he will do what it takes to survive

a quick brocedes web weave to burn

& thank you @blueballsracing and @theommin for helping push me to finish this

I love you, I miss you, why did you leave me? 

forvagabondsfromclown / excerpt #71 (d.n) / break up with a friend (blü eyes) / unknown tumblr post / vodktales / brian rea

Blue

This was just a random poem/short story I made during school- have fun(?)

Summary - The color blue represents many meanings, though, colors are but one way to see them.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Blue is the color of tranquility and patience, bringing peace to the restless. All the whispers in the air go quiet, like the world fell asleep. Though, don't be tricked by its aura. Its voice can be a sweet song or ring in your ears like an agonizing scream.

It's the brightest of moonlight, a dim glow emitted from its core, bathing the Earth in a soft blue radiance. It shines from above, yet hides deep in the ground, coursing through everyone and weaving us in a beautiful, delicate web. Blue's the sound of magic whistling in the air, surrounding us. It's in our hair, it dances on our skin, and moves elegantly around us in wind kisses. It engulfs us in an endless daze.

Its soft color tastes like the midnight sky, a cold, crisp breeze. It can taste like a soft petal on a wisteria flowing in the harsh wind, going somewhere the birds sing freely, the rivers end, and life flows in a stream.

It smells like a sweet poison, intoxicating me in a soothing slumber for eternity. The process is slow, yet, it's anything but painful. Your tense muscles feel numb and slowly relax, easing the tension. Your eyelids flutter and slowly close, the poison removing any trace of horror.

When I feel its cold touch, I feel the deep shades of the stormy, dark, blue-gray sky, the crashing waves of the ocean, and the memories of basking under the Sun and its bright sky. I'm reminded of the beauty the world holds, continuously moving in a large cycle, constantly starting again.

Blue is the color of tranquility and patience, bringing peace to the restless.

do not fucking interact with me if you're pr0sh1p or sh1p-neutral i hope you die one million painful deaths and go to the dark forest.

hi im poppysong but you can call me poppy. im a native american transfem whos had a lifelong special interest in warrior cats.

○–—————{ list below is for me }—————–○

dawn, dusk, dapple, apple, night, day, sun, moon, flame, whisker, jay, heron, doe, fawn, whistle, weave/weaver, web, hail, rain, blossom, raven, coyote, serpent, snake, willow, wisteria, blood, fox, moss, holly, thistle, badger, song

Murder she wrote is great timeless classics mystery

EPISODE SEASON ONE DISC 1 "S01E01 THE MURDER OF SHERLOCK HOLMES H 1980" "S01E02 DEADLY LADY Cabot Cove 1980" S01E03 BIRDS OF A FEATHER 1980 DISC 2 S01E04 HOORAY FOR HOMICIDE 1980 S01E05 IT'S A DOG'S LIFE 1980 S01E06 LOVERS AND OTHER KILLERS 1980 "S01E07 HIT, RUN, AND HOMICIDE Cabot Cove episodes 1980" DISC 3 S01E08 WE'RE OFF TO KILL THE WIZARD 1980 "S01E09 DEATH TAKES A CURTAIN CALL Cabot Cove  1980" S01E10 DEATH CASTS A SPELL 1980 S01E11 CAPITOL OFFENSE 1980 DISC 4 S01E12 BROADWAY MALADY 1980 S01E13 MURDER TO A JAZZ BEAT 1980 S01E14 MY JOHNNY LIES OVER THE OCEAN 1980 S01E15 PAINT ME A MURDER 1980 DISC 5 S01E16 TOUGH GUYS DON'T DIE 1980 S01E17 SUDDEN DEATH 1980 S01E18 FOOTNOTE TO MURDER 1980 "S01E19 MURDER TAKES THE BUS Cabot Cove 1980" DISC 6 S01E20 ARMED RESPONSE 1980 S01E21 MURDER AT THE OASIS 1980 S01E22 FUNERAL AT FIFTY-MILE 1980 SEASON TWO DISC 1 S02E01 WIDOW, WEEP FOR ME 1980 "S02E02 JOSHUA PEABODY DIED HERE ... POSSIBLY Cabot Cove 1980" S02E03 MURDER IN THE AFTERNOON 1980 S02E04 SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 1980 DISC 2 S02E05 Sing a Song of Murder 1980 "S02E06 Reflections of the Mind H 1980" "S02E07 A LADY IN THE LAKE Cabot Cove 1980" S02E08 DEAD HEAT 1980 DISC 3 S02E09 JESSICA BEHIND BARS 1980 "S02E10 STICKS AND STONES Cabot Cove  1980" S02E11 MURDER DIGS DEEP 1980 S02E12 MURDER BY APPOINTMENT ONLY 1980 DISC 4 S02E13 TRIAL BY ERROR 1980 "S02E14 KEEP THE HOME FRIES BURNING Cabot Cove  1980" S02E15 POWDER KEG 1980 S02E16 MURDER IN THE ELECTRIC CATHEDRAL 1980 DISC 5 S02E17 ONE GOOD BID DESERVES A MURDER 1980 "S02E18 IF A BODY MEET A BODY Cabot Cove  1980" S02E19 CHRISTOPHER BUNDY - DIED ON SUNDAY 1980 S02E20 MENACE, ANYONE? 1980 DISC 6 S02E21 THE PERFECT FOIL 1980 "S02E22 IF THE FRAME FITS T 1980" SEASON THREE DISC 1 S03E01  DEATH STALKS THE BIG TOP (PART 1) 1980 S03E02  DEATH STALKS THE BIG TOP (PART 2) 1980 "S03E03 UNFINISHED BUSINESS Cabot Cove 1980" S03E04 ONE WHITE ROSE FOR DEATH 1980 DISC 2 S03E05 CORNED BEEF AND CARNAGE 1980 "S03E06 DEAD MAN'S GOLD Cabot Cove 1980" S03E0750. DEADLINE FOR MURDER 1980 S03E08 MAGNUM ON ICE 1980 DISC 3 "S03E09 OBITUARY FOR A DEAD ANCHOR Cabot Cove  1980" S03E10 STAGE STRUCK 1980 "S03E11 NIGHT OF THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN H 1980" S03E12 THE CORPSE FLEW FIRST CLASS 1980 DISC 4 "S03E13 CROSSED UP Cabot Cove  1980" S03E14 MURDER IN A MINOR KEY 1980 S03E15 THE BOTTOM LINE IS MURDER 1980 S03E16 DEATH TAKES A DIVE 1980 DISC 5 "S03E17 SIMON SAYS, COLOR ME DEAD Cabot Cove 1980" S03E18 NO LAUGHING MURDER 1980 S03E19 NO ACCOUNTING FOR MURDER 1980 S03E20 THE CEMETERY VOTE 1980 DISC 6 S03E21 THE DAYS DWINDLE DOWN 1980 S03E22 MURDER, SHE SPOKE 1980 S03E23 NOVEL CONNECTION 1980 SEASON FOUR DISC 1 S04E016 A FASHIONABLE WAY TO DIE 1980 "S04E02 WHEN THIEVES FALL OUT Cabot Cove 1980" S04E03 WITNESS FOR THE DEFENSE 1980 S04E04 OLD HABITS DIE HARD 1980 DISC 2 S04E05 THE WAY TO DUSTY DEATH 1980 S04E06 IT RUNS IN THE FAMILY 1980 "S04E07 IF IT'S THURSDAY, IT MUST BE BEVERLY Cabot Cove 1980" S04E08 STEAL ME A STORY 1980 S04E09 TROUBLE IN EDEN 1980 DISC 3 "S04E10 INDIAN GIVER Cabot Cove 1980" S04E11 DOOM, WITH A VIEW 1980 "S04E12 WHO THREW THE BARBITALS IN MRS. FLETCHER'S CHOWDER? Cabot Cove 1980" S04E13 HARBINGER OF DEATH 1980 S04E14  Curse of the Daanav 1980 DISC 4 S04E15 MOURNING AMONG THE WISTERIAS 1980 S04E16 MURDER THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS 1980 S04E17 A VERY GOOD YEAR FOR MURDER 1980 "S04E18 BENEDICT ARNOLD SLIPPED HERE Cabot Cove  1980" S04E19 JUST ANOTHER FISH STORY 1980 DISC 5 S04E20 SHAKEDOWN IN SASKATCHEWAN 1980 S04E21 DEADPAN 1980 S04E22 THE BODY POLITIC 1980 SEASON FIVE DISC 1 S05E01 JB, AS IN JAILBIRD 1980 S05E02 A LITTLE NIGHT WORK 1980 "S05E03 MR. PENROY'S VACATION Cabot Cove  1980" DISC 2 S05E04 SNOW WHITE, BLOOD RED 1980 S05E05 COAL MINER'S SLAUGHTER 1980 S05E06 WEARING OF THE GREEN 1980 S05E07 THE LAST FLIGHT OF THE DIXIE DAMSEL 1980 S05E08 PREDICTED: MURDER 1980 DISC 3 S05E09 SOMETHING BORROWED, SOMEONE BLUE 1980 "S05E10 WEAVE A TANGLED WEB Cabot Cove 1980" S05E11 THE SEARCH FOR PETER KERRY 1980 S05E12 SMOOTH OPERATORS 1980 "S05E13 FIRE BURN, CAULDRON BUBBLE Cabot Cove H 1980" DISC 4 S05E14 FROM RUSSIA WITH BLOOD 1980 S05E15 ALMA MURDER 1980 S05E16 TRUCK STOP 1980 "S05E17 THE SINS OF CASTLE COVE Cabot Cove  1980" S05E18 TREVOR HUDSON'S LEGACY 1980 DISC 5 S05E19 DOUBLE EXPOSURE 1980 S05E20 THREE STRIKES, YOU'RE OUT 1980 "S05E21  MIRROR, MIRROR, ON THE WALL (PART 1) Cabot Cove 1980" "S05E22  MIRROR, MIRROR, ON THE WALL (PART 2) Cabot Cove  1980" SEASON SIX DISC 1 S06E01 APPOINTMENT IN ATHENS 1980 "S06E02 SEAL OF THE CONFESSIONAL Cabot Cove 1980" S06E03 THE GRAND OLD LADY 1980 DISC 2 S06E04 THE ERROR IN HER WAYS 1980 S06E05 JACK AND BILL 1980 "S06E06 DEAD LETTER Cabot Cove  1980" "S06E07 NIGHT OF THE TARANTULA H 1980" S06E08 WHEN THE FAT LADY SINGS 1980 DISC 3 S06E09 TEST OF WILLS 1980 S06E10 CLASS ACT 1980 "S06E11 TOWN FATHER Cabot Cove  1980" S06E12 GOOD-BYE, CHARLIE 1990 "S06E13 IF THE SHOE FITS ... Cabot Cove 1990" DISC 4 S06E14 HOW TO MAKE A KILLING WITHOUT REALLY TRYING 1990 S06E15 THE FIXER-UPPER 1990 S06E16 THE BIG SHOW OF 1965 1990 S06E17 MURDER - ACCORDING TO MAGGIE 1990 S06E18 O'MALLEY'S LUCK 1990 DISC 5 S06E19 ALWAYS A THIEF 1990 S06E20 SHEAR MADNESS 1990 "S06E21 THE SZECHUAN DRAGON Cabot Cove 1990" S06E22 THE SCICILIAN ENCOUNTER 1990 SEASON SEVEN DISC 1 S07E01TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS 1990 "S07E02 DEADLY MISUNDERSTANDING Cabot Cove  1990" S07E03 SEE YOU IN COURT, BABY 1990 S07E04 HANNIGAN'S WAKE 1990 DISC 2 S07E05 THE FAMILY JEWELS 1990 "S07E06 A BODY TO DIE FOR Cabot Cove  1990" S07E07 THE RETURN OF PRESTON GILES 1990 S07E08 THE GREAT TWAIN ROBBERY 1990 S07E09 BALLAD FOR A BLUE LADY 1990 DISC 3 S07E10 MURDER IN F SHARP 1990 S07E11 FAMILY DOCTOR 1990 S07E12 SUSPICION OF MURDER 1990 "S07E13 MOVING VIOLATION Cabot Cove  1990" S07E14 WHO KILLED JB FLETCHER? 1990 DISC 4 S07E15 THE TAXMAN COMETH 1990 S07E16 FROM THE HORSE'S MOUTH 1990 "S07E17 THE PRODIGAL FATHER Cabot Cove  1990" S07E18 WHERE HAVE YOU GONE, BILLY BOY? 1990 DISC 5 S07E19 THURSDAY'S CHILD 1990 S07E20 MURDER, PLAIN AND SIMPLE 1990 S07E21 TAINTED LADY 1990 "S07E22 THE SKINNY ACCORDING TO NICK CULLHANE Cabot Cove  1990" SEASON EIGHT DISC 1 S08E011 BITE THE BIG APPLE 1990 S08E02 NIGHT FEARS 1990 S08E03 UNAUTHORIZED OBITUARY 1990 "S08E04 THICKER THAN WATER Cabot Cove  1990" DISC 2 S08E05 LINES OF EXCELLENCE 1990 S08E06 JUDGE NOT 1990 S08E07 TERMINAL CONNECTION 1990 S08E08 A KILLING IN VEGAS 1990 S08E09 THE COMMITTEE 1990 DISC 3 S08E10 The List of Yuri Lermentov 1990 S08E11 DANSE DIABOLIQUE 1990 "S08E12 THE WITCH'S CURSE Cabot Cove H 1990" "S08E13 INCIDENT IN LOT 7 H 1990" DISC 4 S08E14 THE MONTE CARLO MURDERS 1990 S08E15 TINKER, TAILOR, LIAR, THIEF 1990 S08E16 EVER AFTER 1990 S08E17 TO THE LAST WILL I GRAPPLE WITH THEE 1990 "S08E18 PROGRAMMED FOR MURDER Cabot Cove 1990" DISC 5 S08E19 DAY OF THE DEAD 1990 "S08E20 ANGEL OF DEATH H 1990" "S08E21 BADGE OF HONOR Cabot Cove  1990" S08E22 MURDER ON MADISON AVENUE 1990 SEASON NINE DISC 1 S09E01 MURDER IN MILAN 1990 "S09E02 FAMILY SECRETS Cabot Cove  1990" S09E03 THE MOLE 1990 S09E04 THE WIND AROUND THE TOWER 1990 DISC 2 S09E05 THE DEAD FILE 1990 S09E06 NIGHT OF THE COYOTE 1990 S09E07 SUGAR AND SPICE, MALICE AND VICE 1990 S09E08 THE CLASSIC MURDER 1990 "S09E09 A CHRISTMAS SECRET Cabot Cove C 1990" DISC 3 S09E10 THE SOUND OF MURDER 1990 "S09E11 FINAL CURTAIN Cabot Cove  1990" S09E12 DOUBLE JEOPARDY 1990 S09E13 DEAD EYE 1990 DISC 4 S09E14 KILLER RADIO 1990 S09E15 THE PETRIFIED FLORIST 1990 S09E16 THRESHOLD OF FEAR 1990 "S09E17 THE BIG KILL Cabot Cove 1990" S09E18 DEAD TO RIGHTS 1990 DISC 5 S09E19 LONE WITNESS 1990 S09E20  SHIP OF THIEVES 1990 S09E21 THE SURVIVOR 1990 "S09E22 LOVE'S DEADLY DESIRE Cabot Cove  1990" SEASON TEN DISC 1 S10E01 A DEATH IN HONG KONG 1990 S10E02 FOR WHOM THE BALL TOLLS 1990 "S10E03 THE LEGACY OF BORBEY HOUSE Cabot Cove H 1990" S10E04 THE PHANTOM KILLER 1990 DISC 2 S10E05 A VIRTUAL MURDER 1990 S10E06 BLOODLINES 1990 S10E07 A KILLING IN CORK 1990 "S10E08 LOVE AND HATE IN CABOT COVE CABOT COVE 1990" DISC 3 S10E09 MURDER AT A DISCOUNT 1990 S10E10 MURDER IN WHITE 1990 S10E11 NORTHERN EXPLOSION 1990 S10E12 PROOF IN THE PUDDING 1990 DISC 4 S10E13 PORTRAIT OF DEATH 1990 "S10E14 DEADLY ASSETS Cabot Cove 1990" S10E15 MURDER ON THE THIRTIETH FLOOR 1990 S10E16 TIME TO DIE 1990 DISC 5 S10E17 THE DYING GAME 1990 "S10E18 THE TROUBLE WITH SETH Cabot Cove 1990" S10E19 ROADKILL 1990 S10E20 A MURDEROUS MUSE 1990 "S10E21 WHEEL OF DEATH Cabot Cove 1990" SEASON ELEVEN DISC 1 S11E01 A NEST OF VIPERS 1990 S11E02 AMSTERDAM KILL 1990 "S11E03 TO KILL A LEGEND Cabot Cove  1990" S11E04 DEATH IN HAWAII 1990 DISC 2 S11E05 DEAR DEADLY 1990 S11E06 THE MURDER CHANNEL 1990 S11E07 FATAL PARADISE 1990 S11E08 CRIMSON HARVEST 1990 "S11E09 MURDER BY TWOS Cabot Cove 1990" DISC 3 S11E10 MURDER OF THE MONTH CLUB 1990 S11E11 AN EGG TO DIE FOR 1990 S11E12 THE SCENT OF MURDER 1990 S11E13 DEATH 'N DENIAL 1990 DISC 4 S11E14 MURDER IN HIGH C 1990 S11E15 TWICE DEAD 1990 S11E16 FILM FLAM 1990 S11E17 MURDER A LA MODE 1990 "S11E18 THE DREAM TEAM Cabot Cove 1990" DISC 5 "S11E19 SCHOOL FOR MURDER Cabot Cove  1990" S11E20 ANOTHER KILLING IN CORK 1990 S11E21 GAME, SET, MURDER 1990 SEASON TWELVE DISC 1 S12E01 NAILED 1990 S12E02 A QUAKING IN ASPEN 1990 S12E03 THE SECRET OF GILA JUNCTION 1990 S12E04 BIG EASY MURDER 1990 DISC 2 "S12E05 HOME CARE Cabot Cove 1990" "S12E06  NAN'S GHOST (PART 1) H 1990" "S12E07  NAN'S GHOST (PART 2) H 1990" S12E08 SHOOTING IN ROME 1990 S12E09 DEADLY BIDDING 1990 DISC 3 S12E10 FROZEN STIFF 1990 S12E11 UNWILLING WITNESS 1990 S12E12 KENDO KILL 1990 S12E13 DEATH GOES DOUBLE PLATINUM 1990 "S12E14 MURDER IN TEMPO Cabot Cove 1990" DISC 4 S12E15 THE DARK SIDE OF THE DOOR 1990 S12E16 MURDER AMONG FRIENDS 1990 S12E17 SOMETHING FOUL IN FLAPPIEVILLE 1990 S12E18 Track of a Soldier 1990 "S12E19 Evidence of Malice Cabot Cove 1990" DISC 5 S12E19 SOUTHERN DOUBLE-CROSS 1990 "S12E20 RACE TO DEATH Cabot Cove 1990" "S12E21 WHAT YOU DON'T KNOW CAN KILL YOU Cabot Cove 1990" S12E22 MRS. PARKER'S REVENGE 1990 S12E23 DEATH BY DEMOGRAPHICS 1990 MOVIES DISC 1 S0E1 : SOUTH BY SOUTHWEST 1990 S0E2  A STORY TO DIE FOR 2000 DISC 2 S0E3 THE LAST FREE MAN 2000 S0E4 THE CELTIC RIDDLE 2000

Chapter 1: Long Spring

Narrated by Qing Yumo.

Qing Yumo: “In verdant woods, the birds sing among flowers.”

Narrator: Gazing out of a window one lazy spring afternoon, I recited an old Cloud Empire poem.

Narrator: Yes, I should use that as the theme for the Spring Culture Festival.

Narrator: The planning for this year’s festival is near completion. I should be able to relax and take it easy for a while.

Narrator: It’s also time to prepare the wardrobe for the season.

Narrator: Seasons change, and that means we must seize the moment and keep up with time.

Narrator: Like this design.

Narrator: Rummaging through the closet, I found a Cloud Spring dress I had neglected for a long time.

Narrator: For some reason, I decided to wear it for that day.

Qing Yumo: Hmm, let’s go with this.

Narrator: The trees outside the Culture Bureau building are full of flowers today.

Narrator: I walked into the office.

Narrator: Am I seeing things? Why are people at the office staring at me today?

Narrator: Is anything wrong with how I’m dressed? I don’t feel that way...

Huahua: Good morning, Director... (gasps)

Narrator: She seemed very surprised.

Qing Yumo: Morning. What’s wrong?

Huahua: Nothing... I just thought you look spectacular in that outfit today!

Colleague A: Yeah, that’s a stunning design. Common materials simply cannot convey such elegance and sense of intricacy.

Colleague B: Is it one of your new designs?

Qing Yumo: Actually, it’s an old one from years ago.

Huahua: Really? I haven’t seen such fine fabric in Cloud Empire in recent years.

Colleague A:That’s not Cloud Spring, the legendary satin supposedly weaved from rosy clouds, is it?

Huahua: Cloud Spring?!

Qing Yumo: It is Cloud Spring, but the story is definitely an exaggeration.

Huahua: Oh my, never thought I’d ever get a glance of something made from Cloud Spring! You truly lived up to your name!

Qing Yumo: All right, let’s get down to business...

Narrator: The meeting ended.

Huahua: Phew. Finally, it’s over. That was a chore.

Huahua: Oh, have you heard about the romance reading that’s going around?

Colleague B: Romance reading?

Huahua: Yeah, the super accurate Spring-only romance reading, available online, too.

Colleague A: Hey, I should try it!

Colleague B: Me too...

Narrator: For some reasons, that had everyone excited.

Narrator: As for me...

Narrator: “Romance reading?” That doesn’t interest me one bit.

Huahua: I made sure to send you a link, too, Director!

Qing Yumo: ...

Huahua: Director?

Qing Yumo: I’m all right. Just a reminder to please not have non-work-related conversations during office hours.

Choose either “Have you ever given any thought to romance?” or “Do you believe in fortune telling?”

If “romance,” ...

You: So, is the pretty girl interested in falling in love?

Narrator: All good things happen naturally.

If “fortune telling,” ...

You: Do you believe in fortune telling?

Narrator: Aren’t those online readings nothing but bogus? Only bored people would click on them.

--

Narrator: Got back home after work.

Narrator: “Most Accurate Spring-Only Romance Reading.”

Narrator: I have no particular thoughts on either romance or fortune-telling. I only clicked the link by accident.

Narrator: As for love numerology, compatibility results, and other things, I looked at their advertisements.

Narrator: I got to the page. The graphic design did nothing to evoke feelings of love or romance at all.

Narrator: My first recommendation for the site would be to get a new web designer.

Narrator: “Start.”

Narrator: I didn’t want to click it, but apparently that was my only option.

Narrator: “Time and Date of Birth.”

Narrator: “Romantic History.”

Narrator: “Your Type.”

Narrator: ...

Narrator: Compared to other online readings, it sure asked a lot more.

Narrator: Generating Reading...

Narrator: (Waiting...)

Narrator: Your result is...

Narrator: “Wisteria - Hidden Secret...”

Narrator: Wisteria?

Narrator: I lowered my head and saw the wisteria pattern on my dress.

Narrator: Was it a coincidence? About that encounter...

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Cottage Hills : The Red Chamber Part IX

An Unexpected Face

Left alone in Won's lair with Zack's lifeless shell, Mary turns, as she hears something stir behind her. She's shocked to see a strange man she doesn't know standing behind her. He doesn't look like he's from around here either, although he looks at her as though he recognises her.

Man:

"M-Mary? Is that you?? "

Mary:

"!! How do you know my name? Who.. Who are you? Don't come any closer! "

Man:

"I'm sorry... I'm yo-. We haven't met yet... My name is Oak. I'm here with the other townspeople, everyone is looking for you, Wally and Zack."

Mary:

"Zack... I think Zack is dead...He's not moving... He sacrificed himself for us all... "

Oak:

"Then Zack died a hero. Come, Mary, your friends are in danger, but there's someone I'd like you to meet. She is here to help you and your friends."

Meanwhile...

No Loose Ends

Olkan and Won continue to battle it out. Won is determined to kill them all and cut off any loose ends, starting with Olkan and Wally. Olkan tries to draw Won's attention away from Wally, who's hiding behind some trees, being no match for a warlock of Won's calibre.

Won:

"Come out little farmer boy! I'll make it quick, and painless, I promise!"

Olkan:

"I will not permit you to harm any other innocents this night, trickster! You will not touch my friends!"

Won:

"Luckily for you, I'm not asking for permission, you meddling simpleton, now prepare to - wha-what is this!?"

Before Won can finish his sentence, the ground beneath him begins to tremble, and a thunderous roar bellows from its depths...

As the rumbling intensifies, Olkan jumps out of the way just in time as massive roots suddenly burst forth from the ground and shoot upwards like a volcanic plume. They weave their mighty girth around Won, entangling him in a web of vegetation.

Won:

"What on earth!? Who are you creatures?? Let me go at once!"

The Sprites appear out of the mist and continue to coax the vines into restraining Won.

Leaf:

"Oh this is all so brutish! Let's just add a few flowers, please? Climbing Roses? Wisteria?"

Snow:

"We are not here to beautify, Leaf. We have been given a task. To restrain the Wizard, but not to hurt him!"

Wally rushes out from behind the trees to help Olkan onto his feet, and looks on in amazement at the sight before him. Won remains suspended, immobile as the Sprites' vines prevent him from casting any more spells.

Bramble :

"Hello friend Olkan! Master Wally! Allow us to be of assistance."

Olkan:

"Bramble! Leaf! Snow! Rain! You have my thanks! What are you doing here?"

Rain :

"Oh don't thank us, Master Olkan, twas her Ladyship Eva that summoned us!"

Olkan:

"Who?"

Woman's Voice :

"That would be me, Olkan."

Three figures emerge from the misty depths of Won's lair. One of them is Mary. But she is accompanied by Eva and Oak, two faces that neither Wally nor Olkan recognise. As they approach, Olkan and Wally look on, not quite sure what to make of these bizarre turn of events. The woman, who they assume must be Eva, walks up to Won. The Sprites step aside.

Eva :

"Hello Won."

Won:

"Who are you meddling witch? Unhand me this instant!"

Eva :

"I am Eva. You do not yet know me. But I know you very well, Won. More than you know yourself."

Olkan:

"Miss Eva, I do not yet know you myself. What brings you here to our aid?"

Eva turns to smile kindly at Olkan. A warm wind rushes around them and the woods begin to glow, as if it were midday. Eva begins to hover off the ground, as everyone looks on, in shock and awe.

Eva:

"I have been known by many names through the eons, and I come to you now to heal the wounds of the past. Do not fear! For today is a joyous day! The past shall be made new, and light shall come to dispel the darkness, as was foretold!"

As everyone looks on in utter amazement, the forest is alight with a glorious warmth and a brilliant golden light washes over them as they feel a growing sense of peace within them.

Eva :

"For as certain as the night surrenders to the dawn, the truth shall be revealed!"

In a flash of light, Eva ascends and in her place, descends the Goddess.

You only hear it in the silence,

words caught in silver gossamer;

shimmering, intricate threads

flowing from plum peel lips.

They think you are a miracle,

an unraveling of their despair,

a God weaving gold, shining,

brighter than a supernova.

But the branches they take

shelter under hold the last

scene in the torn page

manuscript of my memory.

And the roots grown here

are the stenosed veins of

a heart you let be drained.

They will never learn of

the day I was anointed

in crushed oat and

rhythmic rivers of honey.

Branches of ancient yew

struck against waspish nests,

swarms hummed beyond

your stoppered ears,

barbs imbedded sugared flesh.

Webs of dark crawled up

from the dirt, entwining

with you at a funeral pace.

Sunshine gleamed against

your split tooth blade

as you carved in me

a macabre grin —

my throat bubbled crimson

until our hearts ran dry.

Afterwards,

the valley was still

and no rain ever fell.

Your sin fed the soil.

And I laid in that

coagulating pool

for aeons, as

muddy maroon

faded to the

grey of our irises.

Mother Earth could not bear

the violence she had witnessed,

but she could only cradle me.

Now moss

mimics the shape of a girl,

wisteria bound;

held fast to the mournful land.

One hand thrown out;

left to an eternity of

reaching for another’s.

I am blanketed by roasted daisies.

And bitter berries, red as blood.

You come often to gather pailfuls,

simmer them down with lemon

rind and pan blackened sweetness.

You instruct your flock to devour

the clots while still scorching,

feasting until the jars are empty

and your throats are acid-kissed.

Burnt sugar atonement.

Penance paid in rough tongue

and bubbling scar tissue.

As though that could be enough.

Lately, you can’t deny that

in everything you have built,

there are fragments of me.

My laughter mingles with the breeze,

my name (the only part of me you

cared to bury) echoes in their litany.

You saw me in the stream,

my fingertips brushed the

shoulder of your reflection.

Your agony flared so bright,

the waters became molten.

In those moments you admit

that Divinity is much heavier

than you wished it would be.

And, always, you are sorry; so sorry.

But I still lay here,

in the dust of my

crumbling bones,

as they sculpt

your face in gold.

— l.j.h

Never Seen A Blizzard So Frightful

From @the-wordy-wisteria

To @hamiltontraxh

Muzan’s a grade-A asshole but I still tried my best to make this both sweet and not too ooc. I hope you enjoy the spirit of Christmas with demonic vibes~

“You didn’t really think I’d let you spend Christmas alone, did you?”

Kibutsuji Muzan/Reader

Modern!AU

▪︎▪︎▪︎

Velvet curtains frame Kyoto, sprawled a few hundreds feet below your penthouse. Stark neons against the night, incandescent luminaries more numerous on the ground than in the sky. All shimmers, shines, and glimmers, from neighbour skyscrapers to chromatic rivers of cars. But none holds a candle to the snow storm. A hail of white, crashing against the window, pure light and ice to shroud the world.

Your husband can not reach you because of the furious weather.

So you convince yourself.

To believe that eases your pain more than to know he has many priorities, and you are none of them. His primary concern, in this instant, must be that gala at the Ubuyashiki’s. Although his empire expands with each new member of Douma’s cult, to connect with high society would be an unspeakable asset. If he added mayors and chiefs to his hand, maybe then he could afford to be with you more. Maybe then you’d prove more than a trophy wife.

Your gaze slides from the landscape back to the vanity. You haven’t finished the intricate braids curling and looping amongst each other, a saffron pin atop your makeup box waiting to finalise your hairstyle. Muzan mentioned he found it elegant once, while at a luxurious catwalk. But you’re no model, and there’s neither stage nor setting to justify such over-the-top glamour. Muzan won’t even return until tomorrow.

Christmas will be over.

Still, you double and triple down in your effort to become so irreproachable, so faultless, so beyond criticism, so utterly perfect he will have no choice but to face you with wonder and adoration. If you’re good enough, lord, if you live up to his desires—

Muzan never knocks. The door unlocks and whirs open in near silence. He steps into your room so quietly you jump when he fixes the last errant strands, tucking them where you couldn’t reach. You stare at his reflection in the vanity, not brave enough to turn lest you’re imagining him. Frozen in a mix of hope and terror. His lips ghost over your temple.

“My doll has made herself so pretty,” he muses as his fingers thread through your braids and caress your cheek, “such a good gift.”

Melting under his touch, you gather yourself and greet him. “Welcome home, Muzan.” You offer a coy smile — rehearsed to his preference. “I’m flustered, I thought you’d be busy with the Ubuyashiki family.”

“You didn’t really think I’d let you spend Christmas alone,“ a toxin-laced tone dressed in a silky voice, "did you?” His fingers clasp on your shoulder, just a bit too tight, nails too sharp. Breaths fanning your neck, he looms behind you like a wolf over a doe.

The shiver crawling up your spine wouldn’t be harsher if you were standing outside in the blizzard. Mistakes slip out so easily, but never by. Muzan catches them all, twists them around and weaves them in a web of guilt and threat. Nothing explicit, just — a nagging itch, persistent and grating, like abysmal undercurrents announcing tsunamis. You stifle a gulp and flash an apologetic smile, pearly whites and red lipstick.

"I always trust you to make the best decision,” you skirt the question with what you hope to be forgivable grace, though your tone sounds too stiff even to yourself. You should practice more. Practice until he can hold nothing against you. Practice flawlessness.

Still, Muzan allows it.

“You understand fast,” his lips curl around the compliment, something sharp and prideful, almost predatory. The back of his knuckles trails down your face to settle in the nape of your neck. He clutches it with talon-like fingers and cranes your head. It stings, as though he might just rip it clean off. “I’ve always liked that about you, doll. It makes you worth my while — sufferable, unlike others.”

The day you met him, such declaration would have brought you to tears. Today your chest swells with joy — you’ve contented him, proven you’re no trouble. Better yet, a true darling. The only one whose presence he bears with a semblance of pleasure.

His clutch on your neck tightens. He hoists you up without a word, but the command is adamant in his grip. Obedient as ever, you stand to accompany his motion, to follow his lead. He guides your face to his bared canines. The kiss is cold yet ravenous — an icy passion, like the snowstorm.

Keeping Watch || Harddox

In which this follows Burn the Heart Out. A Council Elder and an Unseelie guard play a game. They learn more than they probably bargained for. 

TW: Abuse, Manipulation, Coercion, Graphic Sex Explained, Violence (from something Maddox talks about); Alcohol Consumption; Brief Mention of Drowning

@the-kit-scarlet

MADDOX:

Maddox felt as though he could finally exhale. Kit was asleep, no matter how restless her sleep seemed to be. The King would be halfway to Roheim by now. Duke Briar had finally seemed to wrangle the guards left behind in some form of order. At the very least, there seemed to be a pattern to the way they posted outside the various doors. Thank the Ancients, they all were posted outside the doors. None- barring Duke Briar, the physician, Maddox, or Clarissa, Kit’s taster-were allowed in the room where Kit resided.

Currently, the room was empty save for himself and Kit’s shallow breathing. So he knelt beside her, clumsily. He had been out of practice for a long time and it showed. But still, he folded his hands over hers and bowed his head.

The language was foreign on his tongue after so many years but he persisted.

“Ancients, keep watch over her. She is too young, too good to suffer so. She came seeking out a lost friend and found only pain. Grant her the strength to move past this. Grant me the strength to keep her safe while she recovers.”

He continued, the Owain feeling odd on his tongue. He lapsed into prayers from when he was still a sapling, relaxing into the ritual of it all.

HARLAND:

Once Oberon had been placated, Harland's reassurances uttered through clenched teeth, the Duke allowed himself to finally relax the feeling that he needed to keep everything at bay. He watched until the Unseelie king was out of sight before his shoulders sagged inward and he finally allowed his hand to unfurl from the fist he'd kept it in after he had left the guards behind.

The tremors were something he could barely control, the aching in his joints a counterpoint to the ache in his arm. The pain he felt had been a constant thrum until now, background noise to the thoughts driving him forward. Now, however, he had nothing to hide it behind. There was a profound sense of loss here, though of what Harland had no idea. There was loss and pain and tiredness, but his work was yet to be done.

Returning to the manor, the Duke positioned the guards he had allowed to remain at strategic points in the building, some outside as well, and kept them away from Kit's rooms. They were given strict instructions not to come unless needed, and the serious look on Harland's face meant they respected the order, even if they did not respect him.

The door fell shut behind him with a soft click and Harland watched in fascinated silence as he listened to the Owain falling from Maddox's mouth, the prayers he was speaking over Kit. In a quiet voice, Harland hesitantly joined along, intoning his own verses to weave between the guard’s, the Owain as smooth as Maddox's own, “May the Mother keep her, the Ancients protect her, and the Forest heal her. May the strength she needs be the strength of the mountain. May her recovery be soothed by the wind through the trees. Let the Ancients hear this prayer. Let the Celestials keep it.”

He had given many similar prayers to those Clansmen who had fought alongside him. It had been his duty, an oath he owed them as their commander, and the Duke had never believed the reassurances of High Fae were enough. Even now, with so much hanging in the balance of Kit Scarlet's recovery, he did not feel that way. Almost on autopilot, Harland unwound the bandages and medical salve he had collected from his personal stores. Ciril had given him a long, hard look when he had come to gather them but knew not to say anything. The valet knew the Duke would speak with his staff in the morning, when everyone had gotten some sleep and the threat of Oberon Aven did not loom over their heads.

At least they had listened when he told them to hide after sending the missive, knowing what would come.

“I didn't know you were Solitary, Maddox.” The Duke's voice was low, not willing to wake the blonde on the bed. She would sleep fitfully for weeks now. Kit needed the rest if she were to heal. He'd packed the wound with the salve, made sure the edges were clean and the dried blood had been washed away, and now his fingers wound deftly around his forearm, used to the motions. Still, the tremors did not stop. Harland sighed, resigned to an evening of them, and turned more fully towards the other faerie when he'd tied off the bandaging. “How is she? And you, for that matter.”  

MADDOX:

Maddox did not turn to see who spoke with him until the prayers were finished, not daring to interrupt a message to the Gods with such trivial human matters. He remained kneeling by Kit’s side, one hand over hers, but turned his head to meet the Duke’s gaze. “Father was of the Shark Clan, mother was a Sidhe. They ended up giving him some ambassador title to preserve my mother’s dignity,” Maddox said, his voice hardly above a whisper. “Is knowing Owain part of the diplomat’s requirements? Or is their Solitary blood in you, too?”

“The draught did well for her. If we had not sedated her, I am sure someone would have had to break her arms to get her to let go of King Aven. She is a fierce little thing.” At this, he turned away from Kit, unable to look at her. He shut his eyes, running both hands over his face as if he was trying to wash the image from his mind.  She had taken the news of her injuries much better than the news of the King’s impending departure, the physician had said. Maddox wanted so badly to throttle the man for that but stayed his hand out of respect for the Duke. He hated to see Kit’s weakness on display for so many strangers. She had worked tirelessly to create a reputation of a spitfire lover who was beyond reproach or tradition. It was better for everyone if all thought Mistress Scarlet and King Aven’s relationship was purely sexual.

Yet, no soul in the Briar estate could believe such a lie now. Not after seeing the King or hearing her howls. The truth of their relationship was etched into the shock on Briar’s face. He wanted to trust this Duke that all of Kit’s secrets would be protected here, but trust did not come easily to a man like him. He alone had shouldered the burden of all the intrigue that surrounded Midsummer’s most infamous couple for decades.  

Finally, he opened his eyes and stood up and faced the Duke. “I did not realize that Dukes tended to their own wounds. Is Wisteria so poor they cannot afford physicians for you? Or are you too proud to allow someone else to tend to you?” He raised an eyebrow. “After your little stunt with the guards, I will assume the latter.” He touched the wrapped forearm gently, a nod of approval given before he let go again.

“Drinking will stop the tremors. Had an Archer once that was useless on the field unless he had a pint of ale beforehand. With the pint on board, he never once missed.” Maddox raised an eyebrow at Briar, a half-hearted smile forming. “Between your tremors and a royal visit, I think we could use a few.”

HARLAND:

The Duke watched the older faerie as he spoke, crossing his arms over his chest in a last-ditch effort to still the trembling. Usually, they did not get so bad but the strain of pain and his own stubborn will not to show weakness in front of the rat king had done a number on him. He nodded at the information, a small smile forming on his lips. "Wouldn't have known by looking at you, though you've got the Shark clan height," he murmured, gesturing to the fae as he shifted around on his knees.

Harland shook his head at the assumption, though. "I learned Owain long before I was a diplomat. My best friend was a half-Shark, like you. He died, during the war." It still hurt to speak of Arro, even after so long, but the remembrance of him was bittersweet, as was the smile that made his lips turn up tiredly at the thought of him. "There were always rumors about my mother, of course. She was never 'proper,' but I wouldn't know."

Maddox stood to his feet and could no longer keep his eyes on the blonde. Harland understood it, in some abject way, but it was still puzzling, the things that he had heard and seen. The King had acted as though Kit mattered to him but Harland had believed it was much different. It was not a love. It was a possession. The mere fact that he had been more concerned with his own needs, visiting Kit to do whatever he wished, spoke of that truth to the Duke. He would, of course, never voice those concerns. Not to Kit. But it had lingered, from the moment he had seen the king.

When Maddox turned to face him, came forward and spoke to him, Harland raised a brow and gave a tired snort. Offering up his arm for inspection, the blond spoke as Maddox looked the bandaging over. "No, just the ones who fought in a war and know how to do it themselves. I've a scar to match on the other arm. A very similar process, that was. And it was no stunt, Maziac, I meant every word and every action. Besides, he was a pompous little bastard. It was rather fun, teaching the lordling a lesson."

The information about the archer was not shocking. In fact, it made Harland laugh, quietly. "I'm sure we could. It would be well-deserved. Pain isn't the only reason I've tremors, though. I broke my hands during the war." It was all he was willing to give, now, but it was more than that. Fatigue, stress, pain. It all set the tremors off. The faint spider web of scars on each hand were barely noticeable now and rarely were they noticed but Harland knew they were there, all the same. Pulling away, he gestured to one of the rooms off to the side. "Think there's booze in there. Take your pick. I doubt you want to leave your mistress. The chairs are comfortable enough, if not the floor."

MADDOX:

“Is there anyone who survived that war without losing a friend or family member?” Maddox asked, his voice soft. His voice conveyed the condolences he would not give words to. Condolences were useless in his opinion. Let the dead rest, his mother would say, our tears will not bring them back. Keep them alive in our memories. “May they all rest easy,” Maddox said in Owain.

Maddox turned past the Duke, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I have not yet decided if you are the bravest or most foolish fae I have ever met. Perhaps both.” He placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it once before moving past the Duke to fetch a few bottles from the spare room the Duke indicated. He passed one into the Duke’s good hand and clinked the bottles together before the Duke could fully accept it. He sat down, facing Kit, and popped the bottle open with his teeth before spitting the cork onto the floor.  

“Tell me, Briar, did you used to drink with your men as well as command them? Under different banners, our commanders drank with the King alone. But we found games to drink too all the same.”

HARLAND:

"Some just lost themselves along the way," he murmured, voice soft as he stared past the other man, into the fleeting light from the candles. "Some men lost themselves because they couldn't save the people they cared about. You mourn yourself just as you mourn them: in silence." It was a familiar ache, this thought, one that could only truly be shared with another soldier. There were things they had done, witnessed, carried out that could destroy bits and pieces of their humanity. That had done just that.

It was only by remembering themselves that they remembered those they had lost.

Even if it was, perhaps, the hardest thing to bear.

Harland felt his lips curl into an incredulous smile, a small thing, tired around the edges. He gave a snort at the look on Maddox's face, his words. "Probably more foolish than brave, if I'm being honest. Haven't had to do that in...decades. Didn't think I quite remembered how. But…it was for a good reason. I would do it again if I needed to." Though his voice was light, there was a heaviness in his gaze, a gravity there that Harland wished to convey even without needing to spell it out.

The sinking feeling in his gut had subsided when that mark had glowed on Maddox's shoulder, a security net that could not be breached unless the perpetrators wanted to be drug before the Queen, her Council. As it was against a member of said Council, the decision would be quick, certainly more so because he had invoked his rights as a lord. The other faerie squeezed his shoulder and Harland felt the heaviness of the touch, the weight of it as it seeped through his tunic.

The blond watched, curious, as Maddox selected a number of bottles from the spare stores, chuckling quietly when he returned with two ready at hand. One was deposited in Harland's left, and Maddox clinked them together before settling down facing Kit. Prying the cork from his own bottle, Harland did the same, stretching out a leg with a heavy sigh.

Eyes sharp on Maddox's face as he spoke, the Duke could feel his brow furrowing at the words. It was unthinkable that the men couldn't drink together. For him, that had been one of the things that kept him sane, pushed him. He protected his men, and he protected his Queen. "I did. Many a time, in fact. We lived together, slept together and ate together. It wouldn't do just to beg off to my tent and keep away from everyone. It kept them...moving, I think, pushed them forward. There were things you could talk about there with a bottle in your hand that would never see the light of day again after." Harland stared at his bottle for a moment before giving a wry grin, raising it in a loose toast before taking a long pull.

"And you? What games did you play? I am certain they were similar, if not the same, as our own."

MADDOX:

It was not a lack of understanding that kept Maddox from replying. It was the opposite, in truth. The weight of understanding- of all the experiences that burdened them- seemed to suffocate him. There were things too dangerous, too powerful to give voice to. What the war had done to both of them was something too strong already to give any further influence. He drank, tilting his head back and shutting his eyes.

“Do what you need, Briar. But I am no damsel for you to protect. I have my own charge. I cannot hide behind you, no matter how lovely a figure you might have. When we return to Roheim, Kit will need her shadow to be regarded with the same fear from before we even came to Wisteria.” Maddox sighed. “Her enemies will grow bolder and the King will inspire more with his fury. She will need me.”

“The most dangerous games there are to play, Briar,” Maddox replied, his voice gruff. “It appears we are me uniquely suited for such risks.” Maddox leaned forward, holding the bottle with both hands as his forearms rested against his thighs.

“A guessing game. Not much eloquence to it, but it never failed. You divine what you can of your partners. If you are wrong, you drink. If you are right, they drink.”

HARLAND:

The Duke noticed the silence and kept it, recognizing the importance of it. Regardless of the sides they had chosen, he and Maddox had experienced the same war. Even beneath different banners, death and destruction still wore the same face. The only difference was who carried it out. Once Maddox had opened his eyes again, Harland turned more fully to face him, bottle hanging loose between his fingers.

The remark made him grin, mischievous and a tad smug. "Ah, but you made such a pretty one, Maziac." He fiddled with the bottle for a moment, gone quiet, just watching the side of Maddox's face. He finally spoke up after another pull from the bottle. "It was not only because of Kit that I did it. If I hadn't...Oberon could harm you here just as easily. At least in Wisteria you can do what you need to protect her. Let me worry about the assassination attempts. I'm quite sure that display will bring them but that," he tapped a finger against Maddox's shoulder, indicating the thread that had receded back into the garment once more, "keeps you as safe as you can possibly be, for the time being."

Harland's eyes lit up at the prospect, taking on an interest that overrode his tiredness and his pain. Yes, he knew all about guessing games. "We played similar things. Most of the men would grouse about it the next morning, but it was good fun. But if we're playing you need to stop calling me Briar. I've a name." He gestured for the other faerie to go first, wondering what he would ask and amused by the prospects.

MADDOX:

“Would you like me to abide by formalities? I could call you Your Grace,” Maddox said, unable to contain the grin on his face or the mischief in his eyes. He spoke no further of what Roheim held for him. Let the Duke fend off the coming tide and he would be at Kit’s side through it. When the time was right, he would bring her back into the world.

“Do remind me, Your Grace, to douse myself in cold water. My Mistress always told me that men only brand what they intend to possess fully. I can only shudder at what you have in store for me,” Maddox said, taking a theatrical drink from the bottle before making a show of shivering.

He considered easing into the game, but gentleness was a clumsy thing in his hands. So he held the bottle to his lips, resting the rim against his bottom lip.

“This Black of yours. He never mentioned my Mistress to you, despite how close you are with him.”

HARLAND:

Harland wrinkled his nose at the title, glaring half-heartedly at the other faerie. "Please don't. That's almost as bad as my full title, and I haven't heard that since I was given to the Royal Knights." He hated how he'd won his place there, truth be told, just as much as he honored the virtues he was tasked to uphold. It was a fine line that he walked, shame and triumph, and he never knew how he could make up for it.

At the guard's next words, Harland looked at him with a sudden sharpness, something to cut through him if he'd been a lesser faerie. It held a truth there that Harland was afraid to say aloud. In fact, he had been ashamed to even think it earlier in the evening. Maddox was a conundrum, a challenge, and it was as intriguing as it was damning. He could burn himself on it, willingly, but Harland was much too sober and much too proud to admit it this early in the game. Instead, he would say only: "Only what you would give."

Despite the leading question and the pervasive feeling it gave, Harland rolled his eyes. "Black isn't my anything, princess. I don't own him. I'd kill him if I did. He saved my life, I consider him a friend...but no he did not speak of Kit." He mumbled a 'bastard' into the neck of the bottle before drinking a quarter of it in two, long pulls. He would need the alcohol if he was going to keep this up. He turned a critical eye to the other faerie then, eyes searching, before landing on the scar at his face. His eyes lingered for a moment, before sliding across to look Maddox in the eye, give him a small smile to show he meant no harm.

"Your scar, the one on your face. It wasn't from the war. I'd have remembered it. Not from a battlefield anyway. It was Oberon." He had been unsure of the thought when it crossed his mind upon first sight, but with the way the rat king was, Harland would not put it past him.

MADDOX:

He let out a whistle as Harland turned to him with a look that might have annihilated an army. He merely smiled and shrugged.  

“Might not be yours, but you clean up his messes all the same.” Maddox held up his hand as if to assure Harland of his good intentions. “You don’t even have to drink to that one. Consider it a gift of goodwill. That and the fact I do not cut you down for that,” he said, his nose wrinkling as he thought of that damned endearment. He feared that the Duke would never stop using it now.

Maddox drank as much as he could take, before wiping his mouth. “It’s not a pretty story, ser, I do not care how much you think you might understand the King’s cruelty.”

He sighed, before lowering his voice so that Harland had to lean in and even then, his lips told the story more than his voice could. He could not bear to think Kit would hear it, but could not bear the thought of either of them leaving her side.

TW; abuse, manipulation, coercion, graphic sex, violence

“It was towards the end of the war, actually. When the King realized he would have to marry the she-wolf to win his war. He would not give up Kit. I do not think he could, even if he wanted to. He wanted her to have a bodyguard. ‘A shadow,’ he said ‘one that blends in with her own.’ “

“Of course, he wanted to ensure none would covet his beloved. So there was an audition. Seven of us, lined outside a tent, like saplings straining to catch a glimpse of a woman bathing at the river. She did not know we were watching. Not then, anyway.”

He took a drink, disgusted with himself even still.

“After, Oberon left her in the bed. She was so confused as to why he departed so quickly. It broke my heart, how abandoned she looked. He cut down any of us that he thought were aroused. Only I and one other remained. A few days later, he brought us before her. Asked her which of us she wanted for a bodyguard. I am only alive because she did not like me at first.”

He closed his eyes, remembering the way the fae’s blood splattered. Remembering Kit’s shriek.

“At the end of it all, he wanted to punish me for seeing his beloved so indisposed, but stated he could not bear to deprive his beloved’s bodyguard of an eye.”

He reached a hand to his scar.

“She was terrified of me for the first few decades,” Maddox growled. “I don’t think she looked me in the eye once those years.” He turned to Harland, huffing.

“I told you it was no pretty story.”

HARLAND:

Giving a bit of a nod, Harland shrugged as he got himself comfortable resting his chin on a knee that he'd pulled into his chest. It was almost boyish, the action, an almost comical for such a large faerie, but the Duke made it look graceful. Settling down to listen, the grim face he pulled when it began would set the tone for the rest of the tale.

He had expected something like this but...for it to be so clearly outlined, so...vile...it turned his stomach. There was something to be said for a king's cruelty, but this was not even cruel. It was barbarity at its most base form. To not only use Kit in such a manner but to brand the man in front of him, all because he had not….reacted to what had been done to her. Privately, Harland thought there was something commendable to killing the fae who had.

That was no man, to react to a woman being used in such a way, so heartlessly, so…fully. It was something Harland could not even wrap his mind around, truthfully.

And for the way he was chosen...it was no wonder Maddox did not speak of it. Why he hated that scar.

The Duke had such a visceral need then, to offer something. Not truly knowing how, Harland did what his hands wanted: to touch. Shifting around so he could free one of them, hesitant, the blond reached over and moved the other faerie's hand away from his own face, tilting it with a gentle grip on his chin so he could get a good look at the scar. A long look, and there was pain and sorrow and anger there, for Kit, for her shadow, for every pain that that rat had done to them all, Harland included. For the fact that Kit herself did not even realize…

The pad of his thumb was gentle as it passed once over the divot in Maddox's face before he drew his hand away, tucked safely around his own knees again. He looked down, eyes just hovering along Maddox's neck. Harland felt the need to say something, anything, but he could not form the words.

They had lodged in his throat, now, but actions spoke far louder, he knew. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he murmured, "It might not have been pretty, but it was true. I-thank you. It won't-" It won't leave this manor. He didn't know how to say that, not really, so he stopped the words before they began, hoping the other man could hear them.

With a sigh Harland looked back at Maddox and offered him a small, sad smile. "Have you ever heard the tale of how I came to be here? Most versions….they don't explain the truth of it but...I would share it. If you'll have it."

MADDOX:

He stiffened at the Duke’s touch, feeling as if his blood had turned to ice. Yet, he did not turn away or flinch. Merely allowed himself to be touched, even if he could not relax into such a feeling. But he did not look into the other’s face. There was something between the two of them and neither of them could bear to gaze upon it.

It was too real and too raw. It had no business existing while Kit lay on a table, fighting for her life. It had no business existing when they were on opposite sides of a forest likely to erupt into war again.

“Only what you would give, Harland.”

HARLAND:

Not many people knew the truth of how he became a knight. Much of it was shrouded in his own father's shame, the fact that he believed his son was a disappointment. Much of it Harland himself internalized but he would not be ashamed of it now.

"The first man I watched die I was 220. He was attacked by bandits, I think. He died choking on his own blood. When I got home that evening after I'd buried him, my father sneered at the blood on my hands. Told me that I'd be up early the next morning, mucking out the horse stalls since I'd begged off lessons." He sighed, picking at the hem of his shirt, lost in his thoughts. "I left instead. Went carousing. Found a noble's son at a party I was meant to attend anyway. Just wanted the thought to go away and...we were caught."

He laughed, bitterly now, at the image of it. They'd done nothing wrong, hadn't even had their trousers down, but the scandal had caught fire all the same. He picked up his bottle and swirled it around, staring without seeing as the liquid moved behind the glass. He took a drink and sighed through his nose.

"The rumors spread like wildfire, as you could imagine. My father...said I would ruin the family. That I had, probably by just being born. He gave me two choices: I left for training to become a knight, earned my keep that way, or I left. He would take everything from me, my name, my home. Everything I care about." Really, that only belonged to his mother. Idoya Briar had been the only solace her son had in this family. "Not that there was much to lose. My mother, perhaps, but she wouldn't have listened even if I hadn't tucked tail and ran."

And there it was. The fact of what he had done.

Shown his belly, given up.

"The intent was always there, to serve. But I'd not been given a choice. So I chose to fight and to learn. I hated it, but I did it. Then I was conscripted for the war. Spent a few hundred years fighting, learning to use my magic for violence...and then I was told to kill as many bloody faeries as I could with it." His voice had turned bitter then, eyes hard and his chin rested completely on his knees now, everything about his posture a shield to keep all of his most exposed bits shielded even as they were being laid bear.

"I should have died, Maddox. I almost-" he sighed, turned his head to look, unfurled his fingers to tug at the edge of his collar, expose his throat for the other man to see, the ugly scar that curled around his neck. "I paid a price for it, and I continue to. I saved my men from being slaughtered and nearly died there, too. Instead of allowing me the shame of my actions, the Queen made me one of her own."

He dropped his gaze then, curled tighter in on himself. The bottle had been set down to the floor, and Harland didn't pay it any mind now.

"The only reason I was even able to offer a lord's rights is because my father won't disown a man seated at the council. I've a daughter. If he'd known about her, gotten his way, she'd have been drowned at birth."

MADDOX:

He took a long drink as he listened. He placed the tips of his fingers on the other’s neck, tracing an ugly pattern on a beautiful man. “Your father sounds like a cunt,” Maddox said, his harshness a stark contrast to his gentle touch.

What a cowardly man, he thought, to mistreat his family so.

“Those who ask us to fight always seem to take our shame and call it a victory, don’t they? As if any bloodshed isn’t a crime of its own. To celebrate something that only occurs for necessity's sake-” Maddox scoffed, withdrawing his touch and returning to the bottle.

He wanted to be able to say something to comfort him, but there were no words. Cruel men remained in power and good men remained haunted by the things they had done for those same cruel men. Innocents’ blood was spilled without any tears to mourn them.

He did not know how to pull either of them out of the dark hole they had fallen into. Instead, they seemed to grow closer with each minute and cling to each other. He had not known how dangerous the game would be. He had underestimated the Duke again. Celestials and Ancients only knew what ruin would come of them now. But it was far too late to stop their descent now.

“This daughter. You treasure her more than anything.”

HARLAND:

Even though the touch was gentle, even though he could not feel it, Harland still flinched at the fingers on his throat. He was unused to gentle hands, to comfort given in actions, even if he was practiced in giving it himself. He had been denied such things the moment he had come of an age that his father decreed it to be so. Not even his mother had denied the edict; it was easier to acquiesce to it than it was to fight it. So Harland didn’t and neither had she. Still, the breath he sucked in and the way he tilted his head was entirely involuntary, a reaction to something he had lost and had never regained.

After a moment, a stark and shameful feeling bubbling up in the Duke’s belly, Harland ducked his head and pulled away. A laugh that broke off at the end escaped from his throat but there was almost no feeling behind it, so lost was he still in the mire of his own thoughts. It wasn’t until Maddox spoke again that he looked at him, surprised by the question.

And, then, Harland smiled.

It came easy to him, this smile, this one that the thought of Freya caused. He had never known her as a little girl, had never gotten to be a true father to her then, but he was trying now. Celestials, how he was trying. So, he nodded, took a small drink, and settled in to speak for a moment on her.

“She is all I have left of her mother. I didn’t know how to keep myself out of the Wildlands, still don’t. Quite literally ran into her when I’d fucked off from an argument with my father. She was clanless, then, but the Wolves took her in…” he stopped, hesitant. He would not reveal his daughter’s name, did not want her identity to get back to the king. It would harm her far more than anyone could ever know. He glanced away, a wry smile on his lips. “I never knew. Not until after the war. Three hundred years, and I never knew I had a daughter.”

He took a drink, realized that his tremors had subsided, and wondered at how well alcohol could cure pain. Perhaps if he drowned himself in it it would all go away.

“Her mother died just before the war ended. She’s been with me now...six years. It is...difficult. She’s stubborn. Strong-willed,” a hint of pride entered his voice even as he complained, “but she is mine. And I would kill anyone who hurt her.” He turned to the other man then, and there was a sliver of a truth there, something that had gone unsaid but was known, all the same. In some way the gravity of the situation had been lost; whether it was the booze or the conversation, Harland did not know, but they’d been laid bear for the evening. There was something powerful in that, even if it was hard to swallow. After a moment, he tried his hand at another guess.

“You wanted to be something other than a knight, once, before the war. Maybe a blacksmith, a sellsword, perhaps even a wood carver, but it never so intimately involved the king, or your mistress.”

MADDOX:

He smiled in return, glad to see the Duke smile in spite of himself. In spite of how it was safer for them to take no joy in each other’s relief.

“Family does always seem to find a way back to each other,” Maddox said, not probing any further. It would do no good to ask questions that could not be answered for anyone’s safety. It was better he did not know about the identity of his daughter. It probably would have been better if he did not know about the existence of a daughter. It was information he knew was not shared lightly.

Maddox laughed, “Drink, Your Grace. All I’ve ever wanted was to be a Knight. Wanted to protect everyone I could. Defend the innocents. Imagine my surprise when I realized how infrequently Knights were able to do anything honorable. What a bloody fool I was.”

“You surprise yourself with the tenderness you feel towards my Mistress,” Maddox began, eyes firmly on the nearly empty bottle in hands, “and towards me.” He did not dare look up to see where his words had landed.

HARLAND:

The Duke’s eyes caught the answering smile and filed it away, tucking it into the corners of his mind to keep safe. He had a feeling it was a rare sight, indeed, to see the shadow smile. Or, rather, to smile like that. “Indeed it does,” he murmured, nodding along with the words. It was truth enough.

Somehow the thought didn’t surprise him. Then again, Harland had found himself thinking many things about the other man in a single evening. Not all of them came to shock him anymore. But he huffed through his nose all the same and took a drink as he was told. He smiled when he was through, cocking a brow at the other man’s words. “Naive or honorable, but not foolish. Or perhaps I’ve yet to decide which is more correct.” It was a twisting of Maddox’s own words, just another thing he had done this evening that had twisted Harland’s gut into knots.

"I wanted to be a carver, if I'd not been a noble's son. If he had disowned me instead of bothering with it all. I honed the skill during the war but," a shrug, almost dismissive, "now it is something I do when I cannot sleep." The guard’s next guess made Harland go quiet, a breath sucked in and held there, tenuous as the frail truce they’d somehow fumbled out in the dark. But, in a way, it was not. Maddox’s eyes were downcast but the bottle still felt heavy in the Duke's hand as he lifted it to drink.

The rest of it was gone by the time he was through.

Then he steeled himself, jaw clenched, as he reached for the other faerie. If he was going to damn himself, he might as well do it fully.

Harland turned Maddox’s head with a firm, gentle grip on his jaw, dragging him closer by that hand alone, eyes searching and careful as he felt for the scar that had marked him so harshly. In a way, the thought that it didn’t matter where it had come from crossed the Duke’s mind. He liked it, all the same. His eyes held Maddox’s for a moment, a single sliver of time, before Harland crashed his mouth into the guard’s own, head angled so he could deepen the kiss if he wasn’t bit or stabbed.

MADDOX:

When the Duke went to drink, Maddox placed the now empty bottle on the ground.

Again, he stiffened at the touch. He did not necessarily want to meet the fae’s eyes. It would be better if it was dark. It would be better if they would be able to pretend this was the result of stress and alcohol. It would be better if it never happened at all. His Mistress was lying motionless, fighting for her life. Her bodyguard was drowning in a Seelie Duke’s eyes.

His stomach tightened, from shame or desire he did not know.

But his mouth opened all the same. He was growling against the other fae’s lips, his hands running up his sides and yanking him almost off balance. It had been too long since he had known anyone’s touch, but the motions came back to him all the same. A hand rested on Harland’s neck, tilting his head with a force too rough to be considered gentle and too soft to be considered firm, and Maddox began planting kisses along his chin, his ear, his neck.

They were doomed now. Might as well enjoy it.

HARLAND:

Harland laughed, quietly, into Maddox's mouth, the sound barely concealed as he felt the other faerie respond. It was something he was almost dizzy with, the response. He always was. But, more than that, it was the fact of what they were doing. There should be nothing gentle about it, should be nothing but bruises and biting kisses. Yet, Harland wanted none of that. None at all.

Maddox's hands found his sides and tugged, pitching the Duke sideways and off center, but he could respond in kind. The bottle had fallen from his grip when the guard had traveled down his jaw, towards his neck, the hand on him guiding as much as it was a force he couldn't ignore. Harland's hands itched to touch so he let them, skimming them up Maddox's back, one to grip at his shoulder and pull him closer, the other to curl around his waist and tug.

The leverage from the chairs made it easy to get the other faerie into his lap, even if it did require a bit of maneuvering. However, once he was satisfied, Harland surged upward, lips attacking the skin at the juncture of Maddox's neck and shoulder, trailing up his neck and into his jaw, lips dragging against the scar beneath them, a hand curling fingers into the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

He'd happily pay it lip service if it replaced the look of disgust on the guard's face at its mere existence. It was the least he could do.

MADDOX:

Maddox leaned his head back. Oh, Harland would never hear the end of this. He had spent half the night with that damned princess nonsense and now he was pulling him onto his lap. He was lucky he knew what he was doing otherwise Maddox might have knocked him onto the ground. Or knocked him upside the head.

He contented himself with kissing him harder, his fingers digging into anything he could grasp.

Kit began to groan and Maddox extracted himself from Harland like he was being burned. They held their breath for a moment, but she did not wake up. Maddox ran a hand through his hair, muttering a curse.

“I’ll grab us another bottle. We need it.”

on the topic of patience

dear kasama, jason magabo perez [x] / hunch, jay parini [x] / it happens like this, james tate [x] / you can't, maya abu al-hayyat [x] / keep a-pluggin' away, paul laurence dunbar [x] / that everything's inevitable, katy lederer [x]

[ LOADING INFORMATION ON CHERRY BOMB!’S MAIN VOCAL AMOR…. ]

DETAILS

CURRENT AGE: 20 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 18 SKILL POINTS: 22 VOCAL | 07 DANCE | 00 RAP | 11 PERFORMANCE

INTERVIEW

Coming in muted tones of ivory and lavender, yet disguising thunder in her enigmatic obsidian stare; she’s a vixen who arises as everyone’s dream girl. Cerulean sky looming above, her cheeks blossom with roseate hues, delightful and innocent, the projection of a seraph in her coffee rondures and the feminine curve of her petite nose. When she speaks, saccharine and sophisticated, sweet words spill from her parted, plump lips, light like a breath, entrancing like the opalescent wings of the fae or a tail of an alluring siren. They believe for a moment that all she appears as is a facade, too good to be true, though it’s evident to those who approach her when the spotlights of her stage are dimming behind, greedy to purloin the virgin heart resting bare behind her ribcage, that she’s real. She’s the embodiment of honeysuckle decadence and an intimidatingly, flawless energy orbiting her pellucid auras. Though, don’t confuse her sweetheart features to be all that delineates her face in melting vibrancies and soft sighs; carnality lurking in the ogling attention of her audience.

A monstrosity hides in her onyx stare, and while it’s true that her charismatic performance before enchanted fans carries offstage, her intent is always narcissistic, calculated in a manner that proves perilous to those who land under her spell or who dare to step onto the path she greedily marks as hers. She’s not a good-hearted person coming from roots of innocent intent, but no one would ever believe such atrocious remarks when her being is infused with perfection and purity, when her elegance dances away from the mic, back to the dorms, to the vacant alleys she sometimes intrudes. All her blinded paramours would utter the same: she’s a darling, charming and polite with a keen eye for detail, no roguery prevailing in sight. Adorning a voice as soft as benevolent, velveteen nights, a melody to her light steps as she twirls with a magma ambiance haunting her gaze, and a glint of a Machiavellian in those chestnut orbs; she’s everything to idolize and more.

BIOGRAPHY

I.

Panning solemnly across the universe in shades of pink and precision, glory borders nebulas and awe kisses the enthroned jewels of the sky in an eerie artistry; stars bask in the meaningless definitions pressed to their rogue outline, and they don’t question the immoral stance of it because they can’t. Though lurking on the opposite end of a systematic spectrum, collocated with demons and gods, rests a young girl in Seoul’s elite crib with caramel auras and winsome laughter, and she’s able of questioning every design heaven’s finest architects have devised. She’s got the ability to inquire it all, the whites of her eyes dimming under shadows as the horizon of dawn’s greeting is pulled by the tar sky, slumber looming over her, yet too entranced by the web of worlds she’s intrinsically strung up to sink into her soul. It’s why despite the passing hours and the contagious lull of sleep, she eases steadily aboard her twilight memories, dragging from their depths the taste of a scorching hell, drawing above her on the oak pillars a consummate design of the fate she desires. Shes of cirrus of smoke, their fashioned design of hell bearing the chance to blossom a disdainful fruit she tastes and grows addicted to. Their name is greed and they engulf all opponents like the effervescent idols painting the screen of her television and delving between the layers of her daydreams. They build a home among the many artifacts she designs, an idea sprouting, fated to come to fruition for all the wrong causes, from the impacts of cupidity that dare to steal all titles.

Giving way for flying galleys to roam her mind while tracing the pattern of constellations with her ebony gaze; her charm is weighted and intoxicated by the glare of midnights exhaustion. Mind so vast, it’s limitless, it’s the actuality she engineers a home in, deriving from the ground a foundation cozy for her momentary stay. Lilith blossoms in an unwelcoming promise, arising with its prosaic entry, the call of a deafening failure familiar to its unruly patrons and weak-minded gems. Decrepit institutes are born of the violent stance of her authority, an evanesced honor defused in the perspicuous instructions from the dark. Time is still young on the life that spans before her, and she’s yet to understand that the fading hue of aureate twinkles is not because she’s succumbing to the inevitable and mundane act of sleeping, but because they’re drawing further away.  

Those dainty dreams leave her in a fit of pique as she nears the age where imagination becomes insanity, tearing through her viscera with countless butterflies; fluttering wings drilling on at a nauseating velocity, making her twin stars see nothing but a grey haze. It was a menial job for fate to conclude due to the faint carvings those hopes had been inscribed upon; passion having barely begun before it tittered away in a maniacal morning, leaving her under twilight forever with no stars to chase. Fingers dizzyingly point to the speckled ceiling above, their ambiance having dulled over the years as the fault lines of her reality continue to threateningly reverberate. An impending destruction is promised, though her barren mind refuses to be incarcerated by its rising fear through the act of pitiful submission. She remains hard-headed despite the obvious decline of destiny’s support in her race to an overtly joyous life, her fingers still curled around the ending tendrils of her childhood fascinations. There are no more prayers to be heard, and in between the sapphire shades of her bedding and the indigo atmosphere peering through her blinds, a thunderous confession sets fire to it all at last. Her mother bore a child of ill fortune that’s cursed to a fate of pride and inundated by faux beauty. The carcass of a doll, a raven in a caged cell, a glimmer of obsidian lurking behind lilac; these are what will define her waking moments, the pressing chill of an end to her spine, the poised perfection of her eternal artistry tainted with the viridian tones of a damning drive. Her mothers made a monster shielded behind ivory, yet she doesn’t even notice.

She’s hardly approached the marmalade dawn of her birthday before chaos invites itself into her heart, and her parent’s facade slips, their agony rushing forth, their infidelity drawing bold in shades of crimson and azure, of ash and salt. The making of a wilted daffodil is set into play. Delicate fault lines shift with the silent shudder of wings and her universe slips through her nimble fingers; lithe figure plunging between the crevices her parent’s finality has created. She falls through their horrors, and nothing but a distant cry is heard by the howling winds of an incoming east wind. This end plucks her from her childhood fantasies and sets the corruption of her innocent beliefs into motion. Greed comes faintly before it sets strong, and envy lights as a horrid enigma in the pit of her bare stomach; her taste for greatness is still the same, but her cravings have dulled into a wicked notion. She’ll do anything to make herself worthy. 

II.

They reside in silence; two ghosts meeting only for the bare necessities of decisive measures, otherwise shifting away in their isolation, a lacking regard for their teenage daughter whose dimmed wishes of settling a spot in the limelight still keep her motivated enough. Her arduous efforts will not disperse themselves into a faltering design of failure, though she’s learned by now to slim her fantasies into mere inches and keep them concise. It’s the fault of her parent’s lascivious habits, their concupiscent minds that yearn after the catering service of other men and women who can please them better than the riveting drama cooking up in their home. It’s the fault of the galactic designs spread countlessly across her bedroom ceiling that made her believe hope was a force no evil could reckon with or penetrate through to spoil. She’s always surmised fallacious fairytales quite easily, and now it taunts her with half-hearted dreams and a soured look curled in the almond orbs of her reflection; harnessing a heated hellfire through the glares of rebellion; blithe disdain towards the realm she resides in. 

Her presentation, the light rubescent facade, remains consistently immaculate in its design through the years, and it’s an astonishing miracle despite the disrupted haven she’d blossomed in. Alabaster soul slowly beginning to be decorated in variegated colours of plum and prune, the advancing devilish corruption fading into her marks as a permanent scar; sins swiftly settling atop her skeleton, shaping her further into a porcelain shell. Something else is born in the seconds of her unfurling hesitations. She turns disgraceful appellations onto herself and lets the foreshadowing of fates planned demise take control of the concluding hours of her virtue. Through the jagged edges of her violent quotes, she finds her negativity fuelling her drive, a dark matter she once swore to never touch now intertwining with the lines on her palm and sinking beneath the smooth flesh. They have yet to discover the toxic tinge adorning her loose posture, or the shine of Persephone resting elegantly in the shadow of her desirable silhouette, painted black, shaped delightfully, swaying in music like wisteria in wind. She’s yet to recognize the difference in her own constellation, still too focused on her languid movements and the need to hone her silver voice into gold to realize the patterns of destruction weaving through her inky mind. She flourishes into the reincarnation of Lady Macbeth, and the entire world rests under the looks of the ill-fortuned king her selfish intents will slay. 

The grip of a stubborn destiny finally sets loose when a few abortive attempts later she’s allotted a position to settle her score with fate’s tenuous war on her piteous dreams. It hardly comes easy, scintillating stares setting her nerves on fire, judging her third audition with the breach of a galaxy swarming above, ready to cave downwards and consume her candor mind once more. They seem to notice, at last, the undying command nestled in her determined ellipses; the former rejections never ceasing her will. It seems like an apology the world has bestowed upon the curve of her heart when she steps forth to be charmed by the Midas touch and turned to gold, rewarded for her passionate pursuit, but adversity always lays mere steps ahead. It’s a familiar companion; singing to her old lullabies, striking her with a toxic comfort she’s grown to embrace, dwelling evermore in its russet tint. Calloused inches of her ignite from the dry bouts of a feverish competition while she makes her mark in a practiced indication, certain to call some impressed remarks. No longer locked in blissful reveries, or losing her attention to their starry essence, she still remains susceptible to the death of her last schemes for success, and it comes in the manifestation of an erstwhile rival. Hypnotic stare and she’s crowned congeniality, her cordial mannerisms, dainty aura and striking vocals taking her far until she’s dragged herself atop the final pedestal after three years of brutality. Nails red and raw, sweat lining her dismayed features.

She debuts in 2016, hardly an ounce of excitement buried in her onyx orbs. The once enigmatic fury burning in her bosom, threatening to burst due to the multitude of desires she couldn’t contain, were now left vacant, lock and key destroyed and all her earnings robbed. The glare of moonlight perches itself through strands of her midnight hair, and she’s left operating clandestine plans in the desperate efforts to maintain what she’s received, to keep the balance of it all steady. The kiss of fate was never meant to strike perilous at all, perhaps through its numerous hurdles, it was devising for her a sign that she could decipher when glancing upon the heavens another faithful night. Perhaps through the numerous turbulences, all it was wishing to promise her was safety from the net of fame and the destructive construction of the fatal industry. In conclusion, all that the world wanted to do was to save her from her own rapturous claws before she plunged too deep into the design of her fairytale fantasies. Give her an awakening where she sought after a truth beyond the stretch of idol enchantment. To gaze into the sordid expressions resting in her childhood bedroom where innocence wasn’t granted security and she shifted from wide orbs of undying curiosity into narrowed gazes of vehement hostility. 

Now pressed to the core of hell, it’s far too late, and her nectarous purity continues to bleed her desolate. 

all you bitches put reckless driver by lizzy mcalpine on your lestappen playlists… and all you bitches would be right

it's all around you

will anybody ever love me? -- sufjan stevens [x] / human -- sevdaliza [x] / extraordinary machine -- fiona apple [x] / jigsaw falling into place -- radiohead [x] / all is full of love -- bjork [x] / is it cold in the water -- sophie [x]

(had this sitting in my drafts and it's weirdly apt after the s6 mclaren ep of DTS)

Little brothers of mine

The Guides -- Margaret Widdemer [x] // On Speaking Quietly with My Brother -- Jay Deshpande [x] // It Was The Animals -- Natalie Diaz [x] // The Night Before I Leave Home -- Elisa Gonzalez [x] // I Cast It Away, My Body -- william bearheart [x] // My Brothers Mirror -- Donald Platt [x] // Youth -- Tom Sleigh [x] // There, There, Grieving -- Zeina Hashem Beck [x] // Two Set Out On Their Journey -- Galway Kinnel [x] // stray birds -- Rabindranath Tagore [x] // [When night draws on, remembering keeps me wakeful] -- al-Khansāʾ [x] //

and special thanks @blorbocedes for the final LH soundbite gif (screenshot) because i couldn't find it anywhere else

to my father / to my future son, by ocean vuong