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The Bathroom
Archive #2 | Copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's note: Day two of posting pieces that I really like. This one is a bit more dark so slight trigger warning (?) to easily sensitive people. Let me know if you like it! Suggestions and feedback is welcome, enjoy :)
The Bathroom
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Dark and hideous,
I stare at my reflection, blurry from steam.
My shower, cold droplets on glass— I tried drowning my sorrow for hours.
The shadows that grasp at my skin drag me back down from my high—
The pleasure that lingers on my lips,
Tongue numb from the biting of my stained teeth.
Lips cracked and blue;
I do not recognise those who have seen me.
Resentment is the familiarity I cling onto—
The smell of gore bores into my mind like a surgical drill.
If you wish to mush my brain, it will take more than one pill to convince me.
Betrayal and words;
I will stab my eyes out.
Pickled for your cocktails;
Watch your back as you swallow me whole.
I am mute, silenced by mistakes,
I see their pain, damned for their torment.
Blind and tears.
Do you regret?
Do you regret?
Do you regret?
I know,
I know…
I know.
Everyone knows.
I will take this to my grave,
But you will use it to your advantage in heaven.
When it comes the day—
Where I crash into the walls I hastily built up,
My defences crash as you stand by and watch.
Will you penetrate such a fragile structure?
Vulnerability is a sought out weakness from those who grew out of it.
Endings and virtue;
I will end this on my own terms.
But I ended the wrong thing—
Tumbling and spiralling;
I will see you in hell.
I scream as you floated,
What goes around comes around….
I was never a part of this equation.
You cheated from the beginning,
Your reflection must be hideous.
But the steam is blinding,
And the dust clings onto skin.
The pleasure was hidden burns.
I am resentment, that familiarity that cannot be described.
You choke on the dark olives in your drink,
Saw heaven for a second, but the screaming drags you back up from your low.
Did you picture my brain on your platter?
Your pain is my torment;
I do not recognise the shadows, the madman that slams into the shower door.
My walls shake,
Cold droplets down the drain.
Will you regret?
I stare at your tears, whispers come from my silent, blue lips…
Hollow eyes stare back.
You will regret it.
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"Ambition too high for a body so small" - saturnfairycat 2024
Blame
Work #1 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's Note: What's this??? Different from archives again????? This one I feel like is an "official" work, but not for the webtoon- just work of my own. It is pretty long (6 pages on google docs). So here is a debrief before we jump right in. Debrief: Word count: 3,279 Warnings: Death, sensitive content, flashbacks. Enjoy! 🐇
Blame
It’s been weeks. I can’t sleep. I can barely close my eyes without picturing the pool of blood. Shit.
Drowning my cries with wine and celebration, I feel like a siren who never was meant for the sea. Drawn to the one thing that would kill it. I wish it will kill me. Please.
“Gather around!” said my lover. Oh, how beautiful she is. Like the brightest sunflower in a field of them, too beautiful to be plucked from its stem. She belongs where she roots— she will wilt otherwise. A group of wild, curious children squeals as they run up to her, sitting down in front of her with glistening eyes of wonder. She giggled, eye wrinkles forming ever so slightly as her eyelashes flutter down to touch her soft skin.
The hall was full today, everyone was still celebrating the conquest of the kingdom— being the third day in a row. Too quiet at home, too loud in the streets; the great castle hall was the only place left for a crook such as I.
“Now…” she leans down, seeing eye to eye with a few of the kids that were really close to her feet. “Who would like to hear about the great adventures of our hero?!” The kids laughed as they cheered, fueling her craving to entertain. “What adventure would it be today, little ones?”
A lot of them spoke at once, it was inaudible what all the requests were— it was doing my head in. Ringing in the ears, I clench my jaw as I lift my cup for another round of alky. I shut my eyes in frustration, trying to ignore the noise— it’s difficult when they are only a few feet away from me.
The glimpse of a corpse’s mouth filled with tainted blood, drooling down to paint their teeth and chin red welcomes me into the darkness. Their glossy eyes beckon me with guilt, they scream fear. I choke at the thought, drowning in the sea during a storm. My eyes shoot open as I bang my chest rapidly, thundering my racing heart.
She was too busy to notice, glancing left to right as she drank in the requests. She said nothing until one stood out to her.
“The fight between our hero and the villain!” shouted a kid from the back. The surrounding kids registered the suggestion and nodded along before shouting the same thing moments later. Soon, all were shouting the same thing— gaining attention from surrounding adults.
She grins, raising her hands to get them to calm down. “What a wonderful suggestion! It is personally my favourite tale, too!” She gets comfortable in her seat, looking up for the first time to meet eyes with mine. Her eyes twinkle, if it was any other day— it would’ve made my stomach do backflips. But today, it makes me sick. I dig my nails into my thighs, forgetting that my leather pants were made by her, forgetting that I cared for such sentiment.
She looks back down excitedly, her voice pitches as she announces: “I remember like it was just yesterday, but there is still the chance I will get things wrong! But fear not! Our brilliant hero is here to correct me if I am mistaken.”
She gestures to me, I hide my bewilderment as both children and adults alike turn their heads in my direction. I clear my throat, raising my cup in acknowledgment. It was her turn to clear her throat, receiving all their attention once more. My shoulders relax a bit, trying to ease tension for what is about to happen next.
“Now… It was a beautiful night.” her arms gracefully entailed her words, mesmerising them into the story. “...After finding out where the villain was hiding— we decided to give them the pleasure with a visit this time round.” She smirked darkly, setting the mood even more. “For once, they didn’t expect us— but the sly fox still had tricks up their sleeve.”
My heart was hammering against my ribcage; my head felt light as blood rushed to my head. The audience wasn’t the only ones imagining the tale, I was as well.
The smell of cinnamon and mint when we sneaked into their house— the hazy atmosphere from the mist that was indulged with candles, the sound of vinyl in the background. The threat of my knees caving in as I crept up the stairs; the perverted feeling that clung to my skin as framed pictures past the corner of my eye. My friend’s hand tightly grabbed onto the back of my shirt, following me like a leech that was scared to be shaken off their host.
Millions of thoughts had rushed to my head, I had calculated every single outcome possible.
All but one.
“He howled like a siren, drawing us in.” my lover pretended to claw at one of the kids that had started to lean against her leg. “He was bathing, we had chosen the perfect time to strike!” The audience laughed at his mockery. My breathing stifled at their response. For once, her storytelling didn’t hold any justice.
He was soaking in soapy water, rosemary and bubbles were floating on the surface. He sang. And oh stars, he sure knew how to sing. He put the vinyl that was playing downstairs to shame, he sang like the heavens were listening. We stood in front of the half-closed bathroom door, witnessing his shadowed figure massaging his scalp. He sighed as he caught his breath, he swayed with the beat in his head.
This isn’t the villain I know. I remember thinking at the time. Who is he?
“We charged forward, ordering him to surrender.” Her tone strengthened as her face turned stern, perfecting the role of acting. “His face painted fear, we thought we had caught him at last!”
Lies.
His face was struck with horror and shame. My friend pushed me aside, slamming the door open as he pointed his sword at him. The others heard the commotion and were making their way up the stairs as he froze in place. I stood where I had been the whole time, like a mere bystander that got off to seeing people suffer. His face grimaced with betrayal; his eyes were screaming out with shock— how was it possible for heroes to stoop lower than the villain?
I hissed as I lifted my cup once more, sight being blinded by the high ceiling lights. My throat burned; my legs shook.
She continued.
“We had him cornered! He was scrambling! But we trap and crush cockroaches with no trouble.” She raised her voice: “He ought to surrender! But he didn’t?!” She glanced at some of the adults. “He ended up playing dirty.”
He grabbed at the shower curtain as more of us entered the bathroom, he yanked it down to cover his waist— his tattoos kissed the edge of his shoulders in the moonlight. He scowled at us, cursing our bloodlines as he stood up. I looked away, staring down the dark hallway in panic— this isn’t what I planned to happen. Just as my eyes lost sight of him, he lit the bathroom on fire.
Perfumed smoke forced its way down my throat. I inhaled the sweet, charcoal scent as I gasped for air. Everyone ran out before being engulfed, stumbling downstairs to seek lower ground. The dried flowers and herbs were scattered on the bathroom floor, flames dancing across each petal as it blazed. I stared bewildered, looking up to see equally fiery eyes. He looked at me in fear for the first time; he looked at me in disgust.
“We rushed to safety, planning the next steps forward…” She had risen now, acting out movement and grace. “Our hero was still upstairs, eyeing down the weak villain.”
He overpowered me with ease.
He stood out of the bathtub, clinching the shower curtain as he crushed the burning herbs with his bare feet. He never broke eye contact as he started walking out of the bathroom. My legs finally moved, stepping in front of the burning bathroom. Towering over me, he looked down with pity— his hair dripped water that fell onto my ashamed face.
“Move, bunny,” he said quietly.
“N-no,” I fired back.
He sighed— with one hand, he shoved me aside. His feet planted onto the cool wood boards, looking down the stairs while thinking to himself. I charged forward, breathing rapidly as I aimed my hand to hit the back of his neck. He caught my hand without even regarding me, turning around moments later to slam me on the corresponding wall— arm restricted above my head.
“I am warning you,” he said. “That’s enough. I am done with you.”
He let go of me, walking down the dark hallway that was now filled with smoke.
“They fought as they escaped the smoke, but the villain was leading her down a trap!” She was standing behind me now. As she played out the scene, she slowly made her way to me in a way for me to contribute. “But oh, nothing was too witty for our lovely hero.” Her soft hands cupped my shoulders, I winced at her touch.
I remember reluctantly running after him, coughing up my certainty as he neared the door at the end. He stopped to open the door, I stopped to keep my distance. The door revealed stairs, leading upwards— to the attic. He turned to me, his face blank like the dead.
“Are you coming?” he questioned.
I followed as my answer.
The attic was undoubtedly his office, papers were everywhere and ink bottles were stacked on the shelves. The church-like stained glass window shone a shadow of colour on the floor, and he walked into the light. He looked down at a particular piece of paper beneath him, before stepping over it and crossing the other half of the room. He opened the wardrobe leaning against the parallel wall, the doors swang open with a thud— making me jump.
It was filled with cloaks and suits, majestic outfits for a majestic villain. He picked out a deep sapphire suit, attached to a dark red cloak. He paid me no regard once more, walking to a part of the room that was secluded. His muscles flexed as his face drew frustrated; his chest heaved when he stepped on his papers by accident. I stared out the window as he disappeared, still too shocked to speak or move on my own accord.
He gritted his teeth when he came out, dressed to impress. He must have found fitting shoes back there because his swollen feet were now replaced by clicks and clacks. His coarse fingers brushed through his damp hair, staring me down as he reached for his pocket.
“He had a secret weapon, see! Our villains have always been known for their bows and arrows, but this villain was especially known for his–”
Poison.
He drank from the small bottle that came from his pocket, dark lashes lifted as he spat it out towards my face. I finally moved, dodging the deadly splash as I drew out my sword— my eyebrows furrowed as I leaned down to an attacking stance. And all he did was smirk, he tossed the glass bottle aside as he drew out his own sword— it was green, no— not the blade, but the poison that covered it.
“They fought while we were clearing the fire— as they fought, the house shook from their attacks.” She pretended to wobble, holding on to me dramatically for support, receiving hearty laughter from her crowd.
“Just like old times, huh?” he shouted. He swung his sword towards my neck, which I reflected by swinging my sword back using my core strength. We were inches apart as we battled, our swords intertwined and made a horrible noise. I kicked at his abdomen, retreating slightly to catch my breath.
“I remember how you used to loathe me,” he paused. “How you were dead-set on defeating me.”
He doused his blade in more poison before continuing. “I always wondered why.”
I paid him no mind, swinging my sword forward as my heels tried digging into the floorboards. His face furrowed, irritated that I did not reply— he deflected my blow with his blade. We were in a stalemate once more, my arms shook against his strength. He looked down at me again, in pity. His nondominant hand lets go of his blade to grab at my face, making sure I wasn’t going to look away from him.
“Why do you use your arrogance but never your words?” he sighed.
“...He was getting tired— mostly due to the fact he swallowed his poison by mistake,” my lover smirked. “It didn’t take much more for our hero to take him down— especially considering that he was spending no effort in his usual mind games.”
“I’m quite disappointed in you, little hero,” he said mockingly. “How is it that you only wait for the perfect stimuli and then take action— rather than being your own person and making your own choices without environmental factors weighing you down?” He shoved my face away, he shifted his body weight onto his hip so he could exert more powerful blows. I was coughing, struggling to keep up with his strikes and lashes. “Provided by the fact you stood there stupidly as you watched me stroll around my office changing into my clothes.”
“How is it, you blame everyone but yourself?” he added. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I know your lovely little reputation of being a selfless, kind saviour— but in reality, when things start burning up in flames…you attempt to point fingers at everyone around you for ‘forcing’ you to make the choices you did.”
He kicked at my blade, my wrist bends unnaturally as I feel a tendon snap. I glared at him, with less anger but more fear. He used it as his fuel, as his saving point— he was playing chess with my mind… and winning.
“...Do you blame me for the death of your lover?”
I ceased.
“What-?”
“And then… there was silence,” my lover whispered. “It was strange, the house wasn’t shaking anymore— and we didn’t hear anything from either of the two.” She glanced down at me, smiling warmly before continuing. “We assumed the hero had won.”
He chuckled, and his laugh progressed to become more and more maniacal as he stared at my mazed face. He held his stomach, his dark curls shook as his shoulders moved with his lungs.
“Don’t try and act innocent now,” he finally spoke out. “I knew that your poor, precious lover was actually dead— god forbid that she should’ve just been laid to rest.” My eyes widened as he continued to speak, my mind screaming at him saying NO. “You blamed everyone,” he said. “And you couldn’t accept that the only person who actually tried loving you died.”
He reached into his pocket for more poison, but soon realised he had none left— and sighed. “Are you a believer in God, bunny?” he questioned. “No? …Hm. Well, do you like to play God, bunny?”
He stepped forward.
“Playing her great God? Digging up her flowery grave and replanting life into a wilted sunflower?” he spat out. “You’re sickening. A grave digger AND a cruel personification of a necromancer.” He came closer. I lifted my arms out in front of my face in shaky fear.
“You forced her to be happy when she took her life because she wasn’t,” he said, looking down at me once more. “Everyone thinks she was just blessed by the Gods in the clouds, giving another chance at life— no suspicion rose whatsoever. How did you revive her? Are you a necromancer?”
I stared blankly at him, breathing heavily as he looked at me with impatience.
“Not going to tell me your pity secrets, huh?” he spat out. “I figured as much, but wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt.” He sighed, leaning down so our noses were inches apart.
“Do you still loathe me, bunny?” he asked. “Well? Do you still blame me for the death of your lover?”
“But then… there was a sudden CRASH!” my lover shouted, slamming her fists onto the table in front of me, all the cups and plates wobbled at the intensity. “We came racing up— fearing for our hero!”
I stabbed him.
I jumped at him, forcing him to crash down onto the wooden floorboards. I clawed at his face while my sword twisted into his intestines. I scratched at his throat as I yelled at him. My mind was hazy, it must have been the smoke at the time. I was angry. Beyond angry. How dare he. How dare he?! HE was the one my lover loved, but he broke her heart by murdering the people from his past… she was a person from his past. She knew them. The dead ones. Every single one of them. Revenge was sweeter to him than love. Toying with people in a way to bring forth meaning and punishment to the word for their sins. She did nothing wrong. Nothing. Just another pawn for his plans.
He reminds me of the devil.
But I loved him. Even before her—I loved him first. She didn’t know, but he knew— and he loved me back. But I pushed him away. I was foolish when it came to love. And he was cold when it came to mercy. I pushed him towards her, she loved him, afterall— because she was a sunflower that looked for the sun, not a siren.
But then, sunflowers became my favourite flower.
They’re bright, special, and yello–
…
…there was red.
…
“We rushed up the strange staircase, smelling pungent chemicals and sourness—” my lover urged. “When we had reached the top, we saw the victory— we saw our hero still alive with the evil man finally defeated.”
No.
Nonononononono. Oh no. Oh god.
No please–
He just laid there. His face facing to one side; his glossy eyes stared into the deep space of nothingness. His mouth was slightly agape, and a pool of blood mixed with a hint of his green poison fell from his lips and down his chin. I sat on top of him, looking down at his lifeless body.
My eyes strayed from what was in front of me to one of the many papers scattered across the floor. It was the same paper as he glanced down at beforehand. It was a sketch of me, drawn specific to detail and flattery. His signature kissed the edge of my shoulder.
“...Do you blame me for the death of your lover?”
“..We saved the kingdom! We brought justice back home,” she announced happily. “We united everyone sane and kind to become one kingdom, so we could work together in harmony.” She pressed her lips together before smiling. “Hail to our hero!”
“Long live the hero!” chanted everyone in the hall.
I wish I had drowned in his poison.
***
Most of the kids were taken by the hand of their parents and went home. A lot of the drunks were snoring near the fireplaces. My lover sang to me as she brushed my hair out.
“You know, you remind me of a rabbit,” she pointed out. “You’re quick, smart, adorable… and have really fluffy hair!”
I stare at her, half registering what she was telling me.
“You’re my amazing little bunny,” she giggled. “I love you, bunny.”
I bit my lip in suffocation.
“...I love you too, sunflower.”
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🌻
In truth
Archive #15 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's Note: Hallo, second poem of the new series is here! Enjoy :)
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In truth
The Queen’s light-hearted winter.
Cold, bitter,
We always knew he was a quitter.
The heavens, the uranian,
Look at the new Heather!
Romanticists broach vastly
To a new moon.
The witless prince thought he could swoon?
Ha.
Praise the rise of the skies,
Praise the rise of the star clusters.
My heart, oh my,
To see someone’s whole life in a night’s sky.
The yearn, the mourn, the emptiness,
For something that wasn’t even there.
A new moon, or a new dark age?
The Queen’s dark spring,
Pasque flowers and lilies of valleys.
Worshipping a wedding ring,
Bewailing a regrettable demise.
From dawn to nightfall,
From love to loathe.
An oath meant to be broken.
Flatter thy, satisfy he
Who dares question the crown.
Hate, hate.
Ball gowns and wedding cake.
How can one forget
The Heather, heaven, heathen?
I’m not one to shiver and click
When one thought they were slick.
Who thought a royal like me could see a fallen crown?
I can be sincere,
I don’t need the roses to be red.
Just listen to me
And there won’t be bloodshed.
Who dares to question the crown?
Who dares to question me?
Pasque flowers and lilies does not mean you’re free.
She had to die,
The skies were aligned.
The new moon is my oath
And it will not break.
Which they seem to not understand…
I’m always awake.
Oh, welcome the new dark age.
Oh, welcome the new cage.
Pixies and fairies does not belong to me
But what’s the point of trying to flee?
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Star clusters of pasque flowers, the series
Archive #17 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's Note: and here we are - the whole series in one post. Let me know if you like this! Enjoy :)))
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Star clusters of pasque flowers
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Fairy Salt
Meadows, ponds, butterflies and all
The jealousy, envy towards a thrall.
To have dreams with one can break walls.
Saturn has one too many rings to fall
Out of line, out of sight.
Hail storms help those to recall
The attic, the dust, that was used to stall.
Oh, hail one that dares to crawl
Out of sight, out of mind.
Sunflowers, tulips, roses and all,
The fairy that withdraws the pall.
A spiteful befall.
Ocean waves, known to leman,
The echoing within a shell hidden under damp sand.
Floating in space, drifting on wood.
Isolation, fear,
Scent of salt and rotten pier.
A story told by sailors and elves alike,
A history, a history to dislike.
An entombment used to engulf the rage,
A minor death, left to drown and age.
One can remember some
While one can remember all.
But she– the one who dares to question,
Argue against her majesty, his bride,
Remembers all.
As it was she,
Who died.
The attic, the castle,
The meadow and the sea–
Something that one tends to forget because no one is free.
Do you see her soul?
Do you see the fairy fly?
Or have you forgotten
That night–
When the flowers started to die.
Wither, winter, spring and grow,
The elves dancing– prancing for gold.
But one elf does not twirl or beg,
They are meant for the flower bed.
Lying and crying,
Mourning and laughing.
The smell of salt and sound of hail,
Oh, please don’t forget the veil.
Flowers,
The honey, the comb.
Iris, Peony, and Manuka are thrown
Not at her tomb stone, no.
But at the majesty’s, the lord,
And no one below.
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In truth
The Queen’s light-hearted winter.
Cold, bitter,
We always knew he was a quitter.
The heavens, the uranian,
Look at the new Heather!
Romanticists broach vastly
To a new moon.
The witless prince thought he could swoon?
Ha.
Praise the rise of the skies,
Praise the rise of the star clusters.
My heart, oh my,
To see someone’s whole life in a night’s sky.
The yearn, the mourn, the emptiness,
For something that wasn’t even there.
A new moon, or a new dark age?
The Queen’s dark spring,
Pasque flowers and lilies of valleys.
Worshipping a wedding ring,
Bewailing a regrettable demise.
From dawn to nightfall,
From love to loathe.
An oath meant to be broken.
Flatter thy, satisfy he
Who dares question the crown.
Hate, hate.
Ball gowns and wedding cake.
How can one forget
The Heather, heaven, heathen?
I’m not one to shiver and click
When one thought they were slick.
Who thought a royal like me could see a fallen crown?
I can be sincere,
I don’t need the roses to be red.
Just listen to me
And there won’t be bloodshed.
Who dares to question the crown?
Who dares to question me?
Pasque flowers and lilies does not mean you’re free.
She had to die,
The skies were aligned.
The new moon is my oath
And it will not break.
Which they seem to not understand…
I’m always awake.
Oh, welcome the new dark age.
Oh, welcome the new cage.
Pixies and fairies does not belong to me
But what’s the point of trying to flee?
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A human in a mushroom house
A funeral for someone who dares to question power,
a shadow obligated to cower.
A love towards another could be a one way stream,
while the amour propre of the other could be dead scream–
a sleeping lake.
When will my Inamorato wake?
When will fairies start singing for thy
Instead for the Queen?
Oh, her majesty, the Queen,
What a joke, what a pity!
Nothing seems to make them witty,
Their own Queen died, not from poison.
Pixie dust doesn’t fix everything, does it?
His love, his bride.
A fairy that reminded him of the clouds
Who kissed the sun in a hush lullaby.
As the moon, red as blood can be,
Replaced it at night.
The Queen was replaced, yes!
By a human, no less.
A minor death, left to rot…
As the human queen, was never caught.
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Let's
Archive #18 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's Note: hey, didn't I tell you to let go? (enjoyy)
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Let's
Paint me, Like I have never seen art before. If I didn't know what beauty was, How would you describe it to me? I don't know what love is, The affection is confusing. Language is spoken through the absorption of emotion. If it sinks into my skin, Would I make you uncomfortable? If it was lingering in the air, Would you hold your breath?
Thousands of thoughts and not one original, To my sane and reflection. Does our heart sync when I crush My feelings into crested moons? Is love pain? What is pain? Would you show me if I had asked for it? If hoarding became my plate, Would you still feed me?
Let me, Let me go, Let me love, Let me suffer, Let me love, Let me go, Let me.
Sweet nothings is my addiction, Would you whisper into my deaf ear? Sing me good night when I cry. "Just because" Do I crave you or the imagination Giving me what I want through magic and wishes. I want you to read my mind, Living in there gets tiring. I wish you knew what I want, Is it hard to want more than just the bare? Minimum? What is the bare minimum? Magic is not real and so is my perception. Language is my addiction. Would you let me love?
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Winged
Work #3 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's Note: this is one of my biggest works. I really hope you enjoy this one. This is inspired by the Obsession poem series. Debrief: Word count: 1694 Warnings: gore, horror, death, sensitive topics.
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Winged
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'Do you see her flying?'
Is all of a brusque rhetoric opine. Even the blind could descry such a figure.
Biblically meticulous angels are a frightening, foreign perception for the faint of heart. But a feminine adolescent human with ivory, coriaceous wings? A sight for sore eyes, a sight to behold. Uncorrupted and innocent, dove-like as a symbol of societal freedom and peace. A pleaser designed by birth to conjure movement and enthrallment for the ravenous. A perishable's dream bride, adorned with white like untouched snow on the first night of winter.
Kings have egos. Compelled to order and empower by any means necessary. Vestal subjects have pride. Their crest adorned with white is comparable to celestial tears. Combatants have glory, taking— saving— risking lives by ineludible ordinance. And evil? All they have is revenge.
Scarlet wounds, blood vessels ripped apart unseemly by brute force. A perfect canvas, stained and poisoned by acid rain. Tainted with colour, her dress subsumes the surrounding ichor from the broken statue. If it wasn't for the gore giving away the depiction of clay and adroitness, she would've been a Renaissance angel built to be worshipped like the holiness structure itself. The venerable church has been home to the slain of sin, the keeper of the sorrow and celebration of nuptials. Its outer walls creak and moan at the sounds of howling winds, angered at the sight inside the chambers of salvation. High ceilings may have constructed envy to those whose house is neither grand nor tall enough to withhold such metaphorical heights of a ceiling— likewise a telling of the staircase to the heavens above.
The beams are indestructible by delineation, holding the shouldering weight of the god's misfortune of reckless decision-making. Howbeit, ladders like vines on great oak trees enable worshippers to maintain the tidiness of the “humble” estate; the beams are wide enough to dance to the opera choir singing, whose dedication to the ones living in the unbothered clouds. For someone to climb up the vines to reach the tallest branches on the great oak is a possibility within a thousand coin flips, though ought to question the means behind such a purpose is certain. Revenge is a rather peculiar sin, anyone could imagine it as such. The drive behind it is sorrowful to the do-er, but judgement day does not care for the iniquitous.
Revenge creates motivation, determination is effectual. To train like a knight, one can easily carry a dead weight on their cracked shoulders up the staircase to heaven. To study with pride, one would know what people see as their true saviours— their delusional hallucinatory of an angel. How to dress, how to please. White and lacy as a wedding dress, pure and lush as a celibate.
The victim?
How curious, the devil pondered. Perhaps a pleaser at heart? As such:
A devoted woman to her word, a persona whose love for the weak and vulnerable is overpowering. Like spiked wine, a goblet filled with luxurious liquid gold— misleading from its appearance— a perfect femme fatale. Its insides tell its truth, how we're all the same within— an inescapable peracute. But who said to drink it? Use it for self delectation? What a poor magnificent object, she doesn't want to be mere treasure. She is the perfect vestal subject, what more could you want? Perhaps she is more fitting as a villain, always seeking more. Greedy, much?
Yes, a perfect sacrifice indeed. An impeccable example of the ambition of a “devil”'s revenge. A church can have followers, so a mere cult can be concordant. While the title of being a cult is a fragment of exaggeration, the apostles will work well in such a plan. They, the misfortunate, seek the pained for comfort… paltry sympathy can only do so much, however. But it's only just sufficient enough. Manipulation? How insulting. Ultimately, it is up to those who seek change to take heed. Hide fleetingly, pretend to associate with everyone just like in the old days. The crowd knows when to act.
Evil can kill, there is nothing else to it. Have you ever wondered how it feels to bathe in virgin blood? It's disappointing, such fuss for it is foolish. The only real kick was the twisted face of telling. That face alone is a blank, pitiful canvas turned into the definition of art itself. Oh, you could paint a thousand frescoes with such an expression. It doesn't disturn her prepossessing features, but it does make her look older. Such complicated, big emotions shouldn't even be within reach for such a young fawn. In another life, surely her underlying intelligence would serve others more than just being a lap to cry on, but in this taken existence— her sheltered mind breaks from the sudden intensity of trahison des clercs. This isn't what her story was supposed to be in her eyes. Ah, regrettable unfortunate. ‘Not favoured by fortune, was she?’, the fallen angel cruelly smirked at the thought.
The evisceration was excessively long. The risk of blood ruining the white was too prodigious, though such fastidious concerns were needless in the end— her neck provided enough liquid genealogy, painting the front of her dress crimson. The colour of hell, of sin. The tainted heaven, the poisoned goblet. Her wings were made from dove feathers, plucked with attention to detail— a maiden in a meadow, choosing and picking the best of flowers could not compare. The bone structure of the wings was genius, specific bones were chosen from certain organisms to create a grand juxtaposition from angel to bird. Sticking each chosen feather to the structure was tedious, but a hyper-fixed maniac does not sway from such work. Inspired by the Winged Victory of Samothrace, the wings belong on her back. But her impressive bone anatomy is in the way...
...with the scapulae removed, the wings fitted with such grace and ease. Death has blessed her with paleness, such colour is the reminiscence of a statue. But her wasted life must be highlighted, must be remembered. Just like all those Renaissance angel paintings, after all— that is the only perception of angels that people will embrace.
It is always about beauty and selflessness, never should one ought to become a fallen one.
Tough to touch, the rope that scratched up skin with small amounts of friction has proven to be practical. A satirical necklace for her elegant neck— tied down to halt the escape of her soul to the sky above. Wings may have been granted, but freedom of flying is not an option. But one as kind and saving as her needs a taster of such, the vines are no competition of strength with her figure in the devil's grasp. The perception of the stairway to heaven is certainly a sight of lush imagination, except the beams are thrilling as a ballroom for the bride-to-be and the avenger. Humming, content with glee; evil looks down to the church below, to where the mighty cross stands at the front of the sect.
Their creation is more impressive, without the use of a single nail. Prideful, the striking idea of overshadowing the lord himself is great. Tying the knot where evil saw fit, the weeping angel longed for the higher stakes before being pushed down, down to her fate. For a second, the wings may have tried to lift the dead and fly up— but the crushing weight of sorrow brought both down with a crack of bone. Her neck crooked, leaning to the left with no resting place for her head, she floats in front of her lord. Her feet swayed slightly, still savouring the dance from before as blood dripped from her blue-hue toes. Such pale eyes never saw the light of the sun again without the stained church glass praying through.
***
The morning prayers, on time as usual for another hour of adored hope from the public. The doors opened, creaking and moaning its warning. The crowd is loud, chatting and laughing with optimistic cravings for their future. A future that she will never see. The crowd silences, and the cessation of movement brings shock and dread to the hearts of his lord's worshippers. She hangs in front of their eyes from afar, suppressed into death. It was when her guts came with a sickening "splat" onto the ground beneath her feet from her tedious exoneration that broke the silence. It was heaven's gift to them, the insides that paint the truth of the world… which they did not accept. There was then shrieking– some are praying, some have become sick– while the followers, the actors— they chanted at the sacrifice, sang with glee.
All was in chaos until he, the evil, the devil himself— slid down from the oak ladder. One of his sinful hands still grasped at the ladder as his heels clicked onto the cool, stone-tiled floor. Some of his leeching zealots pointed at him, eager to know his final motive.
Why such a plan? Why such a sacrifice?
Sick revenge for mortals that need to be taught a lesson.
Would they finally get it? Would they finally understand the suffering?
No.
They never do. They never pay attention until it’s too late.
Gritting his teeth while his jaw clenches at the strike of realisation, he turns away from the selfish sinners. Has all his cruelty to her been all for nothing? His free, bloody hand carries a singular candle— which he tosses at the corpse. She lights up in flames, her laced dress burning into black ash as it climbs up her strained body. He looks in awe at his doing, the followers are shaken to their core. The thrown candle had crashed onto a parallel wall from directly hitting the “effigy”, miraculously causing arson, thus setting fire to the church itself. All his cruelty to her will not be all for nothing. The church doors slam shut behind the crowd, beckoning them in. As the house of holiness burns up to hell’s temperatures— he, who has been staring at her the whole time, finally questions the followers and himself:
'Do you see her flying?'
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"👏just 👏because 👏you're 👏traumatised 👏doesn't 👏mean 👏you 👏can 👏go 👏around 👏and 👏traumatise 👏 others 👏" - saturnfairycat
Muffins, chapter one
Perfection meets Perfectionist #4 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's Note: continuing the chapter lessgooooooooo!! You know what is a funny fact about this? The reference to the queen dying was actually written before she passed away... #riplizzy Enjoy!
Chapter One, continued
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"And here I thought that wretched alarm clock was my worst enemy…" Etta thought as they fiddled with the clutch, peeking up the hill. Every man and their dog was up and about, Etta felt like an ant in the heavy packed line of traffic.
"Well, if you got up half an hour ago, you wouldn't be in this situation."
Etta rolled their eyes. "I can hear you smirk from here, February."
They heard her giggle, which softened their annoyed expression a bit. "They had your favourite muffin at the bakery today."
Etta almost slammed their foot onto the wrong pedal in shock, mouth agape and stared down at their phone. "What? "
The other end of the phone went silent for a second, Etta found it strange-- but then they realised she was trying her best to hold in laughter. "I was lonely, you know~ sitting by myself in the corner of the bakery. What is a girl to do in a store that sells rhubarb and thyme custard muffins?"
Etta's heart raced, they moved their jaw from side to side. "A nerdy girl like you would be trying to read every single book available in that store, you know, since it's a bakery AND a book store."
February tutted with pity from Etta's sulky tone. "You obviously don't know this nerdy girl then, because I practically have done that. So I got bored, the two remaining muffins on the top shelf did sound fantastic at that moment~"
The betrayal was too much, Etta groaned into the steering wheel.
"Revenge, darling, it's called revenge."
Etta mockingly worded February as the traffic started to ease up at their mercy. "The boss isn't going to like my excuse this time, maybe I should try and find my resume," Etta joked as they traced their skirt's pattern.
February paused for a moment, this time Etta knew it was serious. "You know… the boss and I are worried about you."
Etta furrowed their brows as they pulled into the right carpark. "Why, because I've been late twice?" It came off as snappy, which Etta didn't attend.
"Well… it's not just that, darling. You haven't been talking to anyone for weeks now. We didn't know you were behind on your project until last Tuesday."
Etta slammed their car door, instantly regretting the decision when the sound echoed through the empty carpark. 'I don't need the airbags to go off so my car can get written off, right now-- thanks me.'
"It wasn't intentional, I just don't like people-- you out of all people would understand that pet peeve of mine, February. And besides, this is a large project that I'm not even in charge of-"
February sighed while Etta pushed the elevator button with their carpet burned elbow. "But I- we just don't understand, you were excited for this project. You wanted to be involved with this project, then one day you turned up to work looking as if the queen died!"
Etta kicked at the wall, silent and weak as a drowning fish. February took the silence as a hint. "I'm sorry Mx Sallow, I am just concerned for your wellbeing at this time."
Etta heard a delayed echo, it's not coming from the phone-- they immediately straightened their back and tightened their tie. "Good morning, Sallow." Etta heard this twice, and reluctantly scrunched up their nose to prepare themself.
"Or should I say, good afternoon?" The elevator chanted its arrival as the shiny silver doors creaked open.
Etta softened their face into their customer service smile. "Good afternoon, Señor Gabriel."
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To be continued...
...why must it be a prince?
Archive #19 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's Note: holy shit?? It's been a while since we have seen an archive. This one is a small short that I wrote for @v-for-venus, so hope y'all enjoy!
....why must it be a prince?
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"My princess!"
A second set of foot steps echoed through the empty corridor. I stop in my tracks, glass heels clicking against each other. I close my eyes for a second, forcing myself to not turn around. Taking in a breath, I click my tongue as I shot back.
"You address me as 'Your Highness', Knight."
The footsteps halted, the slight creaking of iron was the only thing heard for a couple of seconds. I tried my best to not fidget with my hands, as it was "very unlady-like" according to other kingdoms. I couldn't deal with this right now. Why aren't they saying anything? I need to go to the meeting roo--
"So, is that what you want me to call you in bed, Your Hig-" "Enough!"
I turned around, glaring at the smirking knight. Their soft curly hair, their soft lips, their smooth skin, their beautiful eyes-- stop with the distractions. It was getting hard to ignore the rapid heartbeats I was experiencing, the blood rushing into my head making me slightly dizzy as I force myself to not give in.
"I don't have time for this, I am your Queen now, which means you're not my personal knight anymore. I don't need to associate with you all the time." "But you want to, no?"
Irritated, jealous of their boldness in such a situation-- why must they make this difficult? I walk up to them, heels swift and arm reaching out to grab at the scarf I had made them not so long ago. Thumb pressing against their cute chin while I look down at their kneeling state. Why am I so ticked off, anyway? I have always been told from ever since I could remember that I will get the prince of my dreams, and yet… I don't want to go to the meeting. The meeting is suppose to be the most important cue in my current royal life, I will be introduced to the 'love of my life', and yet…
"Listen to your heart, Princess."
I sigh, my face softens as I realise what my destiny has truly lead me to. I cannot fight it forever.
I look into their eyes, the ones I love waking up to in secrecy. My lips open in a strained relief.
"….You're my prince, the love of my life."
Knight in sheep's clothing
Archive #20 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's Note: this is sequel to the post from yesterday! hope you enjoy like @v-for-venus did :)
Knight in sheep's clothing
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Night of the ball, the one day that has been long awaited for by me as a child. The warm lights showering down upon those who are dancing and laughing. Groups of smartly dressed couples and nobles laughing and talking while holding glasses of champagne. Gowns of all colour-- velvet material that feels like silk when touched. Curls and pearls, bow ties and shoulder pads.
So why, in Lord’s name, am I dreading this evening?
Perhaps, it’s because I have been shooting down the idea of meeting princes there. Princes- not prince. The meeting obviously didn’t go well, I managed to convince that the lowly, egotistical, greedy man wasn’t good enough for the daughter of the Northern kingdom. Of course, in the back of my throbbing mind-- a perfect man came up as a suggestion instead. They are absolutely no man, though.
They are my prince, my perfect angel. My knight in shining armour.
But alas, who am I kidding? I could never inform my parents that I’ve fallen in love with someone that wasn’t even a nobleman. Which is why, the ball’s date was moved forward with more urgency. I must admit, I was excited to have been able to pick out my gown. Pink with diamond stars climbing their way up to the waistline, puffy with lace and silk-- ribbons tightening the package, to be sent off as a pretty present to a prince that I will never love. This present doesn’t belong to anyone’s hand, but I am willing to be unwrapped by a certain curly-haired swordsperson.
I should probably get dressed. If it was up to my maids, they would have been fussing over me-- but I’ve sent them on a wild goose chase. “But alas, I cannot even begin to change! How could I, if I can’t be in the very presence of my family’s heirloom? It’s plated with emeralds and sapphire, gold and white gold that can shine through any evil-- my mother said I should wear it to the ball! But it’s not here! You must fetch it, otherwise I will not even look at my gown or shoes.”
The panic on their face is still lingering in the back of my mind, making me smile away the frown. Demanding orders in such a commanding manner, queen material-- am I wrong? But if I have to marry in order to rule my own kingdom, then the royal blood is not for me. Even if my future spouse may be in the crowd at the ball, face covered with a mask, hidden from my judgmental eyes. I will not tolerate anyone that isn’t my true love.
Where would they be now, right this moment? Would they be on patrol? Would they be on their steed, ready to gallop into the night if I had asked?
…It seems that I have made up my mind. Ignoring my gown, I rip myself out of the “princess” dress I was currently in. Knocking over the tower of useless gifts, I swing open my closet door to ponder on what dress is best fit. I ought to impress her, they would be in shock if I were to ask them to leave with me with no such plan. Perhaps…
I’m taking too long.
I grab at the dress that has been calling out to me, while it might not be the best in terms of decency. It would be enough to distract my knight over the more obvious of things. Perhaps, it might be best to change undergarments as well, to further match the motive I am trying to get across. Annoyed by the fact that only the princes got the dress code of wearing a mask, the literal princess did not get such a dress code that matched the theme. Who planned this ball, anyway?
I need to cover my identity… My eyes tinkle at the moonlight, shining down at the rough fabric of a cloak. The cloak-- ivy green with the visual of the dark forestry from my window, had lace stitched onto the hooded area. The handwork, of course-- by my very own lover. This is perfect.
Well, I did not know what I expected.
If they were on patrol, of course other knights would be, too. You idiot! I’m cornered, I managed to circle back to the one place I did not want to go. The ball was being held in the glass houses, mainly the largest glass house. Its purpose is solely for dancing and parties, so the glass house was designed for much so. Everyone would be able to see me if I were to approach too close, but here I am-- being surrounded by knights as my back is pressed against the entrance of the ball.
“Halt! Now that you are cornered, reveal yourself!”
I swallowed hard, gritting my teeth as I was unable to see the faces of my knights as the hood did well in hiding my dignity.
“My my, I don’t think that’s how you ask a lady to show her skin now, is it?”
Smirking, I only wish to see their stunned faces. But what now, your royal majesty? You don’t need to see far to know that their footsteps are coming closer, probably pointing their spears and swords at you with much caution. What now?!
“What is the meaning of this?”
A different voice? Much mellow, yet strong in tone? I find my balance in my legs once more just before the doors open to the gates of my hell. I am greeted by someone standing next to me, though who? I can only imagine.
“My Sire, this foreign woman was seen on the grounds of her majesty the princess! We were only concerned for her safety as she might pose a threat.”
I take a step away from the stranger, only afraid of what they might do or say. He must be a prince or noble, with his confrontation, he just took a massive step forward in the game of winning the princess. I must leave before this falls deeper into chaos.
“Is that so? Well, then I must escort this lady off the grounds. I’m sure someone such as her would be too fragile to do any harm to the princess.”
Angered by his words, I didn’t stop myself in time and shot back.
“Instead of being all high and mighty, my good ol’ gentleman, how about worrying your own game? Don’t you have her highness to win over?”
He takes a step towards me, breaking the distance that I tried to create. He leans down and holds out his gloved hand.
“Oh don’t worry. I’ve already won over the princess.”
Wait a tick, this voice-
“Please step away from the threat, my good sire. Let us handle this.”
“Enough!” I saw the opening as soon as the stranger entered the situation, and as soon as the knights let their guard down I ran for my life. Heels clicking at the stoned pathway, I hear the racket of metal behind me as I looked up to the starry sky. I laughed as I was catching out of breath, I am so close to the gate, so close to freedom. They would know where to find me, there is only really one place I can go-- the big oak tree, where we had our first kiss.
They will find me there.
But what I did not expect was one of the knights going as far as aiming an arrow. It struck the end of my dress, causing me to fall and brace for impact. I close my eyes in defeat. This is it, I’ve failed. How could I be so foolish, is it so foolish to want to love and rule freely?
I reopen my eyes in shock. The feeling of silk on my hands, the feeling of warmth cupped my face, the feeling of a sword next to my shoulder. Someone had caught me when I fell. And I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
“So it was you, you sly knight.”
You chuckled, heart beating like wildfire crackling on dry log against my ear.
“I wanted to impress you by playing as a noble, but apparently you rather played the rebel role.”
I clutched my fist into your sleeve, the smell of your cologne filled my head with love clouds and milkweed.
“Save me, oh knight~ oh my noble, they out to catch me for I am a rebel.”
You lift your sword slightly, while still embracing me.
“Right away, my princess.”
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Pinewood
Archive #22 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's note: short one this one, but hope you enjoy!
Pinewood
---
We are nothing at all.
...
...
But,
I would still answer your call, Even if it was in the middle of the night, 10 past five in the morning, And you're in trouble.
I would drop the world that I cup in my hands to save you from the dark. But when I'm alone and it gets cold, And I asked you for matches, You don't even lend me one.
You say that my cheeks are red so I must be warm, But I'm sick of bleeding to stain their appearance.
If I was the last tree standing in a snowy embrace of forever winter, Would you still chop me down even if I provided you with shelter?
You're cold, you complain; I'm tired, I don't say.
Even as a strong tree, I will never get to see the day where my leaves welt, and my trunk's spirals are too many to count. For my roots will stay clinging to the soil,
While my branches' ashes are coughed out
From your lungs into the cold,
Still air.
Being Vegan
Archive #23 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's note: yep... this one is definitely more intense than the rest. So it definitely deserves a debrief. Debrief: NSFW !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (I don't wanna be cancelled thank u). Warnings: gore, mentions of cannibalism, torture, strong imaginary. Probably 16+ MINIMUM. Anyway happy meal lmao
Being Vegan
-----------------------------------
I'm thirsty,
drowning in the sea of blood.
None of that quenches me, none of it satisfies me.
Fuck,
I'm so thirsty.
I need a beating heart,
a live one.
I'm hungry,
A pile of organs at my disposal, cursing me with famine.
Your heart on my platter,
I devour it whole like a cowardly beast whose starved beyond saving.
Starved?
I'm so starved.
Hold me,
for all the love in the world, hold me.
You are my last meal on death row, my last moments in heaven.
My bones ache at the emptiness I feel,
My marrow sucked dry from the greedy.
I wear your bite marks in my flesh like a jewel, a crown to behold.
The hunger never subsides, your skin never healed.
If I bore my eyes out for you,
Would you see your starved reflection as you stare?
Forget all olives that reside in your gardens,
Use them,
My eyeballs,
Pickled for your drinks.
I do not wish to waste,
For I will grow sick if I consume rotten meat.
But it is hard not to admire such beauty that your anatomy frames.
And I cannot refrigerate you, it will ruin the taste.
…
…
…
Am I going crazy?
This is beyond lust, beyond hunger.
For I cannot see a world without your eyes sewn shut.
Is this lifetime not for me?
I do not wish to be another guinea-pig, a test subject for-
A play,
An orchestra,
A script,
A role.
You are my crime, my will to live.
My bones ache because my sensitive teeth make me wince,
Sinking into your flesh,
Chipping my canines from biting into your hip bone.
I want to saw my skull in half,
Detach half of my brain,
and place one of your halves to fill the void.
I want to clench a fistful of your hair,
staring into your hollow eye sockets.
Does bruised skin taste different from fair skin?
I'm finished, I cannot move on.
Your nails dig into my intestines, twisting them to make me gag.
For gods sake, stop tormenting me.
I would devour you in a heartbeat,
But you would rather savour me;
My rotting flesh,
Cursing your tongue.
Are you not afraid of hunger, you starved animal?
Bite me, rip me, end me.
For I will love you, a thousand times over,
If it means I will have the last bite.
Bedroom Creature
Archive #24 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's Note: coincidentally, this piece reminds me of this song:
Maybe I am their secret ghost writer (I am kidding). Enjoy!
Bedroom Creature
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I am one with my room.
I pace back and forth Below my dream catcher and sketches, Picturing a life where I am never bored. Bored? Bored, the thought echoes. I'm tired of wasting Time and embracing My thoughts when I have things to do.
The red string from my Christmas Hangs above my yarn and needles. Humming and refracting; Spending too much time thinking. I contemplate the world's actions Whilst it ignores my pleas.
I can sing and dance but If it takes one person to drag me back down, I would rather it being my future self Than someone who would drain My pouring faucet heart.
An endless supply of care and need, Drank and left empty; A desert in my awakening. I am gullible, For I am in need.
Stuff my insides with stuffing, Zip my mouth shut under my trophies. My glass eyes amongst my soft toys, Left pickering over nothing.
Papers and memories scattered on my floor, If I dwell too long lying face down then I shall be One with dead strands of hair on carpet.
Does art scare you? Abstract or realism? I am left to ponder whether whose who hate different Are different and just don't know how to Paint themselves black and white.
A person is a person until they can't be; Art can be anything even when it can't be. Hence the squiggly lines on maths papers. How innocent yet invasive, Squiggly lines did nothing wrong. We draw squiggly lines all the time- I imagine for the chaos in my brain to be drawn this way.
Black, White, Blue, Green, Purple.
My inner thoughts and rants are not just static, But I wish for it to be splashes of crashing colours. I don't intend to sort and organise My papers into folders Because my room is already one.
I stand beneath my decorated room, Oftentimes I cough and whine, Wondering when I will ever leave this room To be the art I am meant to be whilst a desert in an empty, Thirsty Sea.
God is dead, long live mortality
Archive #25 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's note: this one is slightly different, more abstract and structured. let me know what you think - enjoy!
God is dead, long live mortality
-----------------------------------------
I believe it has come to my attention that I have to re-introduce myself. For it seems, even you cannot recognise me.
A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, my name is the same-- but my heart beats in a different rhythm.
Freedom is a broad topic that even god may not be familiar with. Being stuck with mortals for the rest of their existence sounds anything but like freedom, from my own record. Who cares about greed and lust, anyway?
Alas, I've been impaled by the sin of pride-- I can drown all who have wronged me with my complexity. Some mortals believe in me, while others dare to look the other way. But when the world starts to burn, when the envy takes over your precious innocent blood, I am the one who slips off your sly tongue.
Admit it, you can't stand me, can you? Or is it, that you've fallen for a god? My my, call me the devil if you will-- but that is quite the ironic name to give to your lord and savior, isn't it?
To be worshipped by someone who is the closest perception of heaven is like forgetting my past of immortals that relied on me to fix their lives. To be with a mortal that I would die for is like eating the forbidden fruit with everything to lose.
Snow Cones
Perfection meets Perfectionist #5 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's note: this one is definitely heavy. and VERY taken out of context, it is a continuation of the current storyplot, but just very well ahead into the story. enjoy!
Snow Cones
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It was 2 am, when I heard you scream.
I could tell that it was from the top of your lungs. As if all the rage and frustration finally let itself free from years of resentment.
My body shook to the core, the feeling of my hairs standing up at the back of my neck made my blood turn cold. I was beyond afraid, but the thought of you in danger wasn't the only thing that came across my mind. There was a hint of insanity in your shriek, the echo afterwards screamed "revenge". Legs shaking, weak to the bone-- it took a lot to get me to move.
Will I be able to save you? Was the question. Will I be able to stop you? Was the answer.
If you continuously smash against a mirror, cracking it to pieces… at what point, do you stop? At what point, do you apologise and mend your wounds? If all the reflections were painted red, what's the difference in living now than being in hell? Your hatred can be smelt miles away. The crunching noise of your shoes under sharded glass as you kick and fling your arms to the ground with rage. The odd placements of hair was soaking under the blood that poured from your scraped skin. The skin on your arms was like a cracked mirror, in sections of shards threatening to break off completely. You yelled as you flung yourself on your knees, your eyes squinted as you winced at the cuts and impalement-- but still determined and blinded as you throw your hands up to the heavens. You looked down before you, at the frame of which held a quarter worth of what was left from destruction, hands clenching to one big, tight fist.
If a prayer wasn't suppose to be passive, this was the best demonstration I have ever seen. I could barely move. You were in a completely different world, and it felt as if I was just watching through a window, like some sort of sick movie. Do I have to smash through windows to reach you, too? I try to take a step forward, fighting with my voice as I briefly let out a peep of sound. Nothing was heard from you, I bet not even the sound of your heart banging on your rib cage could be acknowledged by you. Will I be able to stop you? The answer was also a question.
You closed your eyes for a brief moment, as you let your fist ride the heavens down to earth, gaining purposeful speed as you opened your eyes. The crashing sound of flesh and bone against glass was sickening, like listening to a bone saw cutting through someone's skull. There was a moment of silence. Where you stayed still. It appeared that you were enjoying the quiet, or perhaps, the sound of more blood gushing out of yourself.
It was the perfect time for me to move.
But how can I? When I have been watching this whole time? How could I find the audacity to save you now, when I couldn't even stop you?
Then there was a sound. Not a very loud one, but it grew in intensity as you threw your head back to the starry night. You laughed as bloody tears poured down your face, as a pool of your own blood surrounded you like a ritual circle. You laughed even when your voice cracked, you laughed even when you saw me. What was the look you gave me as you laughed at my face?
"Pathetic."
You eventually stop laughing. Your face turns cold as you continue to stare at me.
"Leave, February." I step a step back on instinct, the shock of your seemingly normal voice made my finger tips feel like ice. "I said go." I look with desperation in your eyes, they appear… normal. Have you realised I was here the whole time? Just… watching? Words finally escape my throat. "Etta, please-".
"I said leave, February. You saved me once, and I am thankful. But you can't save me for the second time, so just let me go."
I love you. And for the longest time I did not know whether it was platonic… or, something more. The conflict of the choices-- legally, I can't just let you be. But in terms of bonds, this is probably aligned for us at the get-go. The feeling I felt when I was around you, like I was able to help-- like I made a difference in your life and you felt the difference. If the effort and time I spent was really worth it, then how come it all came down to this? Haven't I given enough? All this time, when I thought I was being selfless-- have I truly been selfish?
"Etta, look… I. I don't know how to convince you to let me stay by your side. H-however, I do know that we're in our twenties. We're p-proper adults! We can make heart shaped pizzas around this time of night when we have watched too many movies, or eat snow cones earlier than we usually do-- or buy all the available awful muffins you like at the cafe. We can go climb snowy mountains or attempt to find Atlantis. We're not 17 anymore, we can do anything we want by our comfort levels…. a-and, I can't do all of this if you bleed out slowly, in the front of the abandoned building behind our apartment complex. I cannot fix you. But I can convince you to do it yourself."
I have managed to walk slowly towards you while I blurted out sentences from the back of my mind. My eyes hovering above yours as tears drop down to meet yours on your bloody cheeks.
"Just let me in that big broken mind of yours, and I promise it will get better." I cup their cheek slightly, determined and shaking. You close your eyes for a moment, eyelashes fluttering from my breath blowing onto your face. My heart pounds in my chest as I nervously survived through the long silence. The longer, the better. I swore I heard sirens in the distance approaching, though it is too soon for that just yet. I called as soon as you left my apartment, because the deranged look in your eyes made me think of death himself. I just need to stall as long as possible. I may not be able to stop you, but I can still answer a question whose answer is also a question.
"Alright." Your eyes met mine once more. The look behind your eyes was good enough for me to stand back and sigh with relief. I turn around for a second, avoiding to grit my teeth in front of you as I fought back tears. I may be selfish, but it is love's doing. I heard scraping noises behind me, in which made me smile because it sounds like you were slowly standing up. One baby step at a time, darl.
"You know how we always have snow cones on your birthday?"
I turn around as I hummed my answer, in which I forcefully stop as I gasp in horror. You have scraped all the small broken glass from the concrete, and cupped it in your sore hands levelled to your mouth.
"Looks like your birthday has come sooner than expected."
Can someone please do a master list of Haikyuu teams reacting to their manager getting a tattoo of their names and team name on their # back? It would be epic!!!
(Picture description, four peoples shadows on a field of grass)
Hey everyone, just wanted to share some of my favourite parts from my current WIP, let me know what you think.
Devan looked up at the man who had punched him and gave a lopsided grin, he said, “I would say that you punch like a girl, but my baby sister hits harder than you.” That earned him a kick in the ribs he looked over to the door and Thea caught his eye. The message was clear: he wanted them to leave without him. The door was slammed shut. Thea turned and ran for the entrance trying desperately to fight the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.
So feel free to send me an ask with any questions about my characters or the story itself, I will do my best to reply. Lots of love everyone xx
Hey everyone, so I came up with a whole bunch of different AU's in English the other day and wanted to share them with you all.
Soulmate AU - In a world where you can only see the colour of your soulmates eyes when you meet them. If your soulmate dies you lose the ability to see that colour, your soulmate died a month ago but you can still see the colour of their eyes.
Space AU - Your home planet has been destroyed and you and five others are the only remaining survivors. Your spaceship ran out of fuel a week ago and you only have enough food for 2 more days. When you run out of food another spaceship finds and rescues you. The only problem; they are from the same alien race that destroyed your home planet - Earth.
Fairytale AU - You travelled into your favourite fairytale in hopes of finding your own happily ever after only to find that the stories were wrong. The princesses did not get a happily ever after especially if they tried to kill the prince. The stories you know and love were written by men hoping to oppress the uprising among women. It was working until you got there and stirred everything up.
Future AU - You volunteered to test out a prototype time machine to earn some extra cash, they said you would be sent 30 secs into the future, you were sent 80 years into the past and now you must figure out how to survive in a world where women have none of the rights you used to have.
So I hope you like these, have a great rest of your day, and remember to drink water and go outside if you can xx
Me: closes my WIP after trying to think of that one word FOR 15 MINUTES
Also me: agrees to help my friends with their various writing projects
My WIP: Helllooo, have you forgotten about me????