It’s here! But before we get right to it, a little author’s rambling.
For a fresh start, this particular version of our soul mates sure has quite a lot of very unique baggage to deal with. Add their darkness to the mix, and you’ve got yourself a recipe for some of the angstiest angst (and between us, that’s saying something). Now, I love me some angst, make no mistake…but I also figure this is supposed to be our happy place, right? So I guess I’ve been trying to find the balance…and this is what came of it. Enjoy! :)
At least it’s a clear night, a myriad stars blinking down upon the kingdom under the black vault of the sky. The Regina of old used to dream by them, the Evil Queen plot under their squinting eye, and this Queen Regina of fresh starts has a newfound appreciation for these tiny lights in the dark.
The fires, not so much.
A flaming line snakes through the courtyard, poorly concealed under the domes of bare-limbed, half-dead trees.
Regina, face turned towards the heavens, lets it be for now.
It started three days ago with the first angry mob raising their pitchforks against her for supposedly murdering their king and queen. So much for blank slates. At the time it seemed rather like a small nuisance, a minor issue she could easily solve with a flick of her wrist. A spark here, a flicker there—sometimes she’d even wait for one to catch, let it feed on the battered rooftops and spawn more frisky flames to lick at the ramshackle remains she calls, for lack of a better term, home. Never enough to burn the place to ashes, but one must turn negatives into positives somehow, and she supposes she’d always had a penchant for playing with fire.
The problem is these villagers don’t know when to give up and go back to their pathetic peasant lives— lives she’s graciously deigned to let them keep despite the trouble they’ve given her. They’re relentless. With each vanquished threat to her poor excuse of a castle, the attacks only grow more vicious. The brunt of them comes, whether as a matter of tactics (hoping to catch her defenceless in her sleep or trying to rob her of sleep?), or necessity (common folk have work to do by day after all), or perhaps just for effect, by night.
She knows she can fend them off—be it protective enchantments or incantations or spouting jets of water from the palms of her hands. It’s not that she cannot stand her ground against them, even though admittedly doing so without causing them serious harm—because that’s the person she is now, isn’t she, darkness and light interwoven—has proven quite the challenge.
And then there’s the heart-rending incident from this morning.
At this point, Regina is just…tired.
And is any of this really even worth it?
The castle hardly lives up to its name these days. Hell, Regina barely recognised the place when she first chose to claim it. As the plaque commemorating the downfall of this realm’s Evil Queen so proudly boasts, measures had been taken to strip this once symbol of terror of its power. Instead of the grotesque, spiky skyline, a single spire juts out where only stumps of the rest stand pathetically like stems whose flowers had been nipped off. The outer walls had been razed to the ground, and the marble chambers and halls are riddled with debris.
Why bother fixing up the place when she’s clearly not welcome in this land?
The eerie cheers of the angry villagers seem distant from her vantage point as torches soar up in the air and dent the aged slates.
Tonight won’t be quite the lazy stargazing rendezvous she’s planned—if Robin shows up at all.
I hear the roaring roll
Of thunder in the distance
Rumbling this way.
I see the lightning flashing,
An electrifying dance
Scorching the sky.
I smell the acrid, humid
The whooshing wind picks up,
Building in speed and power.
The storm is upon me
And I have nowhere to hide,
Rattling this frame farmhouse Threatening to fall down
On top of me; shaking me
To my brain ‘til I can’t think
Of anything but being blown away.
Oh, the drama of summer storms!
Come, take this detritus
Of a wasted life…
You demolish what’s in your path,
And I’m too tired to hold on anymore.
A dying star fell to the Earth. It’s glorious light blazing a scorching path through the sky. It hit the ground and the earth shook. Everyone ran away, they were so scared. As it lay dying on the ground, a little cloud of insects, seeing the star dying and all alone, decided to keep it company and covered the dying star with their winged bodies to keep it from the cold. Moved by the compassion these little ones showed her with her last breath she gifted them with what remained of her light. From that moment on we have seen their gentle glow. They are a living testimony that compassion and kindness are a light that will guide us even in the darkest night…..Fireflies.
Night vision: the power to see clearly in darkness.
“This is night, Diddykins. That’s what we call it when it goes all dark like this. ” - J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
It seems such a mundane thing of him to do, wear sunglasses at night. People stare, people huff cockily, shake their heads with disregard. Little do they know that his eyes are in permanent alert, scorching the night sky for things, and even individuals, which are not normally visible to the simple human eye. So no, the smirk and glasses have nothing to do with Shin Hoseok’s arrogance, but with his gift he had been presented with at birth. His eyes unveil more truths than anything ever seen before.
- of all things, we have here flowers
and red mud to
besmirch each other’s faces,
never mind the water
- the sea convulses under her own body
(does she even like herself?)
yellow poet scorching my right cheek
with a glare intended to make
my sorrow bend - why did you leave?
And I, stunned by this revelation,
speak to myself now -
I did leave (the wonder!)
leave you, I did not
the poet now more unconvinced
perhaps wishes the body a merciless awakening
A downpour now the sky reaches inside
the belly of this giant womb and
tugs at what is inconsequential - her knots
unfold only when heaven is promised
even to the sea, imagine a paradise
perhaps a red heart
inside the grey of it all
the sky scorches her waves and a stare puts
her down no amount of red can end her
a single ache - no amount of
colour is enough even the red
of this sky engulfed by the grey
of her expanse
heart put to liquid
transgressive sky unaware
of its own unbecoming
i set out to tell the story of icarus
but there is nothing more to tell.
a star faced boy flew too high
and fell from the clouds to his death.
“escape, escape, escape,” his father cried,
“do not get close to the sun or the sea,
for apollo will burn you to ashes
and poseidon will drag beneath the darkest depths.”
foolish humans and their foolish actions.
icarus would speak to me
from his cage of mortal life,
would speak of burning his tongue
on my kisses, searing his skin with my touch, branding him mine alone.
i listened to his love pleas like lyrics poems,
heart aglow and warmer than sunshine,
placing gentle touches on his skin with beams of light
and whisper promises before dusk fell,
“come embrace me. let us scorch the sky together, my love.”
he was an eternal flame and i an ignorant moth,
daring to get too close to his golden beauty,
longing to hear the echo of his heated words,
forgetting it was me that was the flame, not him.
but don’t gods receive all they desire?
i ordered all the sky to watch him fall,
to share my grief as he was claimed by waves,
sinking beneath melancholy blues of water,
snuffing out his fire,
with an echo of an orange sunset
to twist my heart and mock us,
our smoke stained love left
to be swept away by the winds.
will he remembered me in hades?
fire blazed through the air just as the hot sun scorched the sky of
any clouds in sight. The reports of gun shots that crackled through
the distance originated from a single semi automatic combat shot gun.
The blasts were paired with the firing of a smaller caliber of
pistols that whizzed out their barrels to penetrate their targets.
middle of a barren field off the beaten path a ghoul in a red coat
and a dark leather hat held his ground with his rifle in hand,
shooting upward and across as buzzing monsters zipped back and forth.
His companion also stood out against the bland backdrop of the
desert, a taller man clad in a blue jumpsuit, though he was darting
around while the giant insects dove from above, nearly missing him by
mere feet. He dual wielded a pair of pistols, which may not have been
very effective in accuracy, he was mostly offering a diversion and
cover fire while his partner picked out the winged fiends from mid
air. Their attackers were a small scouting swarm of Cazadores, but
this had been their first time ever encountering the horrifying
creatures. They were much faster and far more ferocious than any
blood bug or sting wing found in the swamps of the Commonwealth. This
was an unpleasant surprise for the two tourists.
that day, the duo had decided to go out for a small hike to see some
of the scenery at leisure. The keen eyes of the ghoul spotted the
swarm first, but they were so unfamiliar that he wasn’t even sure
what he had spotted. It wasn’t until the swarm began to hone in on
the pair that Rick pointed out that they looked like giant wasps…
and they should get their weapons out…
the two stood over a couple giant wasps that lay in the arrid dirt
with their wings in tatters and bullet holes that wept green and red
ooze. They had managed to take down the swarm and they were examining
their remains. Rick squinted at the creatures, finding them to be
look like those huge desert wasps— uh, like tarantula hawks.” he
you mean like a spider?” Hancock inquired.
they would hunt them down and like, lay eggs inside of them or some
shit. Pretty savage, if you ask me.” Rick replied. “Their sting
was one of the worst– so I can’t imagine what these fuckers would
have done to us…”
one of the carcasses sprung to life near their feet and a high
pitched buzz vibrated as it’s wings made an attempt to take flight.
The two men let out cries of terror as they leaped away and ran off
in different directions. The Cazador, though badly maimed, was still
lively enough to bounce around across the desert floor and chase
after Rick. Seeing that the last surviving beast was chasing his
friend, Hancock took pursuit with his rifle steadily held between his
hands and ran after to shoot it dead.
she’s drowning, it seems like, water in
her lungs and pressure against her chest, limbs so heavy she can’t move. it’s strange because she’s on land, because she can see the sky above through a hole that should not be there and she can feel the cool air but she’s
f a l l i n g
or diving or maybe she’s swimming in the air/water/wind/current.
there’s destruction everywhere and there’s a reason she knows there’s a reason but why can’t she remem—
she has a job to do, a job,
do your job, ANABEL
and then she’s
awake, but not really, head aching eyes burning heart pumping blood so fast the rest of her can’t keep up.
so this is what it’s like at the end of the world
she thinks, and the thought is the only clear thing in her head, the only thing she can hear above the sound of her pulse rattling her breath.
she stumbles up the stairs, two at a time, up and up and up until she’s dizzy from it. she’s running on adrenaline and desperation because it’s all she’s got. this is her—
this is all there is for her, all there will ever be, and now it’s gone so much of it is gone. she’s afraid to look down from where she’s come, afraid she’ll see something that will
b r e a k
her will or her breath or maybe all of her into itty bitty pieces dust on the wind nothing and no one and no talent and no skill and
no, no no. she’s the best, she has talent, she wouldn’t be here without it, wouldn’t have anything at all in the world otherwise. she’s the best and this is all hers above everyone else’s and she’s earned this so it’s her job—
to protect it. from what? the sun is bright on her skin and all she knows is this is the end of the world and it’s going to be the end of her, too, soon.
and then she’s pitching forward, toe of her ruined shoe caught in the crumbling remains of her home/tower/life and she scrapes her palms scrabbling at the wall.
not again not again she can’t make the climb another time why can’t she do anything right when it actually counts what is she even trying to do what is happening what is going on what is the point of any of this when everything and everyone is dead and this is the
E N D
of the world?
her face catches a crossbeam and she sees stars, tens of millions of them like a galaxy overhead except she’s looking down into the yawning opening of what remains of her tower and this is her job she’s looking at, her job and she knows she’s
she’s supposed to protect the tower because she resides at the top. she’s the best of the best of the best, everyone says so, everyone who has lost to her.
and it’s lonely up there with nobody to talk to and no friends because nobody wants to be friends with a person so cutthroat but what choice did she ever have? she was either the best or she was nothing worth keeping and she’d rather be worth something than nothing. she needs that, needs it more than anything, she’s never known a need so strong but to be worthwhile.
maybe she should have done it differently but it’s too late to go back now, too late to try again. they’re gone, they’re all gone. she knows it. she can’t see their bodies among all of the stars but they’re there below her in broken little pieces and she doesn’t know why she’s climbing the tower there’s no way out from the top, there’s nowhere for her to go, nowhere to hide.
it’s the end of the world and she retreats to her tower like a coward, but
the fight is over, it’s over, it’s over
she can’t win none of them could. not even her, the best they had to offer.
she feels the weight of her pokémon safe in their balls at her waist and it’s a small comfort, a terrifying feeling. what if she dies here and her pokémon remain trapped there forever with no one and nothing and
she’s all they have just like they’re all she has
them and the tower, her little room with nothing in it that looks like a nursery even though she’s not been a child for a very long time. she wants it, though, the familiarity of it, the stuffed pokémon next to her pillow and the faded curtains at the window and the comfort of a favorite book—
they’ll get rid of her soon. she’s too old and the attraction is young talent. she’s wearing out her welcome and she knows it’s not a real fear because who will replace her when everyone else is dead but it burrows inside of her and stings like terror.
her raw palms find purchase and she hauls herself up, across the beam, and to the other side where the stairs continue. up and up and up. she’s not even sure she’s doing more than crawling, but she imagines she’s taking them two by two by two.
eventually she makes it to the top except
there is no top just open sky and scorching sunlight that burns into her sleepless eyes.
there is nothing and no one and this is the end of the world and she is the last one left, isn’t she, the only one stupid enough to put off the inevitable by calling back her pokémon and running toward the only safe place she’s ever known
but it’s long gone, now, brick and mortar, timber and plaster, glass and curtains and her too-small bed on the courtyard below.
she stands there in shock, in something like fear, and can’t make herself move.
and then she’s floating away too fast, hurtling toward something or maybe away from it, underwater but able to breathe if she struggles to just—
and then she really is drowning, lungs burning fiercer than her limbs as she tries to break the surface, unsure which way is up or down, if she’s moving toward or away from land, if she’s dooming herself and if this is just a dream and she doesn’t remember anything about water there’s too much water she can’t swim
she’s never needed to know how to
she’s only had her tower and
she protects the tower
not the water never the water and the world is closing in on her when she hears something in her ears that’s not the rushing of waves but she’s too weak to…
even when she’s the strongest and the best, the most powerful trainer, it seems
She woke slowly, breath coming too fast and the back of her throat aching with something that might have been sorrow.
Everything around her was unfamiliar.
Do. Not. Cry. Don’t you dare cry! she ordered herself, made it a mantra she repeated in her head until she could get her bearings, could banish the crushing loneliness the dream had left her with.
It was supposed to be a drabble but I can’t write little stories so it’s become a full on scenario! I hope you all enjoy Chanyeol on his deserted island :D
All around him, all he felt were rough grains of sand
against his skin. The sun was beaming down on his back, burning him up like he
was locked in an oven. Pushing up off the wet ground underneath him, he sat up
and slowly opened his eyes to try and figure out where he was.
He didn’t know how, but Chanyeol had washed up on a beach in
the middle of nowhere.
“What the …?” he murmured to himself, pushing the wet black
strands of hair off his forehead. Slowly he got to his feet, trying to figure
out where he was by circling a full 360˚. In front of him was a thick green
jungle dense with tall trees and opaque bushes. Behind him was just eons and
eons of soft blue ocean stretching out into the horizon. “Where am I?” he
murmured, flicking his gaze from the ocean to the beach to the jungle and back
There was nothing else, no one else in sight. Chanyeol was
The sun was high in the sky and scorching the sand between
his toes so he hurried for cover on the edge of the jungle, finding a shady
tree to hide under. “What am I supposed to do here?” he asked himself, sliding
down the trunk of the tree and burying his hands in the sand. “How did I even
Running his hands through his hair, he sat with his elbows
propped up on his knees and stared out at the ocean. He felt absolutely exhausted.
Had he been swimming and washed up on the beach? The frustration of his amnesia
only drained him further, making him lie on his back and look up at the tall
trees hanging overhead.
“You won’t achieve anything lying around like that,” a voice
echoed through the trees like a whisper in the non-existent wind. “Why don’t
you put that cute little head of yours to good use?”
Chanyeol bolted upright, eyes wide as he tried to locate the
source of the voice. Was it real or was he starting to hallucinate? Dusting the
sand off his hands, he got to his feet and stepped closer to the dense jungle,
peering into the shadowed mass.
“Do you really know what’s lurking in there?” the voice
called out again, followed by a melodious laugh that sent shivers down Chanyeol’s
He couldn’t figure out where the voice was coming from, let
alone if the voice belonged to anyone. For a second, he thought he saw movement
amongst the leaves high in the trees but when he focused on the branches, they
remained still in the humid air.
From behind him, a thud landed on the sand and had him
spinning on his heels, coming face to face with the most beautiful girl he had
ever seen. He tried to take you all in, admire every inch and angle of your
body but he got stuck on your face. You had breath-taking bright eyes that felt
as if they could pierce through his body and see deep within his soul.
“Does he speak?” you asked softly, your voice like a caress
across his cheek. It lured him in, like a call from a vixen that he couldn’t
Clearing his throat, he ducked his head for a second and
pushed the damp hair off his face. “Who are you?” he asked in a shaky voice.
He watched, frozen in the sand, as you gracefully closed the
gap between the pair of you like you were stalking him as your prey. As
attractive as you were, Chanyeol couldn’t shake the feeling you were extremely
dangerous too. His instincts told him to be scared but instead he found you thrilling
and alluring. He couldn’t help but lean closer, your eyes mesmerising him,
“What are you?” he murmured, remaining still as you slowly
rose up onto your toes only a breath away from him. Your face crept up on him,
your eyes sparkling and almost drawing level with his.
You gave him a devilish smirk, biting on your bottom lip to tease him. “All
yours,” you whispered, pulling his head closer and capturing his lips like a lioness
pouncing on its prey.
Chanyeol was left completely at your mercy, his lips trapped
in yours while they fervently devoured him. He loved every second of it, a wave
of pure euphoria drowning him. Every touch only left him wanting more until he
feared he’d never be able to his fill of you.
I want you to know you and I are forged from the same fire of survival – the winter of our nuclear collision will pass into the spring of copacetic cohesion;
I want you to know I always have, I always will have your back, it might not seem that way right now but I am 100% loyal to you.
I want you to know I don’t want to hurt you anymore, I’m not a sadist – I see no satisfaction in having an effect on you; I just wanted to be the sun to your sunflowers not the scorching curse of the sky reaping torture so liberally.
I want you to know I am proud of the strength you show daily – even when you don’t put in the effort it is seen – and I am proud of how you handle yourself in the face of me, such adversity.
I want you to know it is going to be okay in the end, and if it is not okay, it is not the end: it is okay to not be okay – this rocky passage leads to higher ground.