get a better view of the effect I have on him. “We should get going, Vivi will get bored of waiting for us and might just lock us out.”

He gave a condescending laugh, pulling my hat a bit at the sides to make sure it covers my frozen ears. “Oh Jude, darling Jude, would that really be so terrible? It would be an excuse for you to hide in my coat, against my body, all night to keep warm.”

I couldn’t help but blush at his claim. He had such a way with words; once in time he’d turn compliments into insults and vice versa, now he just uses his talent to tease me relentlessly. I stepped away from him, out of his arms, though still holding his hand, ducking my head a bit to keep my flushed cheeks out of sight. “Let’s go.”

And so we walked and walked and walked towards Heather’s apartment. Why did she have to live in the middle of downtown? It was worse than having to navigate through the halls of the Tower of Forgettings at night with no lamps lit.

I elbowed Cardan. “Psst, Cardan, can you glamor that taxi driver to drive us instead?”

He raised an eyebrow at my so extravagant request, dramatically sighing and shaking his head as though I’d just given him the most difficult of quests. “Anything for you, I guess, my High Queen.”

He gave an overly exaggerated wave of his hand simply for the purpose of entertaining me, an o so feeble and magic-less being. The driver’s eyes glazed over, a pleasant expression appearing on his face as he stopped the cab near the sidewalk. Cardan, the ever regal gentleman, opened the passenger door, gesturing me to get in. And we were off.

“We could have just stolen his car and drove off alone instead, you know.” Cardan looked horrified at my proposition. “What do you mean, drove off alone instead? Do you even know how to drive?

I shrugged, not too preoccupied. “It can’t be that hard, right?”

Soon we made it to where Vivi and Oak now live with Heather. Cardan released the driver, and we walked up to the apartment building. Not used to seeing such immense constructions, he stared wide-eyed at the massive 30 story-high building. “Isn’t that going to fall over?”

I sighed and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “No, it’s not going to fall over.” I led him up through the main entrance and into the elevator and punched in the numbers for the 27th floor. The moment the elevator doors closed and it jolted upwards, Cardan lurched forward in a sudden panic, his tail shooting out from under his shirt in a terrified straight line, curling up in every direction in fear.

“Jude! Jude! What is this thing? What’s happening?” His voice was all high-pitched and squeaky, it was comical to see him like this. Poor man was even more terrified than that one time I kidnapped him and threatened him. I grabbed him by the back of his feathery cloak, pulling him backwards and successfully stopping him from prying the doors back open. He held onto me for dear life, not relaxing even when the elevator came to a halt and the doors opened once again. With a trembling Cardan wrapped around me like a clingy baby koala, I exited.

“It’s just a box that moves you up and down quickly. A mortal’s version of a vertically moving carriage.”

His heart nearly lurched out of his chest, a little gasp escaping him when he saw, through the window, just how far up we were from the ground. Wait…

“Wait, Cardan, are you afraid of heights?” His head quickly snapped around to give me a half-hearted glare. “Am NOT!”

Honestly, it was insanely cute. Stifling a laugh, I showed him the way to the apartment. His arm was still wrapped tightly around my waist, nose practically buried in the back of my head.

After a few insistent knocks, Vivi popped up behind the door, greeting me with her classic smile and Cardan with her classic glare reserved just for, and I quote, “The-Fucker-That-Was-Mean-To-MY-Sister-And-Suddenly-Seduced-Her”. But then, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, she practically shoved a sprig of mistletoe in our faces.

“Kiss your girl, dumbass.”

And so Cardan pressed his lips to mine.

[arden-wings]

my favorite pastime is making shitty meme redraws with me and my friends' ocs

(the little thingie in the reply bubble belongs to @frostbitten-icarus)

[raelhbishop]

Dreams of the Welkin World

Art: "Val van Icarus" by anonymous, between 1675 and 1711 (colorized by author)

There’s someone in the clouds.

The boy had often seen shapes in the clouds as they passed by, fanciful forms that came and went at a moment’s notice. He sometimes wondered if the clouds had lives of their own, like those of his parents tending to the fields below.

This was different. 

Staring directly at him is a girl, one made of wisps and skystuff, but a girl nonetheless. A child just like him, somehow, riding a horse made of smoke. 

The boy had always been an inquisitive fellow, even before he could talk. Though he stands no higher than three feet, he doesn't let it stop him from climbing the local rock faces or swinging from treetops. 

From this plateau, one can see his parents working in the distance. They look like mere ants from here. He could see the whole world from here: the farmhouses of his neighbors, the lazy streams and winding canals, the flowers and wheatfields and orchards, even the distant marketplace. If one squints, one can spot a tower further ahead, filled with strange noises and even stranger people. Faint hints of gold can be seen on the midday horizon, seeming to curl upwards like a floor rug pushed against a wall. 

Breathtaking as it may be, the boy remains glued to the sky above. He sometimes wondered if the clouds had lives of their own. He didn't question it now. 

Her lightning eyes are all that remains in his head as an inaudible command draws the girl away, into a hidden world amongst the clouds.

===

Thick layers of snow sit on the plateau. The boy, now a foot taller, runs out of the farmhouse as his parents scream for him. He heads into a toolshed and pulls out a rickety device, made of twigs, strings, and animal hides, together resembling bird's wings.

Device in hand, he trudges through the snow and, with difficulty, climbs a tree. He straps the device to his arms and waits.

The winter air bites at his nose and shakes his body - which is exactly what he'd been waiting for. All the while, his parents yell at him to come down. 

Not too far off, a robed man with grey hair and a large forehead walks down the road, staff in one hand and bowl in another. 

The boy continues waiting. The wind grows stronger and stronger.

It's time.

In an instant, the boy lunges off the tree. He falls for a moment, before the wind billows the animal hides on his device and propels him forward. 

Hovering a mere fifteen feet off the ground, the boy swiftly glides past his parents, past the farmhouse, and past the frostbitten fields. The sensation of flight is equal parts scary and exciting. If his teeth still chattered and his bones still shivered, he didn't notice, for the feeling of gliding is all that occupied his mind. 

It's an exhilarating experience - until he plummets as the wind dies down. He hurdles faster and faster towards the ground, flying by the robed man, before crashing face-first into a snowbank.

Some time later, he wakes in the farmhouse, the robed man having tended to his wounds. He sees the man talking to his parents, pointing enthusiastically at diagrams and scribblings in the boy's notebooks. Big words like ‘apprentice’ and ‘inventor’ can be heard here and there, which the boy can’t understand.

His eyes land on the fireplace and its smooth embers.

The wind only blows left and right, in-and-out. Humans naturally tend to fall. It seems only fire and smoke climb upward.

===

The sun shines brightly on the tower of the Natural Philosophers' Guild, where strange folks reside and the constant clammer of caustic devices emanates. 

From one of its highest windows, the boy stares out into the distance. He's now five-and-a-half feet tall, a well-off apprentice, and much closer to man than boy. 

He's learned a lot during his time at the Guild. Useless things, mostly. How to dissect a flower, the names of the beasts, how the pangene works... 

But, also, useful things. Tales of distant places and the wonders therein, the five elements and their crystal spheres, how to sell your strange and incredibly hazardous inventions in the marketplace…

Even so, our apprentice inventor still looks out into the distance with longing. The farmhouse and plateau look so small from here, as if they were another world entirely.

Then, out in the clouds, a figure appears. It’s that of a woman, a specter made of clouds and billows, with eyes like two charges of lightning. 

Those days climbing rock faces come flying back to him. He swears it’s the same girl from before, having grown just like him. 

===

Later that day, the apprentice lumbers out of the tower-cum-workshop with a device strapped to his back. It’s a distant descendant of the twiggy bird wings he fashioned so many winters ago, now reinforced with proper wood, light bits of metal, and paper wings. Now present is a metal box on his back, heavily concealed, with holes in the bottom. Inside sits a steel ball of water and an array of clockwork.

The other inventors chase after our apprentice, pleading for him to stop. 

He pulls a match from his pocket (the latest invention from the merchant republics) and throws it into one of the holes. Inside, cogs and gears start turning. Bits of coal and saltpeter alight from inside the metal box. The water in the ball heats up. A chain reaction begins, growing louder and louder. 

The apprentice fears for his life as an explosion emits from the holes in the bottom, launching him dozens of feet upward. Within seconds, he’s now flying among the clouds. Those down below scream or chant prayers.

His mouth is agape as he sees his comrades shrink into the distance. It remains agape as he turns and sees entire villages hidden among the clouds. Children of wisp float around the clouds as their guardians tend to fireplaces of lightning. Billowy reapers can be seen harvesting rays of sunlight from the sky. Pools of liquid rainbow can be seen here and there.

As he ascends, he starts to feel warmer and warmer. His senses return to him, and with a few obscure movements he slows his descent, calming the fires inside the box. He adjusts to the wind, and begins gliding through this welkin world. 

Down below, the robed man ascends the guild’s tower and pulls out his simple brass telescope. Though nearly blind, he can make out the apprentice’s figure in the heavens, gliding from cloud to cloud. He smiles.

[bloodredx]

Day 12: Garden

Roses. Always roses. Roses filled every possible space, every open crevice, every mosaic, carved motif and relief throughout Sacred Lancet. Some places were more subtle than others, but any empty corner had a bouquet or small bush potted, sitting happily. None ever showed need or want for care, not even the false ones, despite how ancient their carved petals and tangled vines seemed to course through hallways centuries older than almost anyone on the premises. Almost.

The fated flower had to be her favorite, right? After all, roses made out part of Lady Serena’s name, why shouldn’t she hold reverence for it? A concrete notion of identity to hold one tight throughout the years, a simple plant, timeless as she was. Or a fixation that bordered on obsession. Whatever the truth, Icarus was growing tired of the damn flower. Yet again he found himself outside in her private courtyard. And yet again he was asked to tend to roses. At least there were some other species out here. Native flowers mostly, morning glories, ivies, crocuses. Somehow she even managed to get her newest addition, some “super fickle” lilies from near Reedsdale, to survive the frostbitten winters of Glacidea last year. If she was so talented, why did he need to be out here helping her?

To the Lady’s credit, she was always there with him, it wasn’t just a chore she set upon him just to keep him out of her hair. It was dull work, moving soil around roots, pulling weeds, even just watering. Everything was so precise and just to her specifications, much like everything else around the hospital. Did keeping up with all of the gears drive her mad? Or was that what drove her? He couldn’t tell, and it was probably a waste to think on it at this point. The answer didn’t change the fact he was here, his mentor a few feet away busy clipping dead leaves from a shrub with roses redder than her lipstick.

They had been out for a few hours, and in that time they hadn’t spoken a word. Each contemplating their task, or at least Icarus was. When he could, he tried to steal glances, to try to decipher to microscopic movements on her stoic face. She was just as carved as the stones that built the place though. Occasionally she would knit her brows when measuring cuts, but no other hints to her mood were apparent. He felt like he had to say something, right?

“Is everything alright, Icarus?” Lady Serena’s calm voice seemed to match in tempo to the water pouring out the fountain behind them. “You haven’t moved in a few minutes.”

He dropped his trowel at the words. “Uh- no. I mean, yes. I’m fine.”

“Would you still have a heart, it would be rocketing in pulse.” She noted flatly as she clipped another stem, no hint of pleasure or disgust to guide his response. “If you have something to say, you should.”

He swallowed hard, all the thoughts he once had left him, scattered to the wind. “It’s just- no, that’s not, well-“ She raised a brow, locking her garden shears with a single swift action as she waited for Icarus to collect himself. “Is this, well does this make you... happy?”

A slight frown was her immediate response, followed by a few steps over to the edge of the fountain, where she sat gently, and motioned for him to join her. He did so, with little fanfare, uncertain if he was about to be lectured once more. The stone edge of the fountain at least was cool, comfortable. The Lady gazed up to the stars, gently speckling the skies in their gentle shining, each one like the dew now forming on the leaves all around them. “You ask a strange question.” She began after a moment. “But not a bad one.”

“Why would it be strange, that I ask if you’re happy?”

“It’s not a concern that’s been commonly posed.” She confirmed bluntly. “Somehow, that’s refreshing. Ha.”

Was that a… chuckle? Did she just laugh? “Well, if I’m going to be here for a long while yet, it would do me some good to know you better.”

The sides of her lips curled up, an actual smile, if ever so slight and delicate. “You’re a good Glacidean, yes. Raised polite, so polite that you’d never directly prod the point you want, the answers you crave.” She closed her eyes, head still tilted to the stars. “Happiness, I think, is grown, maintained, and tended to. Happiness changes, it flickers and shifts like fires, moves with seasons. I do not change. I can no longer claim happiness; no that is a right of the living. But I can claim calmness, sturdiness, order. To be the trellis which others can use to reach their leaves out to cause their flowers to bloom. If by some token, being in proximity to that growth grants me a taste of that…” Her tone wavered ever so slightly. “warmth… then by that I shall call myself happy.”

Should he have needed the oxygen, Icarus would have passed out from the breath he was holding. Instead, the sudden tightness reminded him to exhale, slowly so as to not inspire any more attention to himself. “Do you believe you’re that far gone?” His tongue moved without his permission, but he didn’t immediately regret it. Not this time.

Lady Serena plucked a single rose from a nearby bush, caressing the petals between her expert fingers. “It doesn’t require belief if it is determined by fact.” No, there wasn’t somberness there, it wasn’t quite detached either. Just acceptance.

Another wash of silence crashed over them, dulled only by the burbling of the fountain and the sound of petals shifting under her fingers. Soon it had been tousled enough to expand what tightness remained in the bud to a full blossom, which she then sat to float in the water behind them. “I hope you don’t walk down the path I did, Icarus.” Serena smile continued as she watched the flower float across the reflection of the sky, through the moon and around the collection of stars. “It took a long, bloody road before I could grow this garden here. I can only ask the gods that your existence is easier. I’ll do anything to assist in that.”

She stood in one swift motion, collecting her shears and then folding her hands in front of her. “I think that’s enough for the foliage tonight. You did a good job, Icarus.” Her features iced out again, thawing for but a moment as she turned to look over her shoulder at him. “Feel free to enjoy this space at your leisure. You’ve earned it. Take the time to…” she tutted her tongue. “Think on happiness.”

With no other words, the Lady made her way down the path, presumably back to her office, back to work. Even though each of her steps were carefully, precisely measured, the world still moved on around her, the only permanent fixture here being her. Icarus cast one last glance to the flower floating behind him before standing himself to return to his own room. Yes, the only permanent thing here. Her, and roses.

(OC-tober challenge by @oc-growth-and-development can be found here)

[thelilyvase]

how to love a monster

( i ) tear the ichor from your veins until your skin bleeds red, until the white marble of olympus is stained crimson. there is nothing divine about this.

( ii ) rip a page from persephone’s book; pull the golden wreath from your head and cast yourself into tartarus, swallow the cursed seeds and let the abyss consume you whole. you do not belong in flowering meadows anyway.

( iii ) hollow out your chest and make room for his sins. a beast lives inside your bones now. is this still what you wanted?

( iv ) you will carry his malice and spite on your shoulders and even atlas will pity you. his laugh is poisoned with vice — after all, you asked for this.

( v ) your hands are stained and scarred and you cannot remember if you are the monster or him.

( vi ) if he is winter then you will love him with a frozen heart. but the ice in his eyes will not thaw and you will wither and burn in this frostbitten garden of his flames. remember, icarus set himself aflame for his love, too.

( vii ) and this is the twisted trick. you can love a monster, but he cannot love you. he will destroy you first.

l.h.

[fairforgetmenot-blog]

he was born as aphrodite was. not quite conceived but composed from fractions of the song the ocean’s young sirens sing to God, night after frostbitten night, breathless, biting split lips and bleeding honey, waiting evermore for his reply. that immortal ode to the adored unknown, spilling without signs of an end from the lips of lost sinners. he was not. and then he was. by chance, pieced together like notes of a song from a teenage composer’s lips, lost to the breath of the rain, forgotten by gods and men. what was his name? i remember his first breath. the frozen night air chilled his lungs, the ocean’s salt stealing into his bones. his first sensation-- the sand. biting into his knees where he kneeled, into his hands as he learned movement. he was pale as the moon, hair soft and curled, light like the stars painted by the artist. lips red as the blood of the savior, the endless ocean inside his eyes. he knew nothing. he felt everything. the sea came forward, rushing towards him, just for the chance to kiss his skin. it’s touch was soft as snow as it adorned him in sea foam. life breathing life into his blood. he turned his gaze to heaven, pretty as the stars, and the universe was staring back at him. wings. an angel, like icarus, like noah’s dove, unfolding into the december air. he was no god. it seems to me, thinking on him now, he was not crafted by heaven but despite heaven. to spite heaven. or perhaps God did make him, by chance, on accident, with a flick of his wrist, a slight of his hand. almost human. not quite. almost ethereal, not quite. little lost dove. he loved like it was free, kind and pure and sacred in and of himself, dancing aimlessly among the violet skyline. june. what was his name? i was him once, i think. if i close my eyes and i stand very still, i can nearly remember. i once had oceans in my eyes, gold in my veins. i was once inhuman walking alongside men. i was once the boy that graced the sky. the boy terrified to have his feet on the ground. a rational fear-- the ground will make one human. when his wings were broken, in his fall from grace, when he was confined to the earth, i am all there is left. he is wonder. splendor in its most enchanting form. i spend night after night after breathless, bleeding, honied night writing poetry for a taste of being him once more. and i am nothing like him.

i’ve been considering my nature. i think there are things inside me, a life a lived, someone i was before. things like that used to sound silly to me. i found this poem that i know i wrote, even if i don’t exactly remember. it struck a chord in me that i didn’t know i had.

i’m not sure what to make of this.

nothing has ever prepared me for anything like this. i don’t know who i am.