Unfortunately this is my only queued post since I was sick this weekend, but please take it as an inbox call! I'll prioritize these fellas, but it's open to anyone your heart so desires (or whoever the muse roulette lands on).

♢*   —  @azurescaled  ​/  𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝

      〈 ☽* 〉┊  Weak light the color of crushed amethyst filters in through the broken skylight, bathing the enclosed garden in the same twighlit liminality as the rest of their homeland. They sit a few inches away from a concentrated pool of light, legs drawn to their chest, cheek resting atop one knee, not so terribly unlike the way they used to in adolescence. Sovann's gaze traces across the patterns of constellations engraved into the semi-transparent dome ceiling. Their polearm lays askew beside them. 

        "It doesn't feel the same, does it?"

         They keep their back turned toward Lars. Looking at him-- acknowledging that he's there beyond the abstract sense of knowing --would sever the taught strings of dissociation holding them together. The claws flexing against impossibly soft grass (how, they wonder, has it not wilted in this dead light?) will finish the job they started centuries ago. And it's funny, isn't it, how they would mourn a few flowers far more than the fall of an entire empire? 

         "You know," Sovann says after some time, each word squeezing around the bitter pit of grief clogging their throat so as not to become tainted by it, "I had once hoped the next time both of us were here, it would be to dance together again." Something else begins to creep up from their guts then, something that melts their grief with acidic heat. It slithers against their tongue, knocks against the back of their teeth, plucks at their vocal chords. "I'm sure the Venerable Everlight would have been eager to offer these grounds as a wedding venue." A hollow, humorless laugh tumbles from the recesses of their lungs. "I could have offered you and your husband the first blessing of the moon seelie to be heard in nearly a milennia." 

♢*   —  @nulltune /  '𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬'

  〈 ⬖* 〉┊ "There you are. It's almost embarrassing how difficult it was for me to find you," Etoile purrs as she slides into the seat across from this utter stranger whom she regards with the bursting affection of a life-long friendship. She crosses her legs at the ankles, making herself comfortable. Her gaze flicks from the cooling cup of tea on the cafe table to the stranger's visage. Oh, but she's found herself a pretty one! Thank goodness she had noticed this little lady before making the far less palattable decision of pretending to know the man sitting a table away. She would have spent the rest of her afternoon agonizing over such a pitiable mistake. To show her gratitude, she nods towards the menu. "Care for any sweets? The flan here is to die for." 

     Then, she leans forward, finger still pressing against the pricing for a serving of flan. "Go along with it, pretty please?" she murmurs, lowered voice as syrupy as the rich drizzle of caramel the menu boasts of. "It'll be worth the while."

♢*   —   @tenkoseiensei ​/  𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝

     〈 ❀* 〉┊  The beast emerges from the undergrowth like a shadow from the dregs of night. The cloying stench of cloves, cake, and decay trail behind her as she drifts across the moon-kissed clearing. In the center of the clearing sits a shadow. A little husk, a smear of nothing, that not even the fireflies dare draw close to. As the beast draws nearer, she sheds her cloak of moss and jaws and wiry limbs and shredded iridescent wings. A woman slips through the curtain of disintegrating rot. She stretches her arms as though trying to reach the moon, eyes aglow with mirth and full lips painted into a picturesque smile. That smile contorts to a sneer as she crouches down over the shadow.

       "Oh Brigid, Brigid," she coos, grin all but splitting her face apart, "is this all you've amounted to? Just a dribble of tar the common folk scrape from the bottoms of their shoes? Aha-- Ahahaha--!!" Her laughter rolls across the clearing along with the dusk mist. As it grows in volume, it lapses from the joviality of a young woman to the harrowing call of a wicked creature. A deer bursts from the thicket opposite of the two, bounding away from impending danger. She lowers herself to all fours, bones snapping and popping in a sickening harmony. Her head cocks sideways, allowing shimmering tresses to tangle in the dewey grass. She rests her chin against forearms mired in mud and fetid flesh. "So this is where our fates have led us. You, hardly more than an afterthought, and I, all the unkept promises of the world. What sordid beasties we are." Giggles erupt from the chasm of her collapsed chest. "To think I was ever jealous of you. That I ever--" 

        Her jaws clamp shut before that those dreaded words can spill out. They slither about beneath the skin of her abdomen, an oily snake-like thing that threatens to swell and burst from her guts if she dares try to deny it. But she cannot say it. She will not say it. Jagged teeth grind together and prick her gums enough to make them bleed. Imelda swallows down the acrid taste of her own blood. The bitter drip reminds her of the countless nights she would spend chewing on her inner cheek to keep from declaring the very same confessions she now gorges herself upon to her dearest Brigid. 

       Slowly, Imelda stretches her legs all the way back until she lays fully on the ground. "Oh dear," the beast sighs. "Can you even understand me?"

♢*   —   @dnangelic ​/  '𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬'

  〈 ⬖* 〉┊ "Back again already? Geeze, there's waaaayyyy easier ways of letting me know you've grown a soft spot for me." Etoile swings around on her toes, arms held behind her back as though she's merely perusing the collection of paintings lining the grand hall rather than guarding them. She smiles at him sweetly-- a sickening sight, she's certain, and so even bats her lashes in his direction to add to the effect. "It's been, what, two weeks? If you're playing hard to get, you should have waited at least a whole month." 

      She takes a step back, light and poised, following some invisible song number with her rhythmic movements. Her shoulders droop as she heaves a great sigh. "Alas, my heart already belongs to a fair maiden in another castle. Didn't I tell you that last time? Eh," she waves a hand to dismiss her own questioning. "Wha~~tever. So!" Now she claps both hands together. The sound echoes across the gallery, bounding off marbled flooring and arched ceilings with such unexpected volumes it was a wonder the busts themselves didn't awaken. "Which one are you here for?" 

      What little light reflects in her eyes flickers. The theatric tilt of her lips thins, not quite disappearing, but threatening to topple her expression into something far less amused. "I just might be in the mood to help, you know? My employer kinda.... sucks."

♢*   @crowcaught​  /  𝐥𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜-𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ↳ ( 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 - fleet foxes )

   〈❦*〉┊  "Hyeong, where do you intend to go tonight?" Chaewon asks casually, eyes narrowed in concentration as she wipes the bloodied blade of her woldo. The mountainside has been unusually active; monsters crawling out from the shadows, eager to snatch up mouthfuls of anything and anyone that cross their path. Most of the valley villagers have long since retreated into their homes and doused whatever lights might attract unwanted attention. Those standing guard of their communities certainly would not take pity on or show kindness to any unfamiliar faces tonight. She indicates the crackling fire a few paces away from her. "You're welcome to stay. I won't linger long." Too much ground to cover-- too many expectations to meet. "I won't mind traveling company tonight either. But it will be tiresome."

♢*   @theircurse​  /  𝐥𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜-𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ↳ ( 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐞 - utsuP ft hatsune miku )

〈 ☣ * 〉 ┊  “More and more and more, I want to make my existence known.” Ultraviolet pupils in the same of diamonds pulsate with each word spilled out on a raspy whisper. Their gaze follows the mulling crowd by the wharf. The shadows behind them grow longer, taking on organic shape that writhe and curl about like tentacles emerging from deep, dark water. Deathly pale skin bulges around the scars of stitch marks, as if something is trying to claw its way out from beneath. A thin string of saliva the same color as spilled oil drips from the corners of their mouth. Quickly, a tentacle-like tongue laps it up. A few milky eyes crack open on the side of their cheek to gaze at their young companion. “Not enough. How.... does it become enough?”

 ♢* — OPEN : feris.

 〈 ✥ *〉┊   "Sure, I can take you there," he taps a finger against the roughly indicated area on the map, "but it doesn't mean I'm entirely keen on it. And believe me, it'll cost ya more than a pretty penny to convince someone else to guide you." The wanderer leans back and raises his ale to his lips, but doesn't yet drink. The eyebrow above his covered eye arches. "I ain't going to ask for your reasons-- that's for you to know --but I need a bit of convincing you'll commit. This won't be a journey you can back out of halfway through."

♢*   @sangdelune /  𝐥𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜-𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ↳ ( 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧 - matryoshka ft. world's end girlfriend )

  〈 ஐ* 〉┊  Sovann has never seen such little animation in the boy before. It's as though the events of the day have sapped all strength, all life, from him. They wonder if they should ask what troubles him so deeply. No-- they know they should. But their lips stay sealed shut in a distant frown as they observe him struggle with whatever it is that plagues him. What a pathetic sight. Deep inside their chest, their heart twinges. Silently, they cross the room until they came to kneel at his bedside. Gilded talons gently card through clouds of white hair. When they blink, an afterimage of long-list kin superimposes itself on top of him.

"Close your eyes," Sovann whispers, voice rich with unsung lullaby, "see everything you want to see." Their fingers trail through his hair again, then gently cradle his cheek, trying to convey what they can't quite manage to say: tell me about it, if you want.

♢*   @lured-into-wonderland /  𝐥𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜-𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ↳ ( 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭 - to kill a king )

〈 ❄* 〉┊  Eyes black as the pitch of night study Nunnally's profile, their gaze as cold as the bitter winter winds outside the castle walls. And yet, it's not an entirely unkind gaze, either. It's simply distant, removed. He's witnessed young humans stumble down the fraught road of royalty before. He knows it never ends particularly well for the girls. They get fought over like the spare coins tossed to a congregation of beggars. Well, it's not much concern to him. The machinations of human society mean nothing to him. But the cold always has a way of coaxing out his more humane faculties, and she looks awfully alone just brooding in silence...

"This town is only going to get worse," Juda warns, his voice hardly more than the gravelly croaks he gives while in the form of a crow. Coherent thought stutters, dipping into the choppy, callous sentences he usually delivers. "It's only going to eat you."

♢*   —   @kmmba​ /  𝐆𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑: 𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐊 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 

❝ all too often, people are blinded to all but their immediate self-interest. ❞

     〈 ♙* 〉┊ The child’s eyebrows pinch together in pure concentration  as he tries to pick apart the solemn god’s words. There’s wisdom there, he’s sure of it. After all, the god sounds exactly the way his abuela does when commenting on some of the town gossip. She always clicks her tongue and gives him advice on how to (or, more often, how not to) behave afterwards. But she never uses words that big. He squeezes his eyes shut and replays what he just heard in her voice. The shape of meaning begins to form. Fuzzy and distant, it warps into something he can almost feel on his fingertips. It’s like the downy feathers of the malformed wings sprouting from his brother’s back. But that’s a sensation he’s only able to bear for a few seconds at a time. So he opens his eyes and sighs a long, heavy, defeated sigh. 

     “Okay,” he mumbles with a slump of his shoulders. He doesn’t feel particularly happy about agreeing with the god. Again, his brows pinch together. It doesn’t feel good to say just that and leave the topic. But what else can he say? There’s no reassuring hand on his shoulder or a familiar voice telling him to repeat after them like the services held each Sunday. And what the god has just said sounds an awful lot like that sort of grown-up talk. Definite, final, judgment passed before an action even occurred. Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not steal. Honor thy father and thy mother. Do not eat out where they can see, for their reverence will turn to fear. Thou shalt not lie. Thou art blinded by immediate self interest. 

      inside a hollow chasm shaped like a sternum, the tumor grumbles, and the boy feels a slight twinge somewhere between the slots of his left ribcage. 

     He raises his gaze, brown eyes glimmering with the radiant sunlight. He studies his elder’s face so grandiosely haloed by the beaming sun. It reminds him of the pictures of marble carvings he likes to look at in his mother’s collection of big, thick books. His fingers twitch with the sudden need to trace down the smooth line of the god’s cheek. “Okay,” he repeats, a bit more slowly, as if he’s testing how it tastes, “what else are they s’pposed to see? They have to look at that, because, um, you have to…” he trails off, floundering in faulty memory. He licks his lips. A faint tang of iron bursts across his tongue. “...you have to… to walk in the narrow way…” 

     And as soon as he says that, he realizes he doesn’t know what it means just as he doesn’t know what his companion means. He doesn’t know what any of it means. His lips remain parted, but he makes no sound. A warm breeze rustles through the dry grass and his wild cowlicks of hair. His gaze follows its invisible path. The sun nearly blinds him when he looks all the way up. A smile breaks through the clouds of uncertainty and fear that had gathered on Crane’s face. “Okay!” he chirps, entirely confident in agreeing now. “Well, I don’t see my, uh– immediate self interest-” (and his chest puffs out in pride when he’s able to repeat that long phrase without faltering once) “-right now. I see you. I like seeing you.” He bounces back on his heels, arms swinging back and forth to maintain balance. “What do you look at, mister god? That’s okay to ask, right? ‘Cause you’re not most people, right?”

♢*   @deathmcth​  -- ezra /  𝐥𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜-𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ↳ ( 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 - foe )

 〈 ★ * 〉 ┊   Fingers dyed with the blood of stars catch hold of the little priest's tongue, playing with the muscle as one might play with a loose strand of hair. Its gaze burns into his, unblinking. "Your voice is so small, your voice is so cold," it murmurs. Each word floats in on a whisper from every direction despite its lips hardly moving at all. A phantom embrace slips beneath his arms, circles around his middle, holds him tenderly even though it remains stationary in front of him. The faint ringing of a bell travels from thousands and thousands of miles away. It pushes its fingers further into his mouth-- then suddenly its not in front of him at all, but behind him, a hand still cradling his jaw. Miryin leans down, its hair a curtain of night that cascades over his shoulders and murmurs promises of heaven directly into his innermost thoughts. "But as long as there is someone for my ears to hold...."

♢*   —  @attroxx  ​ /  𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝 & 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬

why should i trust you? - for micah from casper ~

     〈 ✕ * 〉┊ It's a reasonable question to ask, and one he has heard plenty of times before. Just like all the other times, he comes up empty-handed. By now he really ought to have some semblance of a solid answer. "Well," he says, Southern accent thickening the word into a drawl, "I'd get fired real quick if I got up t' any funny business right outside'a my place of work. And believe me, my bank account can't take that kind'a strain." 

      Believe him. Said so casually, as if that isn't what all this is about in the first place. He sighs. "All I'm sayin' is I don't like bacon, but that's no reason for this to go to waste." Then, he crinkles the paper bag in his hand open. Hopefully the aroma of a toasted bagel, melted cheese, and bacon grease do a better job of convincing the other that he doesn't have ill intentions than his words do. And, hopefully (though this might be a bit much to tack onto one wish), he wasn't making an ass out of himself. Truthfully, he had noticed the man outside a few hours into the night shift. The cafe was a popular spot in the evenings. Free wifi, a public bathroom that didn't require a purchase to use, a shelf of donated books, and the occasional freebie if they had a surplus of stock and the manager wasn't in a shitty mood. It had a way of beckoning to anyone who needed respite. It was why he had started working there. That, and it was really the only place that had given him a chance considering his pisspoor resume and track record of job-hopping from one city to the next. At one point, he had been the one lingering. He supposes this is his way of paying it forward. His way of thinking he might understand the other's hesitation, the inherent distrust, on a more personal level. An open hand with an offering didn't mean there wasn't reason to bite it, after all. But it's not like that meant he shouldn't try. 

        ...Not that there wasn't an ulterior motive, either. Since the past hour, the static hidden by cracked leather gloves had been constricting around his fingers until they began to stiffen. Moths flit about in his stomach. The restless fluttering of their wings irritates his innards enough for a vague sense of nausea to knock against the back of his throat. Somewhere nearby, the ground will open up. Once the ground opens up, the moths will crawl out. It would be best if he locked up before then. Best if this guy wasn't around either.

        Micah nods in his direction. "Pigs come by often, too. Ain't a good restin' spot." His gaze darts over his shoulder, down the dark alley. The streetlight flickers. A faint, undulating buzz begins to creep from the deepest parts of the shadows. He swallows. "Look, just-- it's better if you go now."

♢*   @psichopop​ -- reine /  𝐥𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜-𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ↳ ( 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 - florence & the machine )

〈 ☼* 〉 ┊   Early evening mist flickers like jewels underneath candlelight as the nature spirit's feet lead both her and her partner in a wild, enchanting dance. The forest provides a symphony for the pair: birds twittering, wind rustling leaves high overhead, crickets chirping, a ghostly echo of an orchestra hidden somewhere in the deepening shadows. Delphine flashes the lovely maiden a smile as she twirls and then dips her.

"There's a drumming noise inside my head that starts when you're around," she confesses on a laugh as clear as a spring of mountain water. There's a glint of something primal in periwinkle eyes as she draws the smaller woman close again to begin the next steps. Somewhere off in the distance, a steady beat begins to rise from the thickets. She leads in time to it. Each new sweep of their bodies brings them a step closer to the beckoning wilds. The sweet scent of fresh flora wafts from a previously unseen clearing. Her smile widens. Come with me. Stay. "Don't you hear it? It makes such an almighty sound."