night-stars

flickr

dazzle riot | David DeHetre

anonymous asked:

You call Ten your starry boy, so maybe an au where Ten is like a star prince or something? If you’re still taking requests

:’)

• ten as a star prince or star guardian!
• basically he’s like that lil dreamworks dude, just chillin w the stars
• sometimes when people make wishes he likes to talk to the stars and find out what the wishes are
• and one night a star tells him your wish,,, that you wouldn’t be lonely
• ten could hear your voice, soft and desperate just for one night. i can’t stand being alone
• ten doesn’t understand humans very well bc he’s around stars
• and, well, stars love each other
• stars intertwine and mingle and create galaxies together
• ten is confused because don’t humans do that too?
• he decides to grant your wish personally
• normally a wish like this would have a star sending down some well-being or happiness, just so you wouldn’t feel lonely
• but ten thinks a physical being might be more appreciated
• that and he also gets lonely from time to time
• he’s currently the only star guardian in the region, and he hasn’t talked to anyone but stars in ages
• so he materializes into your bedroom
• and you scream bc what is this dude doing is he some kind of angel or demon am i going to die etc etc
• but ten just smiles and this overwhelming calm takes over your bedroom as he speaks, “hi! i’m ten! you made a wish on a star so here i am!”
• first of all…… what
• obv you don’t know how to respond but ten is already checking around your room like “do you have scrabble?”
• again….. what
• “scrabble is the only human game i know,” ten says bashfully
• nd ur like i don’t have scrabble but i have mario cart if you wanna play that??
• and you hand ten a wii controller and turn on the game
• and ten gets a hang of it pretty quickly
• and soon the two of you are like old friends, cursing and laughing at the screen
• the two of you FOUGHT over bowser but you won, making ten go for peach
• and you were both sitting on your bed, curled up in your blankets becoming bffs in a few hours
• all bc ten decided to grant your wish
• soon the two of you fall asleep, tuckered out from all of your hanging out and playing
• ten falls asleep first, buried in your pillows and snoring softly
• you just stop and look at him, feeling this overwhelming sense of thankfulness to him for granting your wish
• you don’t know who he is or what he is, but you’ll never forget the time he spent w you
• and the next morning, you wake up alone, bc ten had to go back to the stars
• but every once in awhile you look out your window, and you swear you see the same star twinkling just for you
• the end ✨

Wherever You Take Me

FrangipaniMuse has let me down recently. So I made myself dig this story out. It was a 60 minute word vomit inspired by a chat on @lepus-arcticus blog about what music Mulder and Scully might have listened to when they were younger. 

This is set in Glastonbury in 1984. It’s total AU nonsense. But it took me back to my youth and to my country of birth. Tagging @today-in-fic and @fictober


She sunk down behind the tee-pee and scraped the crust off the bottom of her sandals. Joan Baez was singing Diamonds and Rust and she knew Missy would be swaying along.

              “I don’t know about you, but I’m waiting for Billy Bragg.”

              She turned towards him. “I saw two shooting stars last night, I wished on them but they were only satellites.”

              He sat in front of her, long feet sticking out from under his ripped denim hems. He chewed on a blade of grass. “I don’t want to change the world, I’m not looking for a new England.”

              The first drops of rain fell from the brooding sky. “What are you looking for?” She felt the breath hitch in her chest, a symptom of her startling boldness. Missy would be grinning so hard if she could see her little sister exchanging song lyrics and bad pick-up lines with a dark and moody fellow American.

              “Someone to wash the mud out of my clothes and work out what the hell I was thinking when I agreed to come to a field in the middle of Somerset to camp and eat out of cans. They don’t even do S’mores. It’s practically prehistoric here.”

              “I’ve got Graham crackers in my tent and there’s plenty of chocolate,” she said. “If you can find some marshmallows, perhaps we can have a real American campfire.”

              “Don’t you have plans…I don’t know your name.”

              She lifted her arm towards the stage behind her. “My sister’s fallen in love for the third time in two days. She won’t remember that she promised to cook dinner tonight. I’m Dana.”

               He took her hand in his and squeezed it. “Mulder.” Energy fizzed through her veins. His smile was a memory-maker. His fringe flopped into his eyes and dark stubble defined his strong jaw. Those lips, the unreadable eyes, she felt herself blushing as he held her gaze. “My on-again, off-again girlfriend is off-again, on-again with her other boyfriend. So, I would be honoured to share my tin of Heinz baked beans with you. I even have cheese – real West Country cheddar to melt on the top. If you like that kind of thing.”

              She thought she might.

“Do you like the Smiths, Dana?”

“I don’t think I’ve heard anything they’ve sung.”

“If you want something to do after baked beans, they’re on. We can go wherever we please and everything depends on how near you stand to me.” His voice was golden-gravel.

“Sorry?” she whispered.

And if the people stare, then the people stare, Oh, I really don’t know and I really don’t care. Lyrics from hand in glove. Johnny Marr and Morrissey are poets. Their words really resonate with me, you know?” He bumped his fist against his heart and looked away to the rolling clouds. “England is a paradox, isn’t it?”

“How do you mean?”

“Polite and clever, proud but humble, clever but contained, pretty in a way like no other, she’s the ideal woman; but she’s surrounded by a bitter sea and constantly battling the demons of tradition. She is both a queen and a princess. She’s history and charm and hope and hell.”

“Are you talking about your girlfriend or this country?”

He twisted the blade of grass in his fingers and laughed. “Sometimes, I’m not sure but I am certain that you’ll love the Smiths so I’d be honoured if you’d join me. Your sister might fall out of love and be in need of some poetic metaphor to mourn to tonight.”

She put her sandals back on and stood up, feeling small in his presence. “My sister won’t spend too much time mourning. She bounces back pretty quickly.”

“Resilience is a great quality.” He put a hand on the small of her back. “What do you do, Dana?”

“I’m at medical school, what about you?”

“I’m at Oxford, psychology.”

“And yet you don’t know why you’re here?”

His face softened. “I think I’m escaping.”

A couple wandered past, entwined and giggling. They stumbled into a tent a few spots down. The canvas shuddered. Then they scrambled out, laughing even louder. “I think that’s what most people here are doing. The aroma is always…somewhat…escapist.”

He laughed again. “I think there is a natural tendency for dreaming and fantasising about a way of life that is totally different to our own, don’t you think? I mean, when I look at the stars I wonder what’s out there. Who’s out there.”

“I think about energy requirements and asteroids and black holes.”

His mouth curved. “You don’t believe?”

“In what?”

“Life outside of earth?”

She shook her head. “Life on this planet is hard enough to cope with, don’t you think?”

Turning, he crawled into his tent and from the darkened inside, beckoned to her. “I’d like to show you something.”

Missy would have cackled at that one, but his face seemed so genuine, his eyes held such intelligence, that she got up and walked after him. He was rifling through a bag and she looked around the tent, luggage spilling out clothes, books piled high. He turned around and showed her a photo. In it, a boy and girl were smiling to the camera.

“Me and my sister. She was taken, when she was eight and I was twelve.”

“Taken?” Her heart pounded and she ran a finger over the image. A grainy shot of a girl who was no longer in his life. A child, disappeared. But here, in this photo, always smiling. Always reminding him of her existence. Kept in perfect innocence by a chain-reaction of chemicals on paper.

“You asked me earlier why I was here, why I’m escaping? She’s why.”

He offered her a beer and she took it. They listened to the muffled music as he cooked her beans with West Country cheddar. He chatted about his sister, the fateful night, the emotional fall-out, his parents’ relationship. She talked about her sister and brothers, wanting to make her father proud, her hopes and dreams.

The beer was warm but making her ears tingle and her skin buzz. He lit up a joint and they shared it. “Marriage and babies and a white picket fences? That surprises me, Dana.”

“Why?”

“You seem cut out of a different cloth. I don’t know,” he rubbed his face and inhaled. “This is going to sound all wrong, but I think you are here to do something extraordinary in the world.”

She let out a surprised giggle. “Like what?”

He leant in and she could smell his cologne, the weed, his maleness. Turning, their lips caught and he tasted the same, of musk and possibilities. When he pulled back he had a strange smile on his face. “Like you’re going to mean something to someone, like you’re going to be the one soul that will help this person to truly live, like you’re going to be powerful in an unexpected way.”

Their lips joined again and he pulled her hard towards him. The music was lifting outside and voices rumbled by, singing, laughing, shouting. He pulled her to the sleeping mat, covered in a blue sleeping bag.

She bit her lip. “What about your girlfriend?”

“Who?”

“What about the Smiths?”

“I predict that 1984 is just the start of their journey. We’ll see more of them.”

His hands were already tugging at her top and she sighed out, giving in to the pure joy of her heightened state.

“Where are you going, Mulder? On your journey?”

His hands grazed her nipples and his teeth brushed her neck. She didn’t really want to hear his answer. She wanted to experience it. After a while, he pulled back and grinned.

“Wherever you take me, Dana.”

pendulous threads balance on cold snaps
my hands bereft of a certain curvature
from empty rooms to arcing stars at night
we are the breath of a long, terrible axis

fingers of a dark wind spread over my skin
they fill my bed, whisper secrets to my sleep
i hear the lonely whistle of a ghost train
3am is a sinuous shiksa in nine inch stilettos

we mean it, that we don’t speak of shame
tiptoeing over every crack and creak
knowledge is a spider web under lampposts
my silk-wrapped dreams await the fang

the season is my element, a standing stone
that separates the sky from the sea
summer has its blood, autumn has my will
a head full of fire with homeless desires

(74) dragon-slayer

above the skies’ heavy sea
mist-fog bright spark
you see a dragon.

sour acid spat from the skies
eating into your armored mask
you’ve had to replace it four times already.
it’s easy to forget dragons were foes once
with how everyone talks about them
like they are friendly,
disguising their natures behind
anecdotes and exceptions.

dragons, reaching down with
heavy claw and fire and nightmare
heaving up the ice over troubled waters


once, on a night so dark the stars 
went silent
you met a dragon you knew
who was clad in human flesh;
out of the eyes trapped intelligence.
he slid his claws behind your breast-
plate
and hooked it off to expose your
softer skin;
exhaled biting halitosis over
your beating heart
(or maybe you offered it freely, you 
are never quite sure afterwards)
trailed gashes; blood in lines
that barely healed.  
burning poison poison poison
beneath your coverings.

high tides and low tides, stormy dark waters
to form lava; something thick and choking
burning from the inside out -

dragonslayer, they call you now.
dragons are experienced in violence;
any weapon you raise is fuel to them
and they are creatures of flame;
whatever you do, you know their gas-lighting
will far exceed any fire you carry with you
it will consume you.
no, this time you come with
the information given to you by those
who share the blood-lines behind your beaten
breast-plate;
if weapons won’t do, words
in the joints of their scales might,
where they are weakest.

scorching flame eating acidic
sour, sour, sour


your armor clinks over the melting ice,
left shoe, right shoe;
your hips, weighted under your cape, sway and swing,
a red flag to a demon bull 

and you wait and will keep waiting, 

poised

archiveofourown.org
In The Still Of The Night - dametokillfor - Star Trek: Discovery [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

He can hear Tilly in his head, telling him how adorable his feelings are. She knew the second she saw Lorca in the same room as them, how Ash’s eyes were instantly drawn to him, how his whole face softened.

He is adorable. It’s awful.

In which Lorca has taken Ash in as a roomie, and Ash has far too many feelings in the darkness before dawn.