race to the clouds


Princess Royal Blue

The Baby Ponies huddled in their cribs as heavy rain and crackling thunder rumbled outside.  Royal Blue knew the storm would frighten the babies, so she quickly thought of a plan to soothe them.  She raced through the grey clouds and gusty winds to where the babies wiggled under the covers.  “No need to be afraid,” Royal Blue laughed.  She told them a bedtime story about a faraway land she once visited, and gave them each a steaming cup of warm milk.  Then they had a rough and tumble pillow fight.  The babies soon forgot about the storm and crawled wearily into bed.  Soon they were fast asleep, dreaming happy dreams.

To be honest… I don’t wish for Tilikum to “Rest In Peace”. Absolutely nope. And before you rage on me, let me finish.

I wish for him to go crazy up there in the Ocean Heaven. He’s been stuck in a fucking bathtub almost literally his whole life. He suffered for too long. Let him go nuts. Swim all around, scream, go fast, jump as high as he can between the clouds, kiss the stars, race with comets. Let him be the magnificent Orca that he is, not a puppet for humans’ entertainment anymore.

Be free, Tilly.


A Galaxy Far, Far Away Pheryon

An inner rim gas planet with floating cities that are buffeted by strong winds and roaring cloud-to-cloud lightning storms. Pheryon hosts stormsail races, visible from its capitol cantinas and glassed-in bleachers. Poe Dameron was tricked into a near-capture by the First Order on Pheryon when his longtime friend Suralinda Javos invited him there as a pretext to gather information about the then-secret (and illegal) Resistance.

Rest in the Silence

Where’s the finish line you inquire
why dear child, what do you chase
you won long before you were born
and have no need to run this race 

It’s only mists clouding our minds
upon a journey from here to here  
creating an illusion of us and them
truthfully near is far and far is near

The intellect chases its tail to find
what the heart alone must discern
smile, breathe, rest in the silence
for there dear child you will learn 


I’m a cloud
In weightless air
Drifting about
Until the coast is clear

White or shades of gray
On a limited pallet
And for all my days
I exist unchallenged

Oblivious to earth
Busy in the skies
Neglecting grounds worth
Just because it can’t fly

Color me bad
With a creative diction
Privilege doesn’t make me sad
In fact I’m the real victim

sleepless nights

post tartarus percabeth.

Annabeth rolls over in her sleep, flings an arm out and finds the bed empty. She’s sitting up before she’s even properly awake, squinting into the dark and trying not to let her racing heart cloud her judgement.

“Percy?” Her voice cracks, from disuse or emotion or both. “Percy?!”

There’s no answer. She throws the covers off and jumps out of the bed, not pausing long enough to register how cold the floor is against her bare feet before she takes off running.

“Percy, where are you?!”

Still no answer. 

If they’ve taken him from her again, she swears on the Styx she’s going to make them pay. But they wouldn’t have, they couldn’t have, surely not, they wouldn’t do it again -

She sees a dark shape in the kitchen and pauses, raising the blade she’d grabbed on her way out of the bedroom. Her heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s trying to break free from her ribcage, and the back of her throat feels tight.

The tap’s running, water pouring out of the faucet and splashing against the sink. It masks the sound of her already stealthy footsteps as she enters the room, weapon raised, poised for battle, ready to strike at any minute -


She drops her blade and stares. Her boyfriend is standing at the bench, watching the water pour from the tap with hunched shoulders and a pained expression. The remains of a glass cup are clenched in his right hand, broken shards glinting in the moonlight around his feet and across the bench top.

When she flicks the light on, he flinches, but doesn’t turn around.

“Percy, what are you doing?”

Gingerly, Annabeth picks her way over to him, collecting glass shards to put in the trash as she goes. She carefully unfurls his fingers from around the shattered base of the glass, wincing when she sees the cuts to his hand. He lets her take the cup and throw it away before rinsing his wound under the stream of cold water. Instantly, the cut begins to heal.

Percy doesn’t say a word, just keeps on staring at the sink.

When she cups his face in her hands she accidentally smears a bit of the blood from his palm over his cheekbone. He looks fierce and untouchable with shadows under his eyes and a haunted expression. He looks like he’s a million miles away.

But then he leans into her touch, and he closes his eyes, and he exhales.

The tap stops running.

“It’s okay,” she says soothingly. “We’re okay.”

When he opens his eyes, he looks at her as though seeing her for the first time in a long time. 

“Annabeth, I’m sorry,” Percy says, voice shaky. “I just wanted a drink, I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake anyone up so I didn’t turn the light on and -” His composure cracks and his eyes start to water. He looks so tired.

Annabeth gently pulls his head down to rest on her shoulder and rubs soothing circles across his back while he cries. She feels so tired. “You’re okay, Percy. You’re safe. I’m safe.”

“I just want to sleep, Annabeth. But every time I close my eyes…”

“I know,” she murmurs, “I see it, too.”

He nods against her shoulder and she runs her fingers through his hair. She keeps her eyes open even as her lids grow heavier. 

“Will you come back to bed?” she whispers.

There’s a pause, but then he nods again. He straightens, lips brushing against her cheek as he does so, and leads the way out of the kitchen. She flicks off the light only once they’re in the hall, the open door to their bedroom visible before them. 

Annabeth makes Percy lay down and get comfortable before she climbs over the top of him and curves herself around his back, moulding herself along his spine. She tucks her knees up behind his and drapes her arm over his shoulder. He intertwines his fingers with hers, tucking their clasped hands against his chest, and she plants a soft kiss on his back.

She stays awake until his breathing shifts to a slower, deeper rhythm, and she’s sure that he’s truly asleep. Her arm’s gone dead and her leg feels like it’s on the verge of cramping, but Annabeth doesn’t move. She stays curled protectively around Percy, too scared to sleep lest he disappear from her again.

Only when the light blue of pre-dawn filters through the gaps in the curtains does she allow herself to drift off. Percy is still there, safe and sleeping, and Annabeth has survived another night.

Porsche 911 TurboS 0-100km/h: 2.6s 

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By Krzysztof Szrejder