Edge-of-Reality

Autumn Smoke

The cleaning powers of smoke have long been known to fey creatures, it changes the property of the air and awakens any sleeping spirits lingering at the edge of our reality. With the closing of summer at hand, now is the perfect time to get one’s haunted home in order (physically and mystically).

Adding a touch of blaqwort fungi to your cleaning fire has been known to bring bountiful trick-or-treating come Halloween (or any time of year), while dragon’s ivy provides for lazy, relaxing evenings.

In need of a bit of energy? Physical activity and spellcraft are both easier with dwarfblood flowers smoldering nearby. They burn slowly, produce very little smoke, and give off a soft, inoffensive odor reminiscent of river stones.

Whatever spells you need and whatever you (safely!) burn to prepare for the equinox, make it a grand one. Autumn is here!

‘Remember. The times you couldn’t stop laughing at something someone said. The times when you couldn’t stop laughing for no reason at all. The harder times. The edge of reason. The sleepless nights. The exhaustion. The parties. The pearls of student wisdom. We need a different approach to gravity. For one last time - we need no gravity at all.’  - author unknown 

“This scary piece is a drawing by a person with a psychotic spectrum disorder. It lets you imagine what it must be like to live on the edge between psychosis and reality, what it must be like to experience things that aren’t real. Art like this lets us explore the scary, twisted, fascinating minds of these truly insane people…”

Promises, promises

AN: The reader is planning to go after Monty herself when he’s gone missing, but Bellamy won’t let her risk it.
Characters: Bellamy Blake, mentions of Monty Green
Pairings: Bellamy x reader
Words:
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None

Prompt: “The kiss tasted like tears” + “Promise me you’ll stay”

Hypocrites, all of them! Sure, when Octavia goes missing, Bellamy can risk the whole damn camp, but when it’s Monty, suddenly no one can be spared. Well fine then, you thought to yourself, if no one else was going to go, you’d just have to go save him yourself.
Outside the dropship, the 100 were in pandemonium. With the grounder threat so real and formidable, you figured no one was going to miss a shy electronics assistant who almost never left the dropship.

You managed to make it to the edge of camp before the reality of what you were about to do hit you and boy oh boy did it hit you. What were you thinking? You couldn’t fight! You couldn’t sneak into a heavily guarded grounder camp, and you were mediocre at best when it came to tracking. Shit.
Then you remembered Monty’s face, the way he’d gotten himself caught on the ark to try and save you and you realized that it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter whether or not you were capable, you were going to save Monty, or you were going to die trying.

So you took a deep breath, closed your eyes and stepped out of the gate. It was official, you’d left, and this was the furthest out of camp you’d been since landing. Surprisingly enough, it was almost easy now to put one foot in front of the other. You knew, from listening in on the others, the general direction of the grounder camp, and that was where you were heading. One way or another, you’d see Monty soon.

Bellamy Blake was anxious and he couldn’t quite figure out why. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, like he was missing something vital. With a camp in chaos, he couldn’t afford to be off his game for even a second, and yet he couldn’t shake this ‘off’ feeling. His mind drifted to his usual energy drains, the people and matters that occupied more of his mind than he cared to admit. First there was Octavia; he could see her clutching Lincoln’s sword like a life raft, she was safe. Then there was Monty and Jasper, they were idiots, but he cared about them, Monty was a prisoner, Jasper was furious. Great.
Then there was you, wonderful, frustrating you. Your anger had been the hardest to take. Seeing the happiness drain out of you had been torture for Bellamy to watch. You were too pure for war, too kind and trusting for a world like this one.

He’d seen a lot during his time on the ground, but your face when he’d told you that he wasn’t going to look for Monty, was one of the worst. You’d looked at him like he’d just crushed your world, like he’d just told you he was going to float your parents. You loved Monty. He could see that clearly written on your face and honestly, it made his heart hurt.

“He trusted you.” Bellamy could still hear you saying, “He trusted you, and you’re just going to let him die?”

He’d tried to answer, he’d tried to make you see, but you’d asked him to leave, you’d begged him to leave, and he never could deny you anything.

Now, it was you he most worried about. Bellamy looked towards the dropship, aching for the chance to go inside once again. Since their landing on earth, Bellamy had grown to need his daily talks with you. They kept him sane, kept the fear at bay. All of that was done now; you would never speak to him again. Not that any of that would matter if they all died in the next few hours.

Suddenly, Bellamy was gripped by a desire, no a need, a need to see you one more time before the battle. Maybe that would help ease this terrible off-ness he felt.

“Y/N?” Bellamy asked as he entered the dropship.

There was no answer. He wasn’t worried, you preferred working on the top level, you probably just couldn’t hear him, or maybe you were just ignoring him.

“Y/N?” He called again from the ladder that led to your self-proclaimed laboratory, “Y/N I’m sorry about Monty okay? Can we please just talk about this?”

There was no answer. It was only then that Bellamy realized how quiet it was. You were never fully quiet, even when deeply absorbed in your work he could hear you muttering under your breath, or tapping your foot against the floor. Bellamy felt his anxiety grow as he clambered up the ladder into the top level of the dropship.

“Y/N?” he called frantically, only to be met with an empty room, “Shit.” He whispered to himself.

Panic gripped Bellamy Blake as he threw himself down both ladders and sprinted out of the dropship. Pure, unadulterated fear coursed through Bellamy’s veins as he started to picture the dangers you might have encountered. He should have known. He should have known you wouldn’t stop until Monty was back. He would’ve done exactly the same thing if you’d been taken.

“Clarke, Finn, look after the camp, I’m leaving.”

“What?” Finn called, “Why?”

“Y/N’s missing. She went looking for Monty.”

“And? What now?”

“Now, I’m going to go get her back.”

Bellamy grabbed a gun and enough rations to last two people for a few days and left. By now, the fear had turned into a gnawing terror that turned his well-worn hunting trails into an unknown maze keeping him from one of the only people he knew he couldn’t live without.

What if the grounders had already found you? What if you were in their village right now being tortured? Or worse, what if you were already dead?

At that thought, Bellamy had to stop, his heart skipping a beat and his breath dying in his throat. The world seemed darker with the possibility of you no longer being in it. He needed to find you, and Bellamy Blake took off running. He had no clue where he was going, but you couldn’t have gotten very far.

A bloodcurdling scream pierced through the woods. Your scream.

“Y/N!” Bellamy cried out, sprinting in the direction of your voice.

They’d caught you. They had you. He had to get to you, he had to, he had to, he-

“Y/N,” he said again, his voice layered with relief.

You were okay, the panic lessened and he felt his heartrate start to normalize, but if you were okay, why had you screamed?

“Y/N?” he asked again.

You were kneeling on the ground, bent over something Bellamy couldn’t see and the air was filled with the heart breaking sound of your sobs. Bellamy knelt beside you, so that he could see what you were holding and he instantly wished he hadn’t. It was a partially torn read leather jacket. Bellamy recognized it; it was a jacket that was practically attached to Monty Green. You both knew he would never voluntarily take it off.

“Y/N I’m so sorry,” Bellamy said sincerely, his own eyes beginning to prick with tears, “I’m so so sorry.”

“He was my best friend,” you sobbed, “he was my family.”

Bellamy wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest, breathing in your scent and feeling awful that he couldn’t stop the relief from coursing through his veins.

“He might not be dead,” Bellamy heard himself say, “we don’t know anything definitive yet.”

“He’s gone!” you sobbed into his shoulder, “He’s gone!”

“Shhshhshh,” he said comfortingly, stroking your hair softly, “Y/N listen, look at me.”

You slowly looked up, your red, watery eyes meeting his. Bellamy felt his heart start to beat erratically again, he wanted to tell you but almost as soon as he decided to, the words died on his lips.

“We need to get you back to camp.” He finally said, standing you up alongside him, “This forest is crawling with grounders.”

“What? No!” you responded, “I’m not going back there until I find Monty.”

Bellamy sighed, “Y/N please, just come back to camp. It’s dangerous out here.”

“And? I’ve made it this far on my own.”

Bellamy ran his fingers through his hair and tried to stop himself from grabbing you and dragging you back.

“Monty wouldn’t want you to die for him!”

You narrowed your eyes, “Don’t you dare talk about Monty like you knew him. You’re the reason we’re in this mess in the first place!”

“I know!” Bellamy replied loudly, “I know okay?”

You shook your head and let out another sob.

“Why did you leave?” Bellamy eventually asked, “Why didn’t you just come to me?”

You sniffed, “You wouldn’t have let me go. You think I’m too weak to be out here.”

Bellamy turned to you, shocked, “Is that what you think?”

You shrugged and Bellamy couldn’t contain himself any longer. He stepped towards you and rested his hands on your upper arms.

“I don’t think you’re weak,” Bellamy started quietly; “I just can’t risk losing you.”

You met his gaze, fighting back hiccups from your earlier crying. Bellamy thought he’d never seen anything more dismally adorable in his entire life.

“Why?” you asked, “I’m nothing special.”

Strangely enough, Bellamy felt completely calm now, as if all his fears had been sucked away; you were more important right now.

“You mean-you mean more to me than anyone else does,” Bellamy practically whispered, “if I lost you…I wouldn’t know what to do. My world only makes sense if you’re in it. I need you to be safe; otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to lead properly.”

You stepped towards Bellamy, and he felt his breath catch in his throat.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this earlier? I never would have left if I thought it would affect your leading.”

Bellamy gave you a rueful smile, “Monty.” He explained, “I know you love him, I didn’t want to get in the way of that.”

Your face was a mask, completely unreadable and devoid of any emotion. Bellamy breathed in your scent, a combination of lemon and pine needles; he counted the colours in your eyes and tried not to smile at the slight hiccups you sometimes emitted. The next thing he knew was a taste. Your kiss tasted like tears and stardust, if stardust had a taste, and Bellamy couldn’t stop the groan from sliding past his lips.

As you pulled away, there was so much Bellamy wanted to say, so much he wanted to ask.

“Monty is like family to me. I do love him, but not-not like how I feel about you.”

He felt a huge wave of relief swoop over him, “Oh? And how do you feel about me?” he asked with a kinder version of his cocky grin.

You smiled shyly at the older boy, “I don’t know hey? You’re not bad looking, not a total douchebag, we can maybe work something out.”

Bellamy smiled and kissed your forehead softly, “I promise I’ll send someone out to find Monty, hell I’ll go out and find him myself, but we need to get back to camp.”

“You promise you’ll try your hardest to find him?”

“I promise,” Bellamy swore, “but only if you promise me something in return.”

You nodded; you’d have done anything for Bellamy, anything except completely abandon your best friend. Bellamy pulled you close, a shadow of the fear that had gripped him earlier in the day returning. Everyone he’d ever cared for had ended up worse off because of him, he didn’t want that to happen to you.

“Promise me you’ll stay?” he asked in a fearful whisper and you knew he wasn’t talking about the dropship anymore.

You nodded and squeezed the older boy tightly, “I promise.”

anonymous asked:

How many baes do you have to wish a valentines day to?

         “Oh. UM… I think seven or eight?”

      He can’t even keep up at this point, really. Instead,
      just smiles with a sheepish laugh.

        “B-but they’re all wonderful and i’m lucky to 
         have ‘em!

Fae and scales and if only.

I sang my heart out to an empty room knowing Nothing could comprehend the words I shoved from my heart into reverberating air, because I didn’t understand them. They weren’t words from this world or this life and as I sang to the violin music that mournfully cried out the wails of my life and all of it’s complex fragile beauty, I sang of new beginnings.

New beginnings that didn’t hold pill bottles with hormones, and new beginnings that let my lover show her black gossamer wings, and the thorns that grew from under her skin, and let me kiss them. I sang of new beginnings where scales were a fact of life, not a cursed fantasy that I had borne in fever dreams on the edge of reality.

Oh if only, if only, if only these wings could fly. If only, if only, if only, the pattern of the sideways dance on keyboards could be the dance of our souls on the cobblestones of streets that time forgot. Oh if only, if only, if only, the fire in my heart could erupt.

Krakatoa, Chernobyl, Tunguska.

I am fury, and the beauty of annihilation given too much empathy and too much kindness, and just the right amount of love.

Oh if only, if only, if only, a dragon could be a dragon, without the fire of death in the shadow of it’s wings to give the title weight.

2

I think this goes for any form of art…

To my way of thinking, creating animation means creating a fictional world. That world soothes the spirit of those who are disheartened and exhausted from dealing with the sharp-edges of reality, or are suffering from a nearsighted distortion of their emotions. When the audience is watching animation, they are apt to feel either light and cheerful or purified and refreshed.

Hayo Miazaki