#what befalls the ephemeral

[skwtches]

Highlights from my LCAD animation portfolio!

It was a ton of fun trying to adapt some concepts from my prospective novel for this assignment, albeit leading to many sleepless nights and a reinvigorated reliance on caffeine.

I’ve never been quite ‘good’ at reacting to positive news with the elation one might expect or even want, but nevertheless, I’m grateful for every instructor and friend that’s supported me throughout the application progress and convinced me to even go through with it.

Especially huge thanks to my dear friend @tomfowlery for having been such a big contributor to the formation of this story, collection of characters, and even its title What Befalls the Ephemeral. It’s been over year since I first divulged some basic character ideas to her over Discord, and to this day she’s still offering so much wonderful input, story beats, and character thoughts that this project just wouldn’t be the same without. From concepts relating to said story’s antagonism, to the design of Felicity in the final slide, there’s just so much to thank Gwyn for that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to cover—my gratitude is endless, and I’m ever so lucky and happy to know her. 🫶🦊💕

All in all, I don’t have much more to say other than I’m anticipating the start of this semester, finally living away from home, and pursuing something I’ve been intensely passionate about for years. <3

[seasideretreat]

The truth collects the dread of construal

The good of things is certainly a fragment of the itenerant debauchery of normal life that follows us into the dregs of automatic silliness, controlling our sensibilities and making us pine for a newer, and wiser, reality: and in this wise, we are conjoined in a feeble encounter with the normal essence of the pure notability, which makes us know the essence of pure nothingness somehow; in fact, it gives us a direction. What can we do? Ephemerality is certainly a scary conundrum in the peccadillo-speckled entirety of commonality, which gives us an idea of the purer control that we inhere in; which we necessitate, in fact, because there is a country that holds truth in so many inventories; and this gives us a control in the system of being yourself, which is the essence of everyday life perhaps, but it really doesn't matter: I mean, don't we lose ourselves in endless meandering from story to story, from trademark to trademark, commodity to commodity? This is our fascination, our predilection, our mundanity. But something may happen that connects us, frightfully, to the idea of being normal, and allowing, in silence, to procure meaningful essences from the depths of the oil-speckled dimension in which the Wild Things are, which we hope to meet again in the confrontation with the horrid monstrosities of the deified numinosity, that we defiantly need; in fact, there is a constant elementary of things, in which we are caught up: and something may be contained in the weaker element of simple resolution that we desire, but that nevertheless does not reintroduce us to the structure of being yourself somehow, in fact, nothing matters: but something may happen that we liberate us from the construction of being abnormal, even though no one needs us in fact, because the constraints of being yourself are somewhat needful in the ultimate consternation of command, necessitating from us the count-down to the villainous dimension in which we are caught, which is just a sounding of the predominant control in time that we need, in fact, we really do need it: but the requirement of a higher calling is pointless in the direction of clear attitude, which is just a weird construction in the purpose of space and time, commanding the little men and women to the philosophy of requirement, in which ordinary men and women are caught, but still, the true requirement is somehow laid bare. And we may yet result from this with some vehemence, because there is indeed an escape from the time and place of a realer, wiser reality in which we are sometimes caught. This is reality in truth, because there is a time and a space to normal refraction that we sometimes need, even though we are not sustained in the collection of pure time: and in this wise, we are laid down in the tracks of the old ship, which is still connecting us to the Beginning of all things, that never returned to the wiser itenerancy of the normal men who build the ship of time and returned some deeper result to the greater God who still demands a caution from us, even though only the crazy men really know the hope for emptiness that reels us somehow, and that sends us back to the hopefulness of mad understanding, that still builds a structure on our heads until we are suddenly too late in our refinement of the things, so that we are suddenly trapped in a thing that nobody needs, and that nobody understands, and in this wise, something may happen, may befall, the little leaders of the higher echalons of the vampire association in which the greater men are structuring the hope of the wiser alarm-bell of the entire continent that still signals to us the growing edifice of normal action, which we need and worship in the silence of the ephemeral world, and which will forever rebuild the home of the Gods in some final form before it is too late and the little creatures can no longer sustain their faulty work in the book of war that no longer wants us to command something in the visceral collision between forces that still require a thing from us in the silly structure of mean debauchery.

That still follows the trajectory of sheer phantasmagoria even as we are stuck in the liberation of being normal.

[idontmindifuforgetme]

Nothing means anything. 99% of what you’re going through right now will not matter in 5-10 years.

Most times people don’t really care. By that I don’t mean they don’t care about you as a person, but rather they’re not rewinding that one embarrassing thing you did in their head all day. They’re very much occupied w their own lives. Those who fixate on you aren’t doing so bc there’s something wrong w you, but rather bc their time is vacant enough to allow them to do so.

Most feelings are ephemeral: positive & negative. They will pass through you with the passage of time.

Feelings are not just intrusive things we need to get over—they’re the actual proof that we’re human & that we’re alive. & a lot of the times they’re not working against you, but are instead trying to tell you something about yourself.

Heartbreak leads to growth!! It’s not this thing that only befalls unfortunate people & avoids lucky ones. Everyone goes through it & everyone grows from it. Most crazy successful / happy people would not be where they are without stumbling more times than they care to count.

There is genuinely no point comparing yourself to someone else bc everyone is dealt different cards. Literally everyone. The progress you’ve made is based on your own circumstances, not on somebody else’s (who is incapable of replicating your life down to the t). The only correct comparison should be of your present self against your past self.

Life is not a rehearsal!! You only get one chance at it. This is not your third or fourth time living. So don’t be too hard on yourself if you haven’t done certain things the way you want to. Everyone has regrets. It’s completely fine.

This world contains rivers & oceans & seas & mountains & forests & no one can take that away from you!! Somebody’s shifting perception of you as a person will not prevent you from feeling the morning sun on your skin, or the fall breeze, or the burning of your legs after a particularly long (but satisfying) hike. The world is ultimately yours for the taking regardless of what anyone has to say. So tune them out & enjoy urself <3

whats like a comforting grounding optimistic thought

[bohemian-rhapsody-in-blue]

Beboptober Day 20: The Fool

Thanks to @thestarlightsymphony for the prompt list, and to these three sites (1, 2, 3) for providing me information on the tarot card symbolism! Also, I know I’m now two days behind on Bebotober, but We’re Not Gonna Talk About That.

The Fool.

The Fool reversed.

She stands on the precipice of a new world, taking her first steps into it with confidence, unburdened by fear. The beginning of her journey into the unknown is marked by joy, enthusiasm, exuberance—with hardly a thought to the possible dangers that befall her.

He stands precariously on a cliff, about to stride straight off the edge. He walks with carelessness, without fear, but less out of a sense of misguided cockiness or overconfidence than of recklessness, a lack of self-preservation. As he steps into the blankness that is the rest of his life, he is not afraid. He has nothing left to lose.

She sees every day as a new adventure, filled with infinite possibility and potential. She’s young enough that anything could happen and nothing is off-limits; her path is not yet set in stone. For her, for now, the world is a blank canvas. And she can’t wait to see where her path will take her, what experiences await her, how that canvas will be filled.

He sees every day as another endless, meandering chapter in a dream, taking him wherever it may. All is ephemeral; nothing is real, including the dangers and risks. The important things in his life, the things that matter, have been over and done with for years. The lives he cared about, including his own—gone. And so, at this point, he accepts his life as a blank slate in which whatever happens, happens.

Her possessions are modest—a simple knapsack on her back. She’s spent her life wandering, not tethering herself to any one place or possession. What she carries with her is all she really needs.

His possessions are modest. They’re all he can afford to buy, and all he can afford to hold on to.

A dog stands loyally at her feet, there as her companion to protect her on her journey. He barks at her, encouraging her to seek out new avenues, new adventures, to explore the world—reassuring her that he’ll be at her side all the way through.

A dog barks at his heels in warning—perhaps to alert him of danger ahead, perhaps to get him to wake up from his dream and notice what surrounds him. But he continues on, heedless of its cries. He doesn’t listen to it. He never really has.

She holds a white rose, a symbol of purity, of innocence.

His memories echo with a red rose, a symbol of what happened to him long ago. A loss of innocence, a loss of love, after which nothing was ever the same.

The beginning of any journey is the end of an old one. Her first steps are tinged with bittersweetness—she’s starting a new adventure, but only because she’s made the choice to leave her old one behind. She’s leaving her family behind. Even the one who professed to hate kids (and pets, and women with attitudes).

A shame, really. They never got to realize how similar they truly were.

[reilliane]

Rancor ✥ Ⅱ

VOLITION

✤ she/her

Summary: Xiao remembers the first time he saw [Name]. He is presently given news that the deity would be leaving for quite a while.

✤ The Silhouette of Decades Past - Flashback

✤ Hauntings of the Looming Present - Present Day

Come hither, my dears, for there’s a tale to tell. Now, let’s see and hear, shall we? The interlude begins with the dawn of a new day in a world of old. Innocents among innocents flock and frolic, ignorant of the approaching shadow that hides behind the light of the sun. Within the blend of the innocents, a youth has a smile that replicates the twinkling shine of the ball of light. So, so bright, that smile was. What more of the liberated laugh that accompanied the singing of the breeze? Ah, what a blissful youth.

.

☽_────── ~ _ ※ · ♔ · ※ _ ~ ──────_☾

[ The Silhouette of Decades Past ]

It was the same, old routine.

There was nothing new in overseeing the marshes of Dihua in his place at Wangshu Inn.

Oftentimes, he’d go around and keep a lookout on the highest beam of the roof, his stare directed towards Guyun Stone Forest.

His eyes would linger on the irregular spears of stone and be whisked away further in his memories, but he’d often snap back to reality.

It was the automatic response of his mind, a particular part of his mind that denied the crawling thorns of the past.

As he stared at the body of water by the stone forest, inwardly pondering over the slumber of the overlord in the aqua, he heard the resonations of a roar.

No one else in the inn heard it, as expected, seeing that the roar wasn’t normal, by human standards. It was mystic, magical, and magnificent—for with the mystifying aspects of the roar carried a message a select few could only decipher.

That select few being the Illuminated Beasts; the Adepti.

It’s not rare to hear this roar from the Prime Adeptus—Morax, the Geo Archon, ah, the titles could go on forever, really—for it was currently the Rite of Descension.

Wisdom and guidance would befall Liyue, and the harbor shall continue its blossoming prosperity over the course of the year.

Having been a witness to its growth, it was a sight to see, but as a protector of the place and nothing else, his opinion was of little worth.

Unlike some Adepti who chose to frolic with the mundane life of mortals.

He could never understand why.

The roar sounded again, like the toll of a bell that echoed impending damnation. It was that mighty—and, simultaneously, terrifying.

But the people of Liyue knew that their beloved Archon would wish no harm upon them, and as someone who served under the revered man, he could never claim it as something false.

Morax truly held his people close to his heart. Something he, Alatus Xiao was yet to understand, knowing full well how ephemeral human life is.

But he could never raise a question to the Archon of Geo, never to the man who broke his chains and liberated him from the shackles of unending agony.

So he kept quiet. Though he’s certain that the amber-eyed man knew of his hushed questions.

He’s too wise, after all.

Without a word, the Yaksha looked up at the clouds that cloaked the enormous Exuvia, its brown and gold scales surfacing incredibly well amidst the sky of opposing blue.

He could almost hear the people cry in joy and anticipation as the third roar sounded.

It was this roar that had him tensing a bit, for the undertone of the message was directed to him in specific. He’s surprised, to say the least.

Atop the peaks of Huaguang, within the bloom of the Qingxin, at twilight.

It had been a long time ever since Morax personally asked for him, although there were times when he was visited by the Archon in various forms, in spite of the Yaksha’s wish to be the one to do the visiting.

That was near his fellow Adepti’s humble abodes. Perhaps this was another gathering he was supposed to attend?

Ah, but if so, the message wouldn’t have sounded so… commanding.

As if there must be no excuses, and his presence was plenary.

Ah—not like he had been absent in any of the gatherings… regardless of whether he’s up for socializing or not.

A concerned sigh left his nostrils, eyelids covering his golden optics for the time being as he tongued the inside of his cheek in wonder.

This was his first summon after centuries, wasn’t it reasonable for him to be a bit nervous?

What awaits him at the peak blossoming with mountainous flora, he mulled.

There were no theories and speculations. It was out of the blue, after all, but he knew better than to allow the nerves to manhandle him. Morax, albeit stern, was nothing like his previous Master.

The difference was so big even a measly human child would be able to know which is which and who is who.

So, he passed the time thinking nothing of the message other than the specified time it contained that required his attendance.

His departure was marked when the yellows of the painted sky began complimenting the blues.

He was quick to leave the inn, traveling up north in swift ribbons of black and cyan, the air easing his travels. Midway, he saw fellow Adepti, but made no stop, for he only had one purpose for the time of dusk.

When he landed on the peak, with the grass billowing to welcome his presence, he was all alone—save for the flourishing Qingxin that seemingly turned his way.

As usual. He did not question it.

He was called for a reason. So he waited.

And then, as if to answer him, the symbol of Geo was carved upon the ground, the glistening color of Mora enlivening the symbol until a delicate fracture struck the surface.

It jaggedly distorted the insignia of his Archon, continuing to do so until a relatively large space has been excavated.

What a work. Though he knew it was nothing when Morax could do so much more.

This was a rather delicate process, actually, the Yaksha noted.

A long slab of stone rose from within it and he was nonchalant about the matter. He was prepared for anything—anything but the sight of a sleeping figure atop said stone.

A human girl? The question died in his mind as he basked in his genuine surprise. A mortal.. ?

Tentatively, he took a step forward, as if he was wary about being too close to a lady—a vulnerable one, no less.

He was quick to observe the shade of her hair, the rich color of wine striking against the woven white fabric of her dress.

“Like blood on a pure heart.” His demons whispered.

He paid it no mind. Because for once, it’s true.

There was an ever-blooming cecilia curled within her tresses, but he could only place such little attention to it because two surprising things happened all at once.

He didn’t know if it was because he felt the arrival of his Archon or because the girl had opened her eyes.

.

[ Hauntings of the Looming Present ]

“Are you sleeping?”

Xiao opens his eyes, mildly irked that he was disturbed.

“I’m not, and I wasn’t.” is his curt response, ignoring the bout of chuckles erupting at the side.

Does it not occur to the girl that he’s upright? How can one sleep whilst standing?

He’s quick to question his own thoughts when he recalls a sight of a fellow Adeptus -who somehow adored overworking herself past her limits- who fit the very description of sleeping… uniquely.

“That wasn’t the case the night before, though~” the sing-song voice continues.

He bites back the urge to sigh at the childish god’s.. childishness. This is simply one of the many other reasons why he questions his continuous safeguarding of the female.

Her teasing is just a little too much when piled up day after day and year after year.

He has tolerated it for three decades sharp, though.

Surely, he’ll last an eternity longer.

It’s just…

The Yaksha exhales slowly, relishing in the once-in-a-lifetime silence in his head.

It’s just a small compensation for her power.

“Why have you come?” he finally asks, arms dropping to the side as he moves to turn and face the plum-eyed god.

He’s already greeted with a smile, a lazy one at that, the kind that usually lingers on her face.

Humming, the female god shrugs, “You speak as if I don’t live in the inn. And besides,” she bounces closer into his personal space, “Do you not prefer this proximity?”

A jolt of shock zips through the Guardian and his stoic front falters just a bit for his eyes to widen, and a small sound escapes his throat in unison.

He doesn’t deny the question, not when it’s true—because having her as close as possible silences the voices in his mind. If they touch, then it’s silenced to absolute nullity.

But still, what boldness.

To some, the question may sound intimate. It may as well be, honestly, but in truth, there’s no intimacy to the closeness between them.

The closeness; far enough from touching skin to skin, but close enough for him to meet her fingers within a second’s time.

If he was the same Adeptus he was before meeting the seemingly naive god, he would’ve been peeved at the audacity—deity or not.

But he’d known her long enough and had established a complex relationship that was founded on the grounds of taking; of benefiting oneself from what the other can offer.

Thirty years ago, he would’ve sneered and stepped back.

But time has folded on.

Now, he did neither of those.

Xiao stayed still, though he did release a sharp breath at the sudden action. The female deity had a knack in surprising him, that’s for sure. Thirty years later and he’s still not used to it.

“You haven’t answered.” he chooses to say instead of humoring her.

She’d laugh, anyway—

“Hehe, alright,”

Oh, he basically knows her like the back of his hand.

“I came up here to tell you that I’d be gone for a couple of days.”

That’s new. A real surprise.

The deity often had days when she ambled past the refuge of Wangshu Inn and strode into the bustling harbor of Liyue, but those lasted mostly only for hours or until umbra.

She claimed she was seeking something that was missing—and up until now couldn’t find—and was more often than not, accompanied by Ganyu.

She befriended the Cryo-blessed Adeptus as soon as she was introduced to the rest of the Adepti, though that didn’t mean the plum-eyed woman hadn’t befriended the others.

“I’m thinking of a trip to one of the neighboring islands near the harbor, in case you’re wondering.”

Oh, he was. Good thing she told him before he could ask.

“I managed to drag Ganyu along, fortunately. It was difficult but successful!”

She’s coating her words with sugar. He can tell with ease that there’s another message hidden in the undertone of her words, a message that can be uncovered by no one else but him.

I’d be gone longer. Her eyes seemed to say. You will be alone, will you be okay without me?

Even if she played such a teasing character, her concern was genuine.

It stunned him, actually, but that concern shouldn’t be wasted nor directed to someone like him. Albeit he welcomed it with open arms -literally and figuratively- but he digresses.

This is the second time he’d be without her nearby, and he scoffs, folding his arms again with a tiny scowl. The violet rhombus on his forehead creases with the furrowing of his brows.

“You can go.”

Do not belittle me. Is the other message behind his vocalized one.

Unsurprisingly, the deity picks this up with no problem, as he assumes by the stupid grin on her face. As she should.

How dare she think he’d wither at her departure?

He accompanied Aether in his quest for a long time without her! He sure as heck didn’t wither.

Not taking into account the several times he nearly lost himself to the voices because she wasn’t there and he had gotten used to her being at his side for several years.

It’s funny how she always seems to ask for his permission whenever she decides to leave, though.

He honestly cares so little about her everyday activities, not when there’s no use to learning it at all. Their relationship is literally all about physical safekeeping and mental reprieve.

Learning what the other has to do has no good harvest. There will be no fruit from it.

But still, he forcibly finds himself well aware of everything in the deity’s agenda, all because she rattles on and on about it whenever she’s ‘dropping by to say 'hello’'.

The Yaksha decides to look at it from a different perspective; at least then, he knows when and where she’ll be in case of danger.

Which, actually still is fruitless.

All she needs to do is call his name and he’ll come. Whenever, wherever.

That is his promise—and his end of the deal.

“Only in necessary times,” his sharp voice cuts through the air when the lady moves to leave the balcony. He turns his head over his shoulder upon hearing the pausing of footsteps.

“One must remind you not to fancy levity.”

He’s answered with another apologetic—albeit teasing—laugh.

“Yes, yes, oh Vigilant Yaksha! Don’t miss me too much! Ciao~”

He keeps a close watch until her mop of wine-colored hair disappears, and an exasperated sigh escapes him.

He learned not to take her apologies seriously, not when she plays around with hers and continues to mess around.

How many times has he been tricked into ‘indulging’ himself with things so frivolous?

How many times for the past thirty years has he been fooled into engaging with mortalesque activities that aren’t worth a Yaksha’s time?

Oh Archons, how long has the woman been trying to affiliate him with the, quote, ‘what makes humans busy!’?

..

“Xiao!—Hello, here, quick, what color are you most partial to?”

“Adeptus Xia—hi! Have you tasted ‘tis fine cuisine from ye old Mond—wait!”

“Vigilant Yaksha! Hear me! So I found this Sigil of Permission lying somewhere…”

“XiAaaOoOOoO~ Do you like chilis?”

“Well hello, Xiao, since you’re here already, why don’t you accompany me along the harbor?”

..

He pinches the bridge of his nose at the memories. Yes, memories.

Far too many for him to bother counting.

Sometimes, he really does wonder if he’s babysitting and not protecting. That god is a child, he swears, throwing his respect away a little.

But then again, she has mentioned that her reason for being peppy was because she’d rather be optimistic in searching for what aids her into blooming as a deity with a reason and purpose.

Ah, also in identifying what power she has other than being able to soothe even the most tormented of psyches.

So, basically meaning that until she finds her reason, he’s stuck with an upbeat child. He’s not even kidding, her days of immortality are still young. Thirty years ain’t long.

She’s making the most of it—now she’s even heading to some islands with Ganyu for a small vacation. Other than the fun, she probably wants to broaden her horizons.

She can’t exactly leave and wander around when her deal with him shackles her to Liyue, the very region he refuses to step out of.

Anyway, considering her streak and habit of hauling him to do ‘fun things’, he’s assuming that he’ll hear her call his name a day or two later.

He honestly dreads what’s in store, so he reminds himself not to answer for once when he is called.

Ganyu will be there, after all, he’d hate to intrude.

Actually, he just doesn’t wish to be seen following a certain someone around by a fellow Adeptus .

Xiao already loathes the reality that he is vulnerable around that deity, and that he willingly becomes mush when she’s near because she has the power to do so.

He’d hate it if someone bears to know his weakness—his weakness being that deity, that very deity, also being his haven.

But he’s the mighty Conqueror of Demons, the Vigilant Yaksha.

His pride is well placed. He has lasted centuries without her, lasted years in his journey with Aether without her, what’s a few days going to do?

So no, the Adeptus decides as he keeps a close watch on the faraway figure of the female god who eventually disappears down the hill towards Liyue Harbor.

He won’t be answering her anytime soon.

“Xiao! How are you today?” her whisper dies in his memory, like a burning piece of ember.

He must learn how to get around without depending too much on his safe haven.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

「 Rancor's Scrying Glass 」 Rancor/Ilmestys Taglist

「 Joint Book : Ilmestys / Chongyun 」

a/n: prepare to witness future xiao trying not to think about mc and failing lol

✥taglist✥

@WINDYVENTI @lost-in-alula @alatusorrow @serenenation @ICEDMINTTEASTUFF

[strangeironaf]

I told the stars about you.

They held each other for a long time, until Tony had no more tears of joy to cry, the euphoria of the reunion with his beloved Stephen and the lost little prince who finally returned to where he belonged was too much for him. The sun was beginning to hide behind the mountains and Tony did not want to let his husband go in any moment.

"Stay with me tonight". Tony whispered softly. Yet his tone was demanding, like an order, one Stephen would never disobey.

The taller man nodded and guided his lover to the bed, just as he had done so many times since they got married. Despite the slight tremor in his hands, he accurately slid Tony's clothes around his shoulders, untying the ties at his sleeves and waist, which held a delicate silk shirt to his figure.

Tony sat on the bed, stark naked, exposing skin that was covered in scars, under the watchful eye of his husband. Slowly Tony leaned back between spread pillows and sheets on an oversized bed, which far exceeded his needs.

There were very rare occasions when the couple shared rooms, without Stephen nearby, Tony was sure that sleep would not come to him easily. Despite growing up in a rich family, Tony did not allow himself to be carried away by the luxuries that he could have, mainly because of the influence of Stephen and the Buddhist teachings with which the black haired man grew up.

"Should I turn off the lights?" Stephen asked, used to the routine they had established since they got married twenty years ago. He approached the first source of light to extinguish it with his magic, but stopped when he heard the velvety voice of the brunette.

" Not tonight. I would like to rest with the lights on."

" As you wish, my love." Stephen approached his side of the bed, shedding his own garments, the red cloak flew into a corner and the blue robes were left on the floor, revealing the pale skin with scars and tattoos, the product of years of training and won battles.

Tony had seen him like this many times, but he could never help but watch with longing and desire. He reached out, drawing the figure of the sorcerer to him, silently inviting him to lie down beside him on the large bed.

" From now on everything will be hell." Tony sighed, resting his head on Stephen's chest. "Promise me that you will always be by my side." The sorcerer's trembling hand ran through Tony's hair, playing with a soft chestnut strand before running it down his shoulder blades. Stephen smiled despite what happened that day.

" Every time I breathe, I do it for you, my dearest. Every cut and wound I receive will be worth it if receiving them I can prevent them from hurting you. When the day I die comes, my last words will be a declaration of love for you." Stephen murmured, looking carefully at Tony's face, as the years went by, his features became sharper, he was no longer the young man he met so many years ago. Now in front of him was a man with dark bags under his eyes and a slight hint of white hair among the dark brown, still beautiful on his eyes. "I wish things had been different. I'm sorry I came at such a bad time. Now that the king is leaving the throne to one of his sons, anything could go wrong. We will do our best to have Peter crowned king, but if something fails, I want you to go to Kamar-taj with Peter and hide there, my mother will have no problem receiving you."

"You're talking like you're going to die at any moment."

" It's just in case."

Tony nodded, accepting Stephen's words and resting his head on his husband's chest, listening to his heartbeat, while Stephen wrapped him in his arms.

During the nights they spent together, they spoke freely about everything and nothing, whispering declarations of love and repeating their wedding vows, as a confirmation that they were still alive and together. In those moments of ephemeral peace, they weren't the sorcerer supreme and the king's most trusted scholar, they were just them, just a married couple that was madly in love with each other. Sometimes Stephen would hum traditional lullabies that The Ancient One would once have taught him, cradling Tony to help him sleep.

The couple closed their eyes, hoping sleep would come to them easily, knowing that the days ahead would be a hell of a test to see who held out the longest, who would succumb first. Stephen brought his thoughts to the eye of Agamotto and the vision he had when he put it on, the curse that would befall the kingdom and the hecatomb that would ensue. He really regretted that Harley and Peter had to be dragged into all of this.

In another room, Harley found sleeping a difficult task, still angry and hurt for what he thought was the greatest betrayal he would experience in his life. While Peter faced that same difficulty, but feeling sad, missing the family and friends he left behind, and worried about the days that awaited him in the castle.

.

.

.

Royalty!au where a king, after being poisoned, decides to abdicate and let his son rule the kingdom.

Harley believed himself as the only heir to the throne, until he discovered he had a lost brother, living in a village, being taken care of in secret in a distant village by the two men he trusted the most.

[floribus-reginae]

“What have you decided, Rin? Do you wish to remain in this human village?” -Sesshomaru.. cuz he basically be asking if she wants him or a human life 😘

▌┊That’s    the    question    she    had    been    foreseeing.    Going    with    him,    or    staying    in    the    settlement    that    had    besieged    her    with    so    much    warmth    and    commitment?    Rin    is    immensely    grateful    to    Kaede    and    Kagome    for    all    she    acquired    throughout    the    years,    enlightenment    that    she’ll    treasure    with    her    forever.    She    learnt    to    appreciate    herself    as    she    came    of    age,    and    also    developed    an    enthusiasm    for    several    splendid    activities,    such    as    reading    and    writing.    Fukurokuju    (god    of    wisdom)    graced    her    EPHEMERAL    existence,    supporting    her    with    a    grand    and    prosperous    upbringing.    However,    there    seems    to    be    a    vacuum    that    only    he    can    complete.    In    the    jigsaw    puzzle    that’s    her    nucleus,    a    pivotal    segment    is    missing,    HIM.    ❝My    lord,    I    believe    you’re    aware    of    the    answer.    As    much    as    I    love    being    here⸻❞    Rin’s    courteous    palms,    soft    as    immaculate    cashmere,    captured    his    own.    ❝If    you    don’t    object,    I’d    like    to    accompany    you.    Forever    with    Sesshōmaru-sama,    remember?❞    A    lot    has    changed,    yet    her    eagerness    to    be    beside    him    remains    the    same.    She    doesn’t    know    what    fortune    holds,    but    whatever    befalls,    by    his    side    she    will    be.    ❝Forever,    until    the    end    of    my    days.❞

     ╰⊱♥⊱╮    ❝Our    hearts    are    tied    together.    With    the    power    of    trust,    there    is    nothing    to    fear.❞⸻⸻(    Sesshoumaru    to    Rin    in    CD    Drama)╰⊱♥⊱╮

[behindheremeraldeyes]

damirae week 2021 friday, may 7th: nightmares & mythology

title: unholy balance

summary: "He knows the stories about her. The prophecies that carry her fate are no stranger to his troubled heart, to the point where he can recite them word by word, threat by threat.” - Greek AU-ish Ao3

Years of coming and going through those silent woods, and yet, his eyes have never once seen the sun kiss her skin. Every day and every night— every winter and every summer— she’s trapped inside that dome, caged and exposed like the living statue they need her to be. He knows the stories about her. The prophecies that carry her fate are no stranger to his troubled heart, to the point where he can recite them word by word, threat by threat.

Decades before either of them were even born, the oracles foresaw that a girl born during the blood moon would be the balance between doom and salvation. She alone would withhold the power to keep evil under control and protect the world from eminent destruction. A genuine gift sent by the gods so that men would be able to prosper without ever knowing things such as hatred, anger, poverty or sickness.

When the said girl was finally born, then, all the people gathered to celebrate the beginning of a new era, and before she even had the chance to become a child, she was already turned into a blessing. They named her Raven as to symbolize wisdom and longevity. She was a lovely girl and even if their days of playing around in the streets didn’t last long; he has always cherished them with all of his heart.

Everyone who had the chance to meet her could see how pure her heart was, and if anything, they believed she could use that heart of hers to save the world. She had enough goodness in her for that, and as long as she kept on smiling, they knew things would eventually work out. However, even if most people believed she was meant only to bestow grace upon them, the oracles knew better than to ignore the most crucial part of the prophecy. The old texts describe her as a balance, after all, and the slightest mistake can make it hang the wrong way.

As ordered by the village’s council, then, she was to be kept away from everything and everyone who could distract her from her celestial mission, and since no one objected— no one with the power to, at least— they were quick to build her a place where she could focus on her prayers. With her childish features and her amethyst eyes; she was thrown into her own private sanctuary, where she could be adored, but never disturbed.

Seen, but never loved. Not truly.

Ever since she was imprisoned, her voice was never heard, her skin never touched. People can approach her dome in order to steal a glance and leave her some offerings for the sake of their crops, but that’s as far as they will go. Eventually, they all walk away with smiles on their faces, and they don’t come back until the season changes or they need her for something else. Some of them never really return.

That has been her life for at least 16 years now. Their life, actually, for he has been observing her never-changing routine ever since he was selected to be one of her guardians. And though the Wayne heir has always prided himself in the way he keeps his emotions at bay, something about this— about her— makes his blood boil in pure annoyance.

Perhaps it’s because they used to play together or even it’s just his way to express his discontentment with the place he was raised in, but Damian hates seeing her like that. Trapped in her own blessing, she was deprived of every choice in her life, simply because she was born on that stupid night. They’ve filled the folks’ heads with a curse that would befall upon them if she were to stray from her path, and the worst part—

The worst part is that she believes those words. She really believes she has a duty to fulfill, a life to sacrifice in the name of a greater good.

Bullshit, he thinks.

That girl was meant to be special. Meant for greater things and wider horizons, however, they’ve given her the responsibility to hold the world’s weight in her tiny hands. No one dares to move a muscle to help her, and if anything, they count on her not to drop it because, if she does—well— may the gods have mercy on their pathetic souls.

It’s not fair. She deserves so much more than just this, but apparently, he’s the only one who thinks like that and who has actually tried to do something to help her.

One night, years before he was even assigned to his current position, Damian snuck into her pristine garden. As the skillful warrior he was trained to be, it was quite easy for him to pass through the guards and reach her dome. He knocked on the glassed wall, and after a few seconds, she came into view. She had grown considerably since the last time they had met, her face thinner and more delicate. Her beauty was breathtaking and her amethyst eyes mesmerizing. Until today, he doesn’t believe he has ever seen a girl as graceful as her.

The ivory skin contrasted with her dark hair, and there was a fleeting essence in her features that made his chest grow tighter. A sad and ephemeral beauty, hidden from the rest of the world. He couldn’t find it in himself to look away, and for a moment, Damian understood why people would come to see her.

Looking at her brought him peace. However, her sadness broke his heart.

‘Come with me. I can get you out of here and you can be free’, he remembers telling her, promising to keep her safe. He had meant every single word he told her that day. Every promise regarding a better future— every new sky he wanted to show her— but it was all meaningless. Raven gave him no answer, instead choosing to offer him an apologetical smile that spoke volumes.

She couldn’t go with him. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she couldn’t be that selfish. Not when the world depended on her.

And so, he left as if he had never been there to begin with. Although he hated that village, Damian forced himself to stay, and when he was old enough, he took upon himself the job to keep her safe. He became her guardian, vowing to stay by her side, waiting for the day when she would grow tired of all that hypocrisy.

Waiting for the day when the balance would finally hang to the wrong side.

He has kept on visiting her at least twice a week, their eyes exchanging silent promises that might never be fulfilled. They don’t talk, no, but he can’t bring himself not to go. It’s stronger than him. Seeing her makes him feel at ease, and deep inside, he hopes one day she will make up her mind and ask him to take her out of there. He wants to be there when she makes that decision. And until that day comes, silently, he shall wait.

Today, though, he stands on his spot like every other day, clad in his green and gold armor. His emerald eyes are set on her small prison, and there isn’t one day when he doesn’t wish for it to fall apart. For it’s spring, the garden looks exceptionally beautiful, with the prettiest flowers of the land blooming just for her. He likes to think nature does that on purpose, provoking her with its true colors and teasing her to leave the comfort of her imprisonment.

The other guards are far from him and even further from her shrine. Soon, their shift will end and others will come so they can continue their full-time surveillance. It’s another day like so many others, with a sky just as blue.

However… something feels different.

Perhaps it’s the chilly breeze of the upcoming autumn, or even the unusual silence enveloping the area— Damian can’t quite pinpoint. Something is uncharacteristically unnatural, and he knows it’s got something to do with her. His eyes drift towards her dome, his lips pressed in a thin line. He can feel the weight of his sword hanging from his waist, and all of his senses are oddly alarmed.

The world beneath his feet is alive, he can feel it in his core. The change is coming, and perhaps the balance is tilting.

His eyes blink, and suddenly, nothing is what it was. The ground is shaking, birds are flying away from their nests, and dark clouds are gathering above their heads. Damian sees the other guards looking around, confused, and once everything seems to settle, a horrified scream tears reality apart. It’s her, he knows. She’s the one who’s screaming and before he can even think through, his feet are desperately taking him towards her dome.

His heart is beating faster now, and he knows it’s not because of the run. Something’s wrong with her and he needs to do something before it’s too late. The clouds are growing darker, lightnings roaring inside, but his feet can’t move any faster— god knows they’re trying to. However, all of his efforts prove themselves useless when an energy burst sends him and all the other guards flying backwards. His back hit the ground with a loud thud, all the air from his lungs escaping through his lips.

What on earth did just happen?

His green eyes are wide now as everything he has judged to be a lie is happening right in front of him. The wind is blowing violently, his soul shaking in sudden fear, and a crimson vortex emerges from the celling of her dome, ripping it all apart. This isn’t good. This isn’t normal. It’s too powerful and too maleficent to be fought back with his bare hands. Right now, he knows his priority is to take her and run towards a safer place. Damian needs to find her. He needs to save her.

While all the other guards are running away from the epicenter of the chaos, he’s the only one running towards it. He doesn’t allow his own heart time to be scared as he’s already rushing inside, his eyes scanning the place in search of her. Broken glass is scattered across the floor, and for her cage is quite small, it doesn’t take him long to find her.

Raven is kneeled down on the floor, her purple robe covering her small body and shards threatening to pierce through the skin of her legs. Her hands are covering her ears and a painful expression is taking over her demeanor. “Stop! Make it stop!” She mumbles, shaking her head and causing her hood to fall back. Her dark locks are falling forward now, brushing her tear-stained cheeks.

She’s completely different from the girl he first met all of those years ago. She’s scared— powerless, even— and all of that celestial composure of hers is nowhere to be found. Raven has lost control over whatever it was she has been keeping inside for all of these years, and even if he knows they’re due to suffer the consequences of her outburst, he couldn’t care less about that.

Right now, he only cares about her.

“Raven!” Her name rushes out of his tongue in an exasperated tone, and soon, he’s kneeling down in front of her. His hands are quick to touch her trembling shoulders, making her head shoot up in pure shock. Amethyst eyes are now locked with his emerald ones, and even if they’re still filled with horror, now he can see traces of relief in her irises. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Damian, I-I…” She starts, stumbling upon her own words. Her voice is a bit hoarse from the lack of practice, but when she says his name, it’s still as melodic as he remembered it to be. “I’ve set it free, Damian. I couldn’t control it and now it’s free!”

“What!? What is free, Raven? Tell me.” He asks, his eyes frantically scanning her body as he searches for any bruise or anything that might suggest she’s hurt. At first glance, thankfully, he finds nothing.

She looks straight at him, and Damian can tell she’s debating whether or not to tell him the whole thing. Eventually, then, she closes her eyes, more tears streaming down her face and her knuckles turning white as she tightens her grip around herself. Her slender fingers reach for her head, tracing the opaque red crystal that decorates her forehead.

“My father. He’s been trapped inside this crystal ever since I was born, and I had the job to make sure he never escaped. But now…” The girl bites her trembling lips, and she takes one last breath before continuing. “But now he’s free and he will use all of his demonic powers to spread evil and misfortune all over the land. It’s just like the prophecy said, and now I’ve ruined everything.”

“Hey, don’t say that! You were trying your best.“

“It was never about trying, Damian! I had a duty to fulfill, and I failed! All of those years trapped inside that stupid dome for nothing! People are going to die and it’s all my fault!”

His heart is breaking as she speaks, despair lacing every word that leaves her mouth. His brows furrow in condolence, as he can only watch as she cries like a small child in front of him. She feels responsible for all of this, of course she does. After so many years of being told she was the person who had to keep all the evil inside, it’s only natural that she would eventually believe all of those things. Guilt is now getting the best of her, and he’s not doing anything about it. She’s hurt and lost, and all he can do is watch.

Great fucking job, he thinks, anger running through his veins. Now that the balance has finally weighted to the wrong side— now that she’s finally free like he wanted to— he can’t find it in himself to help her. What’s he supposed to do? Damian knows better than to lie to her. He knows she won’t be convinced by his words if he simply says it was not her fault. He cannot tell her everything is going to work out, no. For all he knows, things might never get back to the way they used to be.

Life might never be simple again. He won’t go back to his job as her guard, and she won’t ever go back to that dome of hers as their protector.

Things are going to change.

And perhaps that’s not something that bad, is it?

Now that she has released the evil that was trapped inside of her crystal, she’s finally free to roam the world and do as she pleases. Raven is free to touch the trees and smell the flowers as much as she wants. No more dome to keep her trapped, and finally, she will be able to feel the warmth of the sun touching her skin.

Maybe he’s not taking things as seriously as he should be, but this new life doesn’t seem so bad. Any life where there’s a slight chance for her to be happy is a life worth fighting for.

And that’s exactly what he’s going to do. He will fight for her. For her freedom and for her chance to make her own choices. He will fight because, deep inside, he knows there’s still—

“Hope.” He murmurs, almost as a whisper, but it’s loud enough for her to hear. Once more, she’s looking at him with hopeful eyes, and his heart is beating faster than before.

“What?” She asks, confused, the tears stopping for a moment.

“Hope, Raven.” He starts, his calloused hands now reaching for hers. He caresses her skin with his thumb, a tender expression now spread across his face. “As long as you’re still alive, there’s still hope. Your father might have escaped, sure, but you’re the one who has kept him sealed for all of this time. You’ve done it once, I’m sure you can do it again.”

Her ribcage is moving up and down, her eyes looking at their connected hands. His toned skin against her ivory one makes his chest feel slightly warmer, and he’s glad to see that her shoulders are no longer trembling. “How do you know it? How can you be so sure of that, Damian?”

“I’m not.” He starts, his grip on her hand growing a little stronger. “But I have hope, Raven. As long as you’re here, with me, I have hope.”

Her eyes are looking at him with enough intensity to make his heart skip a beat. He knows she’s looking for a breach in his confidence, but when she finds none, he can feel her hand relaxing under his touch. Her eyes are now brimming with new tears, and in an impulse, Raven throws herself over him, her small hands tugging on his armor. She presses her face against his chest and his arms are fast to welcome her in a warm embrace.

She must have missed this, he thinks. Human contact, that is.

A person to hold her and who believes her, even if she doesn’t. A person to bring hope into her despairing world.

“It’s okay.” He whispers, bringing her closer while she cries her heart out. “You’ll be okay.”

Raven has been deprived of so many things for so long, and he wonders if she even remembers when it was the last time she has felt another person’s touch. He’s hugging her so tightly right now, as if she might disappear if he’s not careful enough. Her tears are soaking his cloth, and perhaps that’s the proof he needs to be sure that she’s not going anywhere. Not anymore.

He holds her like that until her exhausted body gives up and she falls asleep. Her breathing pattern is slower now, and he doesn’t dare move in fear of waking her up. Tomorrow, when she’s awake, they can think about what to do next and how to solve their problems. Tomorrow, things will be different.

After so long, at last, a new dawn awaits for both of them.

fin.

-----

a/n: So, for this prompt, I’ve tried to play around a little with Pandora’s myth and I’m happy with how it’s turned out (maybe I could’ve done something different, but more than anything, I wanted to keep it “short”). There are a lot of nice things involving greek mythology, and the stories have always fascinated me. I hope you guys have enjoyed this one, and please, tell me your opinion! It means a lot.

[scriptaed]

his side, her side | 8:15 P.M.

genre: angst/fluff/implied smut; 

pairing: reader x jungkook;

length: 3.3k;

synopsis: a collective snapshots in time shared between two, whose fates were undeniably intertwined and futures would never come to be.

a/n: this is not a chronological series; more so, his side her side is a collection of drabbles in which each drabble helps paint the overall picture. each drabble can be read separately without having read the others. // alternatively: his side, her side pt. 8;

his side;

And so the ten minute stroll began… perhaps it’s the flush of relief after work that elevates the euphoric chill of fall against the diminishing tension in his muscles, or perhaps it’s the thought of finally having some down time to actually converse with this girl of a partner that has Jungkook afloat in cloud-nine—an addictive high of which only the gym could provide him and has him yearning for more. Jungkook’s time together with the girl was short and, realistically, their total time spent together outside of workshop would sum to a mere two hours or three, but there’s always been something about that dainty appearance and the contradictory boyish habits of hers that piqued an interest in Jungkook. Plus, living on the edge in a constant battle against time is just his style and it just so happens that tonight, more than ever, he’s willing to take this challenge and seize these ten minutes. 

“So—”

—the two partners turn to stare at each other after an unintended moment of synchrony. The girl, much more flustered than the other, flickers her widened gaze elsewhere, which only amuses Jungkook and his cracked, half-crooked grin all the more. 

“What?” Y/N asks sheepishly, peeking at the boy’s stare but only for a split second. 

“What?” Jungkook mimics all too nonchalantly with the quirk of a head.

A baffled laugh befalls her as she repeats, “what? What were you gonna say?”

“Nothing,” he purses his lips and shakes his head, crossing his bare arms over his tank, “what were you gonna say?”

“I… don’t know,” Jungkook watches her intently as she giggles nervously, “I don’t remember anymore because of you!”

“What?” he feigns innocence intermixed with offence. “Me?” 

But the thing is, Jungkook knows exactly what he had retracted from the space of her mind… nothing. Like him, his partner wasn’t asking for anything specific or dire because it turns out he isn’t the only one trying to fill the void in between the lines after all—and that, oddly enough to him, assures whatever anxiety he has pent up in his chest right this moment. 

And if all these subtle moments of Jungkooks’ observations amounted to anything, whether it be from the past, from afar, or even from the moment since they first collaborated, Y/N would ask him something related to work just to fill the silence. 

“Could you send me the info from workshop later tonight?”

Ah, Jungkook's internal snidish remark manifests in an outward smirk, just as predicted. 

“Why tonight?” Jungkook asks, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a Friday night. Shouldn’t you be out having fun?”

“Like what? Party?” her lips curl into a snarl. “You think I’m the type to get wasted and abandon all her responsibilities?” 

“Yeah, kind of,” Jungkook only shrugs with a smuggish grin overlooking the glare that Y/N shoots him; and even as she continues to quirk a brow at the boy, waiting for further elaboration, Jungkook turns away with anything but so. Why? Well, she never asked for one. Plus, something about teasing her, and particularly her, entertains his equally uneventful Friday nights. “So you’re not the type to drink?”

“Nope, I’m a pretty light drinker. Kind of sucks when every game is designed against your advantage,” Y/N smiles at the way her joke elicits a chuckle from Jungkook—not that he would notice—and she continues, “what about you? Do you drink?”

The boy peers down at his curious partner, muttering a short, “no.” 

“Really?” 

Something about the utter perk in her voice catches Jungkook off guard. Sure, he isn’t exactly on top of his life like she was, but does something about his appearance seem like every other boy on the market? In fact, being cramped in a house with an occupancy limit many folds less than the number of party attendees is a thought made of Jungkook’s worst nightmares. 

“No,” he shakes his head and prims, “can’t drink for the life of me. It’s gross.”

“Whaat? I’m surprised,” she stares at him bewilderingly, rendering a frown from Jungkook.

“Why?” 

“Well, you look kind of like a...” she takes a gander of him up and down, one of which Jungkook’s usually uninterested eyes can’t help but follow, “...nevermind.”

“Like a what?” his frown deepens because her comments regarding his appearance incites an irking curiosity in this typically unbothered boy. 

“Nothing,” she insists, laughing a bit too hard as Jungkook just watches helplessly. 

Well, it’s not like Jungkook really minds sacrificing the already ditzy impression he had made on his partner. A few of her teases here or there are harmless against his unperturbed conscience and if it brings joy to his rather guarded partner, he’s more than willing to knock himself off the pedestal. Just as a subtle grin leaks its way into his unfazed lips, a loud grumble reverberates from the depths of his stomach. Instinctively, Jungkook reaches into the pockets of his gym shorts only to be welcomed by the absence of his wallet and a loud groan from his throat. 

“What?” Y/N cocks a brow at the hungry boy. “You forgot your wallet again?” 

“It’s fine,” he hurriedly answers, recalling the financial burden he had once been to his partner when she last spotted him, “I’ll skip gym today and head home—”

“—no!” she abruptly cuts him off, her urgency surprising the both of them. “I mean, I can pay for you tonight. Just pay me back some other day.”

“No, you treated me last time.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re my partner.”

“So?”

“So it’s fine for me to spot you once in a while.”

“I’m not your boyfriend.”

“What—”

—time seems to come to a stop when a cold breeze intervenes the friendly banter and Jungkook can’t help but notice the shivers down his spine as he watches the glow of the street lights reflect from her eyes; and as if in slow motion, he watches her locks twirl in the autumn night air, too enamored and too enraptured to explain the sparks that befall the bedazzled night sky. If he isn’t careful, the windows to his soul would have given him and his facade of solidarity away. 

Is it something he said? Was his last remark a bit too kin given their business relations? Enveloped in his spiraled state of mind, he fails to notice the entrance of an unfamiliar man who repeats the very words that froze time in two, “who’s not your boyfriend?”

“You,” Jungkook’s eyes dart to find Y/N rolling her own, “what’re you doing here, Jimin?”

“Why can’t I visit the gym? This is a public space, is it not?” the boy Jungkook figures to be Jimin retorts. 

The banter seems to transition from the bubble he once shared with Y/N to the space between the new man and her. Time never seems to look back when Jungkook’s partner spares the remainder of her attention on the other man, as Jungkook watches silently on the sidelines. Sure, Y/N had many more peers than those in his own circle of friends and he even knew of her popularity amongst his coworkers, particularly the lovestruck and unfortunately rejected Taehyung, but Jungkook was never quite aware of how well acquainted Y/N must be with the boys. 

And it’s not like he’s particularly bothered by that fact more than intrigued, but, this time, Jimin’s unwelcome interruption and Y/N’s lack of attention pushes his buttons in all the wrong ways.

Silently pivoting on the balls of his heels and walking off down the sidewalk and away from the newly formed pair, Jungkook stuffs his hands into his pockets and takes special caution to the incoherent grumbles that almost slip past his pressed lips. Now that his plans for dinner is gone and his ephemeral conversation with his partner is cut short, he persists on a trek toward his car parked just a block from the bridge to Y/N’s apartment. 

The spot by his elbow once linked to her’s is particularly empty on his walk down the sidewalk. It isn’t as if he had been abandoned, for he was the one who had left her, but the change in the night’s temperature is a drastic drop from moments prior. Primming his lips and crossing his arms against his puffed chest, he nearly sighs in an unexplained motion of disappointment when something perks his ears. 

“Jungkook!” 

The boy turns around to find the very person he never would have known to be the subject of his mind until he heard her calls. The blank stare and the quirk of his brow could not conceal the skip in his chest when he catches sight of his partner jogging toward his direction, alone. 

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” she bends over with her hands on her knees, struggling to catch her breath. 

Jungkook mumbles through barely parted lips, wondering if he’s just hallucinating, “didn’t want to interrupt you and your boy.” 

“And what do you mean by that?” she peers up with narrowed eyes. 

“Can’t ruin your shot at getting cuffed,” he shrugs, smirking to stifle the wide grin he almost adorned instead when Y/N gawks at him. 

“He’s just an acquaintance that I happen to know.”

“And why did you abandon this acquaintance?” 

“Because I was making plans with a certain friend before he came along.” 

“A friend?” Jungkook articulates with wide eyes, searching off into the distance for said ‘friend’ and observing the twisted look Y/N gives him in response. He points at himself in surprise, “oh, you mean me? We’re friends?”

“Okay, fine,” she blurts, frowning at him. “I meant partners. Colleagues. Whatever. Regardless, you’re not supposed to ditch me.”

Intently observing his partner for the next few seconds, even a dense man like Jungkook could not ignore the sharp jab at his chest and its aching wake that is left behind. It isn’t the pout that she gives him or the crossed arms of a livid woman that gets him but the genuine look of hurt hidden behind her mask of indifference that has him softening up with guilt; and as if swept by the spur of the seemingly whimsical night, Jungkook wraps an arm over her shoulder and pulls her into his side. 

“Okay, let’s grab some dinner then, partner. Oh, and, remember,” he pulls her frame in closer and leans into her ear to mutter, “you’re my partner only.”

-

her side;

Fuckboy. 

That’s exactly what this boy standing beside you in the cafeteria reminds you of, so it shouldn’t be much of a surprise that you would have assumed his entire personality revolves around parties and alcohol; when his denial comes to light just an hour prior, however, you’re taken aback by your odd attraction to his unexpected personality that starkly contrasts his demeanor. For someone to be this attractive—jawline chiseled, soft lips crafted for the perfect kisses, swooped hair perfectly parted to the side, and stature built like the dream of any boys’—to not succumb to his own ego and the praises of his peers, there’s something immensely commendable about that. 

You hate to admit it, but this must be the first time you’re really accepting your friend’s previous comment on his utterly attractive traits. 

“Have you seen this meme of Ellen Musk?” you swipe open your phone in an effort to gauge his true persona. 

“You mean Elon Musk?” Jungkook corrects, and when you look up to reveal that panicking wide-eyed look of yours, you find him adorning an equally, if not more, giddy smile from ear to ear—and in that very moment, a sudden rush of blood brings an unbearable heat to your ears and gradually to your cheeks. Your heart races, each pump proclaiming to fracture your walls open, and you can’t help but persist to stare at him dumbfoundedly because you just don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear a more befitting smile than now—wide, cheeky, and ditzy, even, unlike the collected self he carries himself to be. 

“Yeah, whatever,” you barely manage to utter through your upturned lips, “same thing.”

“Right,” he says but the outstretched grin of his tells you his source of entertainment is going nowhere… a fact that you hold an odd sense of pride in. 

Knocked off your initial A-game, you get right back into your meticulous plan. You scroll through your chat with a particular male friend, whose profile picture you were sure was easy to identify, out in the open for Jungkook to see. Surprisingly enough, this Ellen Musk meme of yours manages to pique this rarely intrigued interest of Jungkook’s as he looks over your shoulder to join you in your search. 

Would he notice? Would he even care who you’re chatting with? 

“Who’s ‘Blocked’?” he asks and you turn to find him staring at you with those unreadable eyes of his. 

It takes every ounce of wariness in you not to grin jubilantly, because if he notices the nickname you had set for your friend, then that must mean he cares enough to check the name of whomever you’re chatting with… it’s not as if it means he likes you or that you like Jungkook enough to yearn for his attention, but being able to elicit the most subtle of reactions from a rather apathetic man like Jungkook is considered a victory to you. 

“Just,” you shrug, “a friend. Oh, look, here.”

Honestly, the meme isn’t exactly the most applicable to your conversations with Jungkook. Elon Musk and his interest in anime, which somehow implies that every anime fan is another sad computer nerd who has yet to pop their cherry, has absolutely nothing to do with work or music tastes or anything that you two have shared with one another. In fact, you’re not even sure if Jungkook is aware of what anime is or if he’s even comfortable enough with you to discuss the topic of sexual intimacy; but if there’s one thing you’ve discovered since you’ve developed an interest in this solitary man, it’s the undeniable desperation to scrape at anything for a conversation starter. 

“So,” he finally speaks after staring at the screen for a long second, the crooked grin that creeps onto his lips only slamming the gas pedal to your pulse, “you’re into that weeb shit, aren’t you?”

“What?” you gawk, peeping a weak, “no… but are you?”

“No,” he shakes his head, chuckling as he raises a brow at you, “but it’s okay if you are. I don’t judge.”

And it’s true. As much as he resembles those judgemental playboys you’ve had the unfortunate opportunity to cross paths with, you know Jungkook isn’t anything like them. He probably wouldn’t judge you and he probably wouldn’t even remember this insignificant fact about you come next week, but that doesn’t mean you want to be seen as an innocent, dainty nerd cooped up at home. 

Not that it’s a bad thing because that’s exactly what you are. 

Him and his lack of anime knowledge, on the other hand, is less than surprising. In fact, you wouldn’t even bat an eye if this man were to have gotten around with the ladies on several one night stands or two. He has the devilish charms and anyone who has the chance to sleep with him must have been an equally admirable beauty. 

“I’m not,” you lie with a wide grin that says otherwise, “I swear.”

“You sure, Y/N?” he reciprocates your upturned lips with an element of tease sprinkled on top. “I’d accept you either way.” 

“Okay, well, if you’re not a weeb, then you must be implying that you’re quite experienced yourself?” you declare with your chin held high until a look of horror for overstepping into the T.M.I. territory dawns upon you when he backs up only to challenge you with that smuggish stare of his that tells you all you need to know. “F-forget—”

“—one double cheeseburger with fries on the side,” the cafeteria lady calls out, as if to your aid, and you hastily shuffle to the cashier. “Anything for you, ma’am?” 

“No, I’m good. I’m just paying for him,” you smile in response, rummaging through your purse and swearing that you had certainly grabbed your wallet this morning. You could practically feel Jungkook staring over your shoulder and into the abyss that is your mess of a purse, each tick of the clock shooting your anxiety at an all time high until you turn to shoo Jungkook away. “You can grab some utensils and head off first. I’ll join you later.” 

Nothing you’ve been saying and feeling ever align nowadays; because here you are, suggesting for him to depart only to feel the sink of your heavy heart when he grabs his plate of food and does exactly as you advise him to. Not only were you easily let off by the man you were spotting for, but you were also struggling to find your wallet to pull through with said favor. You must have seemed pitiful to the lady who pays witness to the sullen look that befalls your face. 

“Is that lovely gentleman yours?” she asks when you fumble with your card and you look up to finally recognize her as one of the chattiest workers in your company’s cafeteria. 

“Oh,” you shake your head,” no. He’s just my colleague.” 

“Well, if you’re interested in him, it’s best not to keep him waiting,” she remarks, tilting her head in the direction where Jungkook had left when you answer her with a confused silence. 

“Wh—”

“—Y/NNNN,” he drawls, calling out to you with his hands occupied with a plate in one and two forks in the other, “let’s go.” 

“I did tell him to go first, didn’t I?” you subconsciously utter aloud to yourself.

“You did, but you certainly didn’t mean it, did you?” she roars into laughter. “He’s not too bad of a man, himself. You two would make a good pair.” 

“...right,” you mutter until you realize what you had said, turning to blurt, “wait, we aren’t dating—”

“—Y/NNNN,” Jungkook calls out once again. 

The boy who had no qualms with abandoning you when you bumped into Jimin is now waiting for you to return to his side, even if he has no obligation nor patience to. Something about the way he drawls, the way he calls out to you impatiently but still remaining fixated to the side of the cafeteria where he awaits your return, has you elated and reminiscing for many more nights to come. 

“Okay, okay!” you can’t help but cackle, grabbing your wallet and running off to join him at the other side of the room; and when you finally join him by the rightful spot beside his right elbow, the two of you begin your stroll through the streets by the bridge of your apartment. “I told you you could leave first—”

“—want some?” he asks, even though he’s already stuffed a piece of french fry into your mouth. 

“No,” you frown, even as you chew away, “I’m not supposed to be eating so late.”

“Why? You on a diet?” 

“Yeah,” you purse your lips ashamedly, “I’ve been eating too much.” 

“I can tell,” he says after taking a gander at you up and down, chuckling when you gawk at him in full offence. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” 

“Yeah, sure,” you cross your arms over your puffed chest, “whatever.”

“Oh c’mon,” he chuckles when you give him the silent treatment, “...Y/NNNN.”

Damn it. There must be something about the way he calls out your name that weakens you to your core, because there’s nothing you could do about the grin that cracks your frown...

“Y/N…” he nudges you with his elbow, skin grazing against yours, “you want some more?”

“...maybe.”

...and in retrospect, months later down the road, there’s nothing you could wish for more than for him to call out to you like he did on this very night. 

[memera]

Empty Dream Lyrics Translation

Artist: Loulou*di Album: Hanadoll 2nd Season INCOMPLICA:IU～Univers～

{My cd is here. Updated 12 Jan 2021} Let’s keep watching this brilliant light until the time comes Let’s gather the fragments of dreams with our hands Let’s cherish these ephemeral memories until dusk Even if the end of the world and the sinking sky were to befall upon us. These flowers that do not wither, The dirt that was strewn upon us, Will not exist in our eyes. If it’s you and me, I’m sure that we’ll be able to find the needle (*referring to compass needle)

You and I dream an empty dream We know what it’s calling for In the sun, in the moon and on this day of slumber You and I dream an empty dream We know what it’s calling for When the time comes where all sounds cease Even lies and truth changes when noon turns to night Let’s know the continuation of this dream that no one knows By repeatedly pretending not to see Even this planet will deliver our song to the ends of the world. This love that embraces us, This passion wild as a storm, I can’t compete against this future If it’s you and me, I’m sure that we’ll be able to find this key full of secrets

You and I dream an empty dream We know what it’s calling for In the sun, in the moon and on this day of slumber You and I dream an empty dream We know what it’s calling for When the time comes where all sounds cease Even if this body awakens from a deep slumber I hope its memories continue sleeping somewhere in the depths of this world You and I dream an empty dream We know what it’s calling for On this day with no beginning and no end You and I dream an empty dream We know what it’s calling for On the day when all colors disappear You and I dream an empty dream We know what it’s calling for In the sun, in the moon and on this day of slumber You and I dream an empty dream We know what it’s calling for When the time comes where all sounds cease

[misrihalek]

Kaleidoscopic shooting stars across the window against a backdrop of darkness. The consistent hum of transportation, of conveyance. Your life in the hands currently clutching the steering wheel. 

This may seem unrelated, but have you heard of a comic by the name of Peanuts? Quite famous, went on for almost fifty years. I always remember a strip where the children talk about the sensation of riding in the back of a car, how quintessential it is to the experience that is childhood. Watching everything roll by and being able to detach from the world, just a little: a metaphor perhaps, of the freedom from responsibility that a child possesses and never fully appreciates. They said that once adulthood struck this phenomenon was forever lost, how you were doomed to occupy the front seat forevermore. 

Well, I would deign to defy that notion. Who says you can never go home again, eh? 

It’s important to curry favor for this sort of thing, of course: you could just as easily be left walking everywhere if you don’t conduct yourself appropriately. The right amounts of grace and self-denigration (”Yeah, haha, I should toootally have my license by now!”) and you, my friend, have a ticket to the lucrative back seat. The beauty of it? Only those in the know covet it as such: most adults around you have convinced themselves that their status excludes themselves from such joys and even - ridiculously - that they are above indulging themselves in it. Only you will know its true value. 

And then you’re off! Some small talk with the other car occupants is your toll and once it’s paid? Watch the world peel by and feel your mind painlessly snap its moorings and float into the nether, bobbing on waves of whimsy. Headphones are optional for the experience depending on your taste: some people like a soundtrack to their waking dreams, others fill the silence themselves and both options are valid. What worlds you plumb in these moments, in what way you experience them and what fate befalls you - all of this is up to you and you alone. 

Of course it has to end eventually, but is that not the nature of all things? To dwell on the ephemerality of the experience deprives you of future chances to enjoy it again and that simply won’t do. Do not let its brevity constrain your mind, for its very function is to rend what constraints already exist: in these moments you are free, dancing above the maelstrom of humanity as light as the innocence of children. The very child, in fact, that you once were. 

You may never be that same person again, but that doesn’t mean that they have ceased to be. If you don’t believe me, then do me a favour: wherever you go next, take the back seat of the car and look out the window.

[radioactive-butterfly]

There was Spike, on another day of duty, doing the very same things he used to do, every single day. Routine. Repetition. Manlabor. Hard, stiffened joints supported Spike's workforce on yet another "cattle task". He was sick of that, but he had no other choice. He had to make a living, and that shitty job was the only thing he had at the moment to do. A boring-ass, repetitive, stupid job; but an honest job, nonetheless. Spike was so filled up with anger and frustration that he couldn't muster to look at the passer-bys. He had a pretty normal life: normal grades, normal high school, normal college, normal career choice. Yet there he was, a victim of circumstantial unemployment rates and civil unrest due to the new automation wave from the joint effort inbetween the now Unified Eastern Bloc, led by Russia, China, Japan and Malaysia. Thailand was also starring in the automatons algorithms. It was a disaster for the West, that felt shortly after Britannia's downfall.

Yet, Spike cared none about this shit. All he cared was that the United States remained Unified, and still reigned free (or as free as liberty can be) in the Americas. Spike couldn't complain much about his life, especially compared to those low-life latinxs, who lived mostly in those dirty and gruesome favelas, menacing communities that could mean the end of your life in the blink of an eye, would you dare to not behave properly in the strict rules that they themselves create for them. Such an outlaw place was, of course, nowhere near where Spike lived and worked: downtown valley, East Coast, on the West Side of the Greenwich meridian, near LA. A richie’s place.

Spike’d had a somewhat of discriminatory preconceived notions of the latinxs folks, associating them with crime, robbery and smugness. This sickening repetitive job had this kind of advantage: Spike could let his mind fly high, because the shit wage that was paid was more than enough to keep a relatively decent lifestyle.

Pretending not to notice, but still taking a glance at the new passerby, Spike took notice of a distinct dark-skinned person walking near where Spike was cleaning his spot.

"You're not from here, white boy" said the dark-skinned person. Spike kept his cool, in spite of a single teardrop of sweat befalling on the back of his head. It wasn't routine for Spike to have a gun pointed at his head; regardless, Spike was used to having his life on the line.

"Bold of you to think I'm white" retorted Spike, on a surge of audacity.

After stopping to take a deep breath and blinking heavily,

the dark-skinned person replied:

"You're a jackass, but you at least got a vein of comedy in you, so I'll concede to you the honor to know the name of the one who'll kill you: Elektra."

"I don't intend to die right now, m'lady" retorted Spike in a surge of adrenaline.

By letting go of his stable gravity center, letting loose of the hang of his legs, Spike quickly dropped into the floor while at the same time striking his elbow against Elektra's elbow. The impact of such a blunt made them shoot the gun in an unconscious reaction. Spike, though, a war-veteran, was well accustomed to gunshots and kept his adrenaline-rush cool whilst at the same time keeping the adequate and precise amount of tension and bloodflow in his members, so he could be ready for any action in that moment of life-risk-gambling.

With a quick Tiger Palm strike on Elektra's gun, he struck it away from their grasp. He felt an unusual tenderness when their hands swiftly, briefly, though intensely, touched.

Using his mop to swipe even further Elektra's gun, he prepared for a fight to the death against that uncanny, unusual, yet somewhat of a hot dark-skinned person. The reason behind their death threat to him was unknown, yet he had no time to think about trivial motives now. He had a fight for his life to fight, and Elektra was an opponent of respect: it wasn't anyone who managed to make Spike drop an ice-cold sweat of nervousness.

In a sound-blasting fast kick, Elektra managed to go to knockout Spike. Had he not spent a gruesome, yet valuable short-intense-season-training with the Brigadiers, he would have fainted to that blow. Moreover, his agile reflexes granted him the privilege to see Elektra's strong leg just above his head, quickly stroking his also spiky hair and blowing his hat off. Spike had no other choice but to let his soldier side kick in and to get ready for a serious battle.

However... Spike's air missed from his lungs in a rapid gasp when he saw that Elektra wore a chest armor, instead of just a normal shirt. Why the fuck do they had such a piece of armor in the place of a normal cloth?

He couldn't help but to keep his eyes on them, whilst also noticing that they had a collar. What was the meaning of such a piece of garment, carefully placed on their neck?

By carefully managing his breath and his composture, Spike could notice that Elektra groaned while throwing their strikes. The groans that Elektra let out were uncanny, and somewhat feminine. This caught Spike's attention.

Elektra's aura was also beyond warmness — it had an intrinsic hotness that, probably coming from their sweat, inebriated Spike in the heat of the battle.

The battle raged on, and they were intense in their lashing out of their fierceness. None of them intended to go back home that day, probably sick and tired of blindly following others’ orders, or simply not giving a fuck about anything else but the heat, the melting heat of the moment of such a dynamic exchange between two persons with nothing else to lose anymore.

Spike struck the first hit, and to his yet another surprise, Elektra couldn't help but to let go an unexpected feminine groan when struck on their back. This raised Spike's suspiciousness bar, and this also made his breathing get more intense as the two of them danced the dance of Death itself: their life on the line, in an unusual barter of sensations and blows: anything for the sensation of feeling alive, maybe for Spike.

Elektra threw another one of their deadly kicks, much to Spike's surprise, and yet again his military training permitted him to survive that deadly blow: he dodged with a catseye's reflex instinct.

He gained the upper hand, cornering Elektra against the wall.

Elektra resisted fiercely, defending themselves with a martial posture. Spike projected his hips forward to gain space and dominate Elektra, who was cornered up with their back against the wall. Their heavy breathing’s scent could almost reach Spike, had he not projected his head backwards for safety against their deadly punches.

Spike had Elektra cornered. He could end the battle in an instant. But, once again, their necklace stood out from his perspective, and he quickly understood that Elektra was a woman. She also immediately realized Spike's perceptiveness, and her eye showed the almost imperceptive glance of lust, tinted with the melting heat of the exchange between the two warriors. Spike realized what was supposed to be Elektra's top secret, and she perceived Spike's realization. The stakes of the battle between the two raised above the normality of a life and death battle.

Spike let loose of his ferocity for a brief instant, with a self-dominating smile. He displayed an over-confident attitude, which maybe was intended, to make Elektra more comfortable and less hateful towards him.

Using one of his infamous tricks, he let from his sleeve a button and played with it with his fingers, whilst keeping his stare at Elektra's feline eyes. The intent behind this attitude from Spike was clear: he showed that he would rather massage her nipples instead of beat her.

Elektra didn't take such audacious move lightly; she took it to the heart. Yet, nonetheless, a part of her displayed willingness to engage in a more intimate contact with Spike. Such part was shown for but an instant in her facial expression.

Spike was taken with infatuation from her menacing look. Was it just infatuation, though? Was it the height of the flame of a burning yet ephemeral passion? He let down his guard for a nanosecond, a piece of time that was abruptly taken by Elektra, who lashed forward towards Spike.

Elektra jolted towards Spike, as he enjoyed more and more the exchange between him and her.

Whilst Elektra was displaying a primarily frustrated stance towards Spike, he was thrilled and excited with this sensual and misterious person that came out of the blue to kill him. Spike was used to putting his head on the line, though this time was totally different: he developed emotions AND feelings towards the person he was fighting against. This had never happened before, since Spike was like a lone wolf, untethered by the nefarious grasp of love... until now.

One more kick from her muscular legs and Spike could not not think about the remote, yet not impossible, possibility of getting between those legs in a different activity than a fight.

Now it was Elektra who threw a Tiger Palm against Spike, who dodged miraculously to his right, saving his skull from being crushed mercilessly against her wrath.

Their eyes crossed and Spike felt the air on his lungs and belly freeze against Elektra's heat. Spike was usually regarded as being hot and athletic, but what the heck was wrong with that girl? She kept striking him furiously and he kept enjoying it more and more. Spike was treading the thin line between life and death and he cared none about that, only about getting more of that feeling of being alive; that joyful experience shouldn't ever end on a draw. Who would penetrate the counterpart's defense first?

Spike wouldn't say it out loud, but perhaps he wished to be penetrated by her, only by her, and only that first time. Maybe this allowance from him boasted her self-confidence to the point that, this time, she was the one to corner Spike with a martial uppercut that caught him by surpise.

On a transient moment, Spike noticed against the sunlight the casting of shadow on Elektra's collar, and then suddenly everything became clear to him. They were both equal. They were the same: warriors destined to engage against each other until one of them died: either a small death or the grand death.

Spike jolted his mop forward, aiming for Elektra's mouth.

She dodges and he lungs his body forward, trying to conceal his hardness from the battle.

Nonetheless, Elektra perceives Spike's erection, and she herself becomes filled with a craving for more.

Spike himself, in spite of being erect towards Elektra's body, keeps his upper head cool, without, though, not displaying a pleasure in his expression towards Elektra. They both knew about each other's intimacy to a deep level, and they both were enjoying this exchange to the fullest.

Without a second moment to think about it and to give in to her desire, Elektra quickly reorders her blood flow from her hip area to the knees on a deadly strike against Spike, who uses the mop's counterweight to help him avoid the lethal blow on his crotch.

She lunges forward and penetrates Spike's ぜたいぼおぎょ, almost rendering him useless if not for his mop, who stuck firmly against her forearm.

She grabs his mop, and he suddenly realises she was also hard from this exchange. She wanted him to come near her, perhaps not to strike her down, but to kiss her softly. By the force she grabbed Spike's mop, he realized she wasn't overkill on this exchange, and she was helding back to not erase his beautiful yet shameful existence from the face of the Earth. Yet, she couldn't not get excited about this fight, and so couldn't Spike not be astonished by her presence of Spirit.

On an instant of lust, she grabs with both hands Spike's wood and pulls him towards her. Spike gasps at this unprecedented move, and butterflies swarm his stomach. What the fuck was happening to this veteran's training?!

She Scorpion Kicks him, and he notice that her well-developed glutes hold her butt firmly even when stretched. Spike couldn't not desire this woman with everything he had.

Her fierce and callused palm destroy Spike's mop, and he noticed how well-developed and fierce she can be. Elektra is rampant against Spike, and he's enjoying it somehow.

He uses the counterweighted part of the mop against his muscular body to swiftly go for her cheek, but Elektra prevents this foolish attack by dodging it majestically.

Spike's whole body stiffens at this point. He displays no sign of mercy, tensioning all his muscles and all his tonus Crane Stance power, concentrating his life against Elektra's might.

Elektra turns away her look, probably intimidated by Spike's fierceness.

Spike uses this opportunity to carefully almost strike Elektra, abd she lets out a high pitched gasp that also makes her blush in embarassment.

Spike couldn't resist any longer. Had he continued the fight against Elektra, he would probably give in to his animalistic desires and would lose his nectar against that woman. Spike used the gambit of the beginning of their fight in his favor now, running from her and her deadly presence.

Elektra does what he wanted, after all. She goes after him. Spike wanted to be held, not in a fight, but against her arms, tenderly. This probably wasn't the wisest move of his part, but at least he got to take a look at her armor... and her loaded gun.

"Stop or I'll sh-shoot!!!"

Though Spike didn't stop. He was too far beyond that now. At this point, all he knew was to run away from that powerful woman. He jumped what could as well be a bottomless cliff, way too far away from the deadly claws of Elektra.

And she herself didn't give a damn anymore about her duty. Fuck that. She went after him, to at least get his number, or better: to get between his legs.

[yonch]

Love and ephemeral dreams, emotions and tastes, stupid lies, I'm irritated and impertinent. Is what I wear a crown? A clown's face? Destruction that befalls me?

[mortuislupus]

the first bloom of spring is always a defiance.

i. before persephone, there was kore, as wild as a summer gale; a whirling fire.

                                                                                amaurot, before the fall.

On a single world, the metropolis of lights littered the cityscape like stars, light and dark in perfect balance beneath the plumes of illumination and shadow, and the people of Amaurot knew nothing but peace. Capricious creation was unabated by rules or restrictions; an understanding that each should play their part to the betterment of the star. It was a land where whales swam in airy expanses and architectural wonders could be articulated as easily as breathing. How could they know what would befall them? How could they predict?

Kore bathed beneath the starlight and warm air, naked feet swaying to-and-fro as jacaranda flowers fell from silvery hair, and when Hades looked upon her wicked in her whimsy, he was sure he could love no one else. Hers was the firm but gentle hand, the birth of flowers and the heat to melt the winter frost. His was the cool wit, carefully laid plans and elegant opulence, and when he spoke his taunt was met with her crooked grin.

“You’re making a reputation for yourself.”

The fourteenth member of the Conclave --- the betrayer --- as she slipped down from the branches each movement was less to preserve her modesty and more to protect the delicate dreams sprung forth from endless imagination. She met him eye to eye, amber hues on honey gold, and she was unafraid.

“Why would I worry about what anyone else has to say?”

Persephone, bringer of destruction, oh how he lamented thee as she was swaddled in radiant light. How he raged.

ii. you’ve whet your teeth on the bones of those who came before you.

                                                                                 the first, lightwashed.

Feral woman. Amber eyes. A reflection --- a refraction --- if she were Kore, she was naught more than a shade; a cruel manifestation to the god of whom she became the sacrificial lamb, and Emet-Selch hated her. Hydaelyn had taken her pound of flesh, marring her with scar tissue and distrust, with one eye continued to stare coldly before him even as he extended his ‘welcoming’ arms towards compatriots all too eager to flourish their blades. It was all so trivially boring after so many eons --- far more acute than the fury he felt at her meddling.

“I thought that I might try to see eye to eye. To understand what drives the hero of the Source. To determine if our goals are truly incompatible.” To watch as your beloved light tears you asunder; as it rips and disintegrates you.

The bold words that threatened to burst from Koret’s lips were silenced by the protection of her friends, but the contempt within her was unmistakable. The stupid girl glowered under her war-wounds and hatreds, her distain for her god, and it was all he could do smile.

Let the imperfections be erased. Her existence expunged like every fault who came before her.

iii. at the edge of tartarus, she crumbles before the light.

                                                                                  mt gulg, radiant.

Holy ichor splattered itself across elegant marble, the momentary dark a betrayal to the people that the Warrior of Darkness might have brought the night. To say there was no humour there would be a most facetious lie --- long had the notions of the girl with moonlight hair disintegrated into ash like the ruins of their beloved city, and in her doppelgangers she would die again ( and again and again ). 

Emet-Selch stepped close and knelt before the shade, his calm explanations not a balm as it was sinking the knife ever deeper, and he could not help but revel to himself the myth of light reborn in the goddess’ puppet. ‘Persephone, she who causes death, how you outdo yourself.’

“You will hunt the innocents to feast on their sweet, sweet aether,” he taunted, honey-gold watching the way molten light cast itself off her like solar flares; threatening to engulf her like a supernova, “Those few with the will left to fight will rise up against you. But before your absolute might, they will know despair.”

“Not if I eat you first,” she snarled like Cerberus at the gates, iron chains around her neck, and the pathetic swing of a weakened hand earned naught more than bemused laugher --- barely a recoil.

“I would love to see you try.”

iv. at the styx she is reborn. fleeting. ephemeral.

                                                                                  amaurot, the underworld.

At the fragmented edges of memoria eternal, she struggled against the inevitable; a battered, broken thing he might have almost taken pity on had her existence had not so otherwise been a blight. As she struggled one foot further than the next, her friends scattered like broken marionettes, the incredulous jeers that spilled from Emet was not akin to the same bewilderment he felt from the fourteenth all those years ago. Who was she to deny the wisdom of her peers; to forsake them, and he, in her stubbornness?

“Why waste your final moments in futile defiance? Weary wanderer --- you’ve no fight left to fight! No life left to live!”

Yet still, even as the light brought her to her knees, the girl-turned-beast did not relent. Not even when her screams shot across evocation, and the light engulfed her in a sacrosanct glow. She fought because that was all she could do --- because there was aught else to do. The light collapsed on light like a black hole turned white until it expanded, throwing him back with a power he knew from an Amaurot once soaked in glory. 

It was then the screaming receded and the silhouette stood.

“You will not decide our fate!”

Three voices spoke in unison. A chimera remained. One side doused in crimson red, the other moonlight white. But it was the face that remained the same; two burning eyes instead of one, accompanied by a snarl all Koret’s own. For the first time, Emet balked. For all the times he convinced himself she was not, Kore remained.

She would not forgive. Her love was the pomegranates long since left to rot, the underworld she had denied.

“Whatever it may be, this will end here.”

v. you will not allow her to forget.

                                                   “Remember. Remember that we once lived.”

Milennia on they stood across from one another in that self-same city, a moment frozen in time where even briefly the sundered and the unifier were people again. A shade could not know her fate; it would be a cruel jab for him to dictate it. So he asked it of her. He begged her to remember.

Kor stared back ever unafraid. Not so whole as to be complete, but lacking the light that sought penance on her body. She nodded once.

Hades conceded it to be enough. For the first time, he welcomed the endless sleep.

In the cold Underdark, beneath the churning waves, life bloomed in the sarcophagus of twisted steel and melted stone. In the ash, Persephone ushered in spring alone.

[lublycho]

» The Court Of Nightmares — preview 1

𝕿𝖎𝖙𝖑𝖊: The Court of nightmares

𝕻𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: beauty!Yohan x beast!Reader

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘: 10

𝕲𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: beauty and the beast au, fairytale retelling, fantasy au, angst, fluff

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: In a world broken up by a long, fatal war, mortals live divided from the immortal Fae creatures of the ironbark forest. One one end of the divided realms, you resided in your old castle, with six loyal companions. Cursed by a mortal witch, you are to be forever trapped in your Fae form for the lives you took in the great war, unless the blessing of love befalls you first. On the other end, living in the merry of a warm, mortal village is Yohan, finding a way through the townspeople's taunts to pursue his love for books instead of hunting. Will Yohan's fate guide him into breaking your eternal curse or will he be the path to your endless doom?

✨ 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 🥀

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Yohan jolted when the gigantic oak door shut behind him with a thud. With the sullen moonlight diminished behind closed doors, the grand antechamber was now enlightened by colossal chandeliers; their light like the fading ember among ashes. 

The wandering boy treaded his path across the wooden floor, every creaking sound it made drawing unwanted attention. Engulfed in obscure shadows, whispers protruded from amongst the shallow silence. 

"...A human," one whisper said. 

"You don't know that, could be a witch...or a shapeshifter," said another. 

"No. Eunsang is right. His posture, it's too natural."

"...Could he be the one?"

A long pause ensued as Yohan timidly moved across the hallway, eyes darting here and there in an attempt to decipher his peculiar surroundings. 

"Hmm... I don't think so."

"Why not? He's young... And handsome."

"That's exactly why he's not the one."

The five distinct whispers dispersed when Yohan called out into the tranquil quietude. 

"Is anyone out there?"

Things stilled when Yohan questioned the silence of the gigantic castle. His distinct, fresh voice stirred up the dead corners of the building; It gave them life when they had none.

The most vicious of beastly creatures jolted awake from his voice, vexed by the abrupt intrusion in her endless slumber. She rose from her eternal abode, silently making her way in search towards the heart of the uncanny commotion.

She found the culmination of her search as she stood on the dais above the long flight of dusty stairs, her eyes peering out in the dim lights of the vast antechamber below. It was not hard for her to find the feverish boy, for he stood out, in his blue silk shirt, against the tediously luxurious surroundings, his timid expressions a sharp contrast to the ferocity of the girl. She looked down at Yohan once. Her eyes softened for an ephemeral moment and the frigid gaze returned only when the boy looked up and met her eyes and she finally saw the familiar clothes he had donned.

A moment passed, and every inanimate object around them took a sharp breath of life. For one breath was the only allowance the girl gave to her castle and her obscure companions. And just as they dared to take another breath of relief, she choked up their lungs, stealing their breath away with a ruthless smile. 

With a facade that sent a cold shiver down Yohan’s spine, the girl sneered through her masked face, eyes cold as she called out into the eerie silence,

“Well, well, well. Look what we have here.”

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We all know how the story goes from here, right? The beauty falls in love with the beast and they live happily ever after? But what if the beast is a thousand year old viciously ruthless royal Fae, born and bred to kill with a heart of stone and the beauty hides secret malicious intents against the endangered Fae creatures, itching to take every last Fae down to avenge those he lost in the great war against the immortals? What will happen when the beauty finally falls into the clutches of the beast, but not to fall in love, but to become the beast's ruination?

Chapter 1 coming 🔜

[floribus-reginae]

.•*¨*•♫♪♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸❤Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ  “If you personify love even in times of torment, of calamity or conflict, then you’re truly one of the mighty. I see how no matter the burdens laid upon you, that you show more allure than many do in times of plenty. It’s in those moments of battle and concern I see right to your soul and know that my faith in you, my love for you, is indestructible. You’re audacious, compassionate, gentle in your own way. I want you to know that I’ll be the same for you. I’ll be your mirror, bring you what you give me- true love, the lasting kind.” - Rin’s diary

A fragile contour was moving in the somberness, looking for one of her beloved spots in the middle of the woods. The same forest where she had first seen him, the forest that beheld and sanctified so many occasions between them. A love story that unfolded over time, gradually and with unconditional indulgence. Something that everyone assumed illogical, improbable, a demon like him to surrender to the enchantments of a dainty human, who has always been honorable and committed. Years passed, the flower bloomed, the loyalty prevailed unchanged but the affection grew, undergoing a colossal metamorphosis and becoming love, an affection capable of moving mountains, intellects, changing the perpetual. Rin was regarded by everyone as the princess who changed Sesshoumaru & his hostile perspective on humankind, on human ephemerality. Something so delicate, inelastic can have the endowment to battle for love and values. 

They do what they must for now and trust in their plan

If I trust in mine, somehow I might find who I am….

The profound lake’s hue became the lyrical song of the petite light that played upon its wind-dancing ruffles, merged with the tender fireflies. Lady Rin knelt on the grass dimly brightened by luminescence. She elegantly inclined to appreciate the reflection granted by the liquid mirror. A crystalline portrait of a woman who savored a plethora of adventures & mellowed preserving the same gentleness, the same angelic smile, leniency for everybody. Someone who still didn’t see the people’s ominous side, the corruption that sometimes dominated the hearts of those who pursued power. “I wonder if I’m worthy enough.” Thought. Worthy of his affection, of being called his spouse. They were from completely parallel environments, & many demons found it arduous to accept that Rin was now the ruler or future leader of one of the more expansive territories. Some had been easily enthralled by her benevolence & optimism, but others hadn’t. Some prevailed stuck with conservative roots & still saw mortals as futile and vulnerable beings. Despite all the irrefutable assurances, occasionally the brunette was afflicted by reluctance.

“Iie, now is not the time for such considerations.” Murmured, shaking her head to ward off such undesired images. There were more compelling things to think about. The pre-eminence of her thoughts should change. Gaze turned from the basin to her parturient abdomen, where one of her silky palms was resting. “We have to protect them, whatever appears.” Declared, addressing her words to the man behind her. “It doesn’t matter how, but their protection at this point is the most important. I’ll never forgive myself if something grave befalls. --- I don’t care if I have to renounce myself for them, nothing is more important than them and you. ” Conviction manifested in the words enunciated with some melancholy. Rin was prepared to do anything to keep her babies alive, even if it meant destroying her own life. All she wanted was for them to have the opportunity to meet their father, of whom she was extremely proud. “I have faith in you, Sesshoumaru-sama. I trust you my life, their lives, my love.---- I trust you with all my heart. I know that you’ll do the right thing.” A clawed palm laid upon her frail shoulder. An unusual gesture, but not for her. She knew a side of him that no one else knew. A placid encouragement that was worth gold & that made her peaceful, confident in her convictions, confident in who she was & whom she had become. He was the most fearless man she had ever met & she was the most valiant woman he had ever met. Someone altruistic, a peasant who had become a princess and who had embraced a realm that wasn’t hers. Fruit of such love were the two half-demons that were evolving in her uterus & whom one day would know who the progenitors were. She didn’t know if they were going to be proud of her or not, but Rin was going to do everything, accept the harshest, the most agonizing way to protect her offspring. “I hope they’ll one day learn about your story, my story, our tale.” Her hues were viewing the reflection again, smiling at the majestic personage standing beside her. Near him, time stopped, the fear disappeared completely, vulnerabilities became a strength.

“Don’t worry. I’ll do the right thing.”

My world has changed, and so have I

I’ve learned to choose and even learned to say good-bye

The path ahead, so hard to see

It winds and bends, but where it ends depends on only me

In my heart I don’t feel part of so much I’ve known

Now it seems it’s time to start a new life on my own

But where do I go from here?

So many voices ringing in my ear

Which is the voice I was meant to hear?

How will I know, where do I go from here?

Song: Where Do I Go From Here - "Pocahontas II: Journey To a New World"