sun rise ocean

And when the sun rises from the ocean, with his rays shining through the water, I hope that you will look into my eyes and see not the color of my eyes, but the reflection of yourself. And I hope you will fall in love with it, just like how I fell in love with you.
—  Lukas W. // Reflection of you in my eyes
Time brought our hearts together where mountains witness—
how—the sun rises,
and how oceans feel when it sets.
Series of paths—
where—our feet crossed,
to the place our minds seemed
peaceful and lost.
Your hands tightly holding mine,
as I keep to look forward
of what was beyond.
Darling, I beg you not to lose hope,
for this climb is much wonderful
to be taken as an adventure.
Breathe the air that I breathe
and wait for the moon to watch—
how—our souls bloom.
The night sky will show us its stars,
as we lay down in silence
with love in our eyes.
—  ma.c.a // Sunrise and Sunset, Remind Me of You
Skies of Water; Ocean of Air

Here’s a little (long) fanfic/wingfic I wrote. Today… I have way too much time on my hands honestly. I swear to god. Either way! Enjoy the minor Shklance! Enjoy the Langst! And mostly! Please enjoy my shitty writing abilities!

Lance knew from a young age that he was different. Even with no one to guide him or explain it to him he knew. Maybe it was extinct. Maybe it was in the way people skirted around him. Or in the way he saw things as a child. He had always been a little different in a way. And not just the physical signs, but in himself as a person as well. The way he saw the world was a lot bigger than how his siblings saw it. He saw more than just the skies and a land to look down upon. He saw the oceans they couldn’t swim in, full of gorgeous fish and beautiful vibrant colors no paint could ever match, the mountains they didn’t bother to climb, seeing the view from a bright side, with the rust colored dust of the earth staining his clawed hands, saw the skitter of wildlife in a forest too thick with trees to move around in, the sight they ignored because they couldn’t grasp a place where the sky was not seen and the wind was silent for the sounds of nature singing. Lance saw the world with a different view.

Not everyone liked that view.

The way their words would sting him, lash out at him like a poisoned whip reminded him of that without them having to out rightly state it. Leaving marks much farther than skin deep on his young mind. Their backs, always turned away from him, shunning him away from where he wanted to be in their family. The way their wings would always taunt him. Show him the life he couldn’t have. The beauty he’d never have. The love he’d never feel. Not even the woman who breathed life into him could love the way he saw the world. The only love he could feel was in the hidden alcoves of the ocean. Small shelters carved through the years by the sea itself.

In a way, Lance connected with the ocean. The ocean was so old, wise, and strong, different from the free, young sky. So liberal and wild in youth. Innocent in its fast winds. Lance was young, weak, but no long naive nor innocent like the sky. He was jaded like the ocean in his eyes and on the horizon. Balancing between two worlds. One which was his own by blood, and another which was his own by outcast and adopted love. The sky rejected him. But the ocean called to him. Blue waves with cutting forces were terrifying, like their voices, like their fists raised in disgusted fury. But the teal lapping waters were also a calm reassurance, isolated. And when Lance’s head would submerge. He would not be afraid. He didn’t have to be afraid of the water over his head. There were no feathers to get wet and weigh him down like dead weights He could open his eyes, and see the fish flying through the new world. The land was just an ocean of air after all. If Lance didn’t have wings to fly, then he could have a sky of water to swim.

The ocean was calling his name. A name they never gave him. A name that was his own.


Not a single person could take that away from him.

That made him strong. Many thought wingless would always be weak, they couldn’t fight, couldn’t gain strength with wings they were not gifted with. Couldn’t compete. Couldn’t survive in the world without feathers and blood on their back. But the ocean made him strong. The currents would spar against him, like head strong winds for his arms and legs. Flying underwater. The rocks in the ocean would test him. Sharping the claws of his hands. Teaching him to climb higher and reach for the sky in ways that those he knew would not think of. Would look at with disgust.

Just because he didn’t have wings didn’t mean he didn’t know the world. Lance probably knew more of it than anyone with wings. He felt the sting of wind in his face, the heights of a large mountain he’d conquered through reaching claws and hard effort. But he’d also felt the sting of ocean water on his face. Warm lapping salt water, reaching for him. Like it was calling him to come home to it. Once and for all.

The sky was their home. The shores and the ocean was his home.

Now, however, he was far away from his home.

He wanted to go home.

Lance sighed, looking at the soft pliant skin on his hands from the rafters of the castle. The way their shifted from soft skin, to hard claws without Lance even blinking. It had hurt the first time. But, now it was instinct. All good things had to hurt, right? Bad things hurt too he guessed however.

Long cold nights away from a happy nest. Watching them fly together with bright smiles, as if they were urging him to join them in the happy games. But he could not join them. He never told them. And they never asked anything different. It was assumed.

Lance was assumed to have wings like them.

Assumed to just be shy with his wings.

Assumed to be a loner.

Rather than asked.

It was alright thought, they weren’t far off from assuming that he preferred to be alone. Honestly, he did prefer the quiet nights. But these weren’t quiet nights. Nights in a place with no pool, no water, no sand. These were just lonely nights. Nights away from the one place he could forever call home.

He missed the rock walls, rough against his skin. The way it would vibrate on stormy nights when his family would and lock him out of the house. Protect him from the rampaging clouds and crashing thunder. The way the water would splash up against his ankles. Cold in the storms, but cold in the best ways. The sea foam tickling his tan skin. He missed the slight burn and tingle of salt water on his skin. The way the water would look when the storm would break, the silver moon light and peace the cold waves would bring to him. The ocean was old, yet full of vigor. It could’ve kill Lance without thought when he was smaller, yet it didn’t. The moons pull on the waves of the ocean, sparing his wide eyes full of wonder, and showing him a new world, a home. Letting Lance see the way the sun would rise over the ocean. Glimmering red, yellow, and orange on the waves of a warming blue sea. Glittering and beautiful in a way that no one ever stopped to appreciate. The sea let Lance appreciate its beauty, let him watch night after day and after another night. Let him live to breathe the salt in the sky of dark blue tides. The smell of salt on the breeze. No one liked the ocean. Like no one liked the real Lance.

He missed the ocean.

He still heard it’s call.

Beckoning him home.

A presence to his side jolted Lance out of his thoughts, turning his long and sharp salt stained claws back into smooth flawless skin and fingers as Lance twisted his body. Greeting the new person with a wide smile. The leader of their impromptu flock, Shiro.

Honestly speaking Shiro really was a sight to behold, and even with the hopelessness that accompanied seeing such majestic wings, Lance’s smile was real. Because with Lance’s view of the world. Even in pain and in hiding. He still saw the big world and everything in it as beautiful. Including Shiro with his broad body and even sturdier wings. Darker than the night sky with flecks of white. No midnight blues however. The ocean wasn’t in anyone’s wings. Just his own eyes. Shiro’s eyes were battle hardened, but still kind. And his smile was gentle. Like the nudging of the schools of fish that would nibble at his skin, brush their scales against his fingertips as they dared to get closer to the familiar being. Shiro smiled just like that this time.

“Hey Lance, we missed you preening yesterday, and flying today. Are you feeling alright?” Lance smiled. Assumptions. As-sump-tions. Such a simple word. With so much meaning. So much ability to alter and change a person’s view. Lance never assumed anything. Then again, he also assumed everything. He had a different view of the word.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just relaxing.” Shiro’s wings fluttered, an obvious show of unsettlement or awkwardness. As if Shiro was trying to build up courage to ask the withdrawn flock member something. Lance watched. Even without wings Lance could read the emotions displayed on others. He had to learn how to read people to avoid their worse moods normally. Wings were how people told emotions from other people, being the most obvious sign of body language. Lance could read moods well. Seeing his sister shift from calm, to annoy at just the mere sound of his breath. His father turn from pride to rage at a single speck of his existence. Being the outlet of anger was normal for him. Taught him many things in life, but sometimes even Lance knew that he had to escape and wait. Sometimes Lance would disappear to the ocean for weeks at a time. Only coming home so that he wouldn’t be deemed a ‘flight risk’. Heh. A flightless flight risk. Wasn’t there a joke in that somewhere?

           Maybe that’s why people were so wary and awkward with him before they knew. Most people kept their wings out to show emotion. Most people couldn’t tell emotion without seeing someone’s wings. Lance was probably a husk to them. Emotionless. Like the porcelain mask of a doll. Not showing off your wings meant discomfort, distrust in your surroundings. Lance was probably just one giant enigma to them. A hard shell that didn’t look one second closer to opening up then when they had begun to form a flock in space so long ago.

           At least Lance could make them assume he had wings. Using his claws and climbing skills to reach high places. Climbing wasn’t a well-known or practiced skill after all. Lance hadn’t even known it had a name until he found an old history book from before humans had formed wings. When Lance could’ve been considered normal. So even if they didn’t see his wings, they’d see him lazily resting in the rafters and assume he’d gone up there to stare at the stars and enjoy the silence as he often did. The clearing of Shiro’s thought gathered Lance’s wondering thoughts again. Making Lance look at him with those wide eyes that had Shiro lost.

           To Shiro they were like the deepest galaxy imaginable. Dark blues and light blues, white and black. Swirling. With ferocity and gentleness. Like the ocean Lance always described. Lance’s eyes were like both their homes. Shiro’s home in Lance was the night sky. Lance’s, the reflection of the only home he ever loved.

           “Lance, why don’t you come fly with me? We could go to my nest if you’d like? You probably could use a good preening, I could help if you’d like? Straighten out your feathers while we watch some old movies?” Lance gave Shiro another ambiguous smile. Confusing Shiro greatly as Lance declined gently.

           It was difficult. Leading a flock. But what was harder was knowing that one of the people in his flock that he cared about so much was still distrusting of him. Still hiding the wings Shiro knew would be gorgeous. Still hiding the thing that would tell Shiro exactly what those distant eyes and smiles that tugged at his chest meant.

           Shiro would often find himself wondering what Lance’s wings could be like. Would they be brown like Hunk’s? Dark and powerful? Or would they be so black they were almost blue? Like the starry sky that Shiro saw in his eyes with every passing glance. Were they built for power or speed? Or were they built for neither? Were they an ivory color to give a beautiful contrast to his caramel colored skin? How would they react? Would they express the emotions that Lance never spoke? Childishly expressive. Or were they like Lance’s body, slim, lean, and closed off. Revealing nothing more than what he was willingly to show.

           Shiro didn’t know. And it was killing him slowly.

           Shiro didn’t know how Lance felt and it hurt him. Him and Keith. Him and the flock.

           Lance would always smile, ruffle Pidge’s hair. Give Hunk big hugs and large grins to reassure him. But he’d never show them his wings. His most telling part of himself. Nor would he touch theirs. He would glance at them. Shiro and everyone else could see the glances, the lingering gazes on their wings. They knew that Lance was gifted with people, and very wary of them. He could read their every mood like a book. But no one could tell what was in his eyes. Not even the Alteans could. Not even Coran, who was very obvious in his favoritism towards the blue paladin, could tell what was hidden in those royal blues eyes.

           Hunk had never even noticed until they had pointed it out to him. Shiro asking what Lance’s wings were like. Hunk had been his roommate after all. Sharing a living space for so long and being such close friends. But Hunk hadn’t known a thing. Hunk said that the Garrison hadn’t been very active with their flight training besides piloting, as many were obsessed with flying in their free time. Hunk had just assumed Lance was just one of those people who liked to relax without his wings out. There were few people who didn’t like to stretch out their wings at every chance. Feeling shy of how their wings reacted or moved. And just kept them to themselves. And Shiro accepted that excuse for a while.

           But then the months had dragged on. Bonding sessions. And mind melding. The link between paladins were everything was supposed to be visible, the moment Shiro tried to pry into the Blue paladin’s mind, it changed from pure clarity, to a haze. Only now and again he’d see flashes of the water and sand. Wet skin. And it always scared and fascinated him when he saw the rare sight of the water below its surface. Bright almost teal colors water, beige sand like silk on ‘his’ feet. The schools of fish swimming in front of him. Around him. Sometimes tickling his skin. It scared him because as beautiful as the ocean and water was. It was so quick to kill those of the sky. Leaving that place in Lance’s mind always made him wander if want he was seeing was a memory or a fantasy. Whether the fantasy was the beauty of an ocean he couldn’t touch living apparently on a beach in Cuba with his family. Or if it was a fantasy of wanting to drown in those beautiful waves. The linger taste of salt and the feeling of being washed away onto the shore of reality after these mind drifts left the bad taste of doubt in his mouth. It scared the others too when Shiro convinced them to visit the strange world. The scariest of all their reactions being Allura’s, who was tuned to the emotions of mind melding and said with certainty, that what Lance felt in those moments was a longing. A call for home in the water.

           It terrified Shiro.

           But also confused him when he considered the other’s minds. The clarity of the skies in their minds. From city skylines and buildings, to the red of the desert sunsets, and the night sky of his own mind. Smiling faces of family. And Lance’s was a foggy foundation of cold grasping tides at his ankles. Seemingly lying in wait to grab and snuff out the gorgeous light that Shiro called Lance.

           Shiro just wanted to know Lance. Get to know his moods, the way his eyes would glide over everyone. As if gauging damage, how to help them, how to smile at them and make them feel better. How to fix the castle. How to make Hunk’s anxiety lessen or how to drag Pidge away from her computer gremlin ways. The way Lance almost glided through the air, on his feet not his wings. Shiro could only imagine how graceful Lance would be in his own sky. The sky that they could never find inside his mind.

           There was only one time, when Shiro had felt like they had maybe taken a step closer to Lance as a team. Pulled the Hispanic teenager a little closer to their hearts and to their home. It was when Allura had insisted they learned a thing called climbing. A way to scale into the air, without wings. Allura had said it was for an emergency if their wings were injured, but Shiro had always wondered if it was a way of training that they could finally include Lance in.

           Though, for Lance it was barely training as it was total slaughter. It turned out that Lance was extremely good at climbing. Almost vibrating in visible excitement at the task as soon as Allura described it to everyone’s surprise. Finding nicks and crannies to dig his fingers into to lift him higher. While Keith had climbed the valiant height of ten feet, the highest of all the first four paladins so far. Lance had taken one glance at the wall. And scaled it in mere seconds. A flash of brown hair and then he was there. Sitting at the top. Head tilted up and his body straight, looking completely at peace, unobtainable. A boy in the rafters. A boy too high to reach. Too far away to even touch.

           It was then that Shiro had learned about Lance, and both him and his mate Keith’s budding interest in the mysterious goofy brunette. As Lance sat there at the top. Beating Shiro and Keith in every race they challenged him to on the rock wall. The other flock members giving up after a while of reaching for the inaccessible boy’s hand. Failing to grab the lifeline that tried to grab onto them and teach them by even the full length of their wingspan. Not a feather could touch.

           Lance had been sitting there at the edge. His legs dangling down, the ships lights were soft in the evening glow. Reflecting off Lance’s skin and giving him an almost shuddering and unearthly radiance. Shiro saw the boy in a new light, not the distrustful boy that was closed off. But the strong boy beneath it all. With broad shoulders and strong arms that pulled him closer toward whatever height he reached for. The curve and curl of his muscles and spine. Flexible. Durable. Stunning. It was then that Lance had spoken to them for the first time about himself. Not a joke. Not playful flirting.

           The faraway look in his eyes seemed softer, closer, almost vulnerable, it was the closest Shiro had felt to connecting with Lance’s emotions and knowing them without the crutch of wings. Lance’s full and pink lips recounting times of when he’d apparently climbed the rock structures around the beach of his home. Climbing them for fun and for a peaceful moment. Even Keith, the worst at reading people could hear the longing in Lance’s voice as he talked about the view. Seeing the sky and the ocean almost blending together on the horizon. With the wind in his hair and dust on his hands. He said the view was almost better when you had to work to get it. Keith, who’d be reluctant about the idea of climbing and weirded out by it, suddenly got exactly why Lance seemed to love it.

           Insecurities. Lance was the one with a home back on earth. Lance was the one that was in between, not new enough to shooting and training to make large progress, and not good enough to be seen at the highest levels like Shiro and Keith. He was the blurry and unrecognizable middle.


           Like fog rolling over the ocean in the early morning when the sky was warming and the water was still cold.

           Climbing was something Lance was secure in. Familiar with. It was something that Lance could connect to his home with. Watching Lance close his eyes, almost looking like he was relishing the texture of rough and cool rock beneath his hands. Lance had admitted the other thing missing was the dust and taste of salt in the air.


           Like the taste of his deadly fantasy.

           Lance watched as Shiro pulled away slowly and reluctantly from his own thoughts. Spreading those raven black wings and flying away from the tan boy. The boy with the stars in his eyes and Shiro’s heart in his mercy. They had to get going to the planet’s surface soon, and Shiro knew that Lance wasn’t going to fly down to go to the team in view of his eyes. So he glided away, only glancing back once he was on the ground at the end of the hall. Seeing Lance still sitting there. A far away look and one leg dangling teasingly from the edge. So close. Yet so far.


           After a half an hour of rounding up rowdy flock members Shiro was able to explain the details of the planet and the mission they had to carry out. Shiro was both excited for the mission and anxious. It was actually a secret vacation day for the flock, to fly and relax on a planet was oxygen. But, there was one thing.

           It was an ocean planet.

           Beaches as far as they eye could see.

           With rowdy kids that couldn’t swim, and one that seemed to dream of going under the waves.

           Yeah, Shiro was a nervous wreck to say the least. But after seeing Lance’s excitement at hearing the words beach and sand. Shiro relaxed. Watching closely as Lance used wild hand gestures to describe how many things they could do on the beach. He even promised to show Pidge how to skip a rock past two skips. Demonstrating flicking wrist motions with vigor and a large grin on his face. And after about three hours on the beach, Shiro was fully confident and relaxed that everything would be fine.

           Except, that was exactly when shit hit the fan.

           Lance was sitting high up on one of the rocky cliffs, admiring the view and keeping an eye on Pidge and Hunk, who were both splashing and carefully flying over the ebb and flows of the planet’s deep blue marine. Of course, that mean he was the first one to see and react to Pidge losing control and falling into the water. Unable to fly away in time to stop herself from being grabbed and dragged under.

           It was like he was on autopilot and Hunk screamed Pidge’s name and Lance dove into the water. Ignoring Hunk’s scream of protest. The fear of losing two teammates, two best friends at once. But Lance wasn’t going to listen this time. Not when he could help Pidge. The girl he’d come to see as a little sister. A younger sibling.

           Someone he had to protect.

           The water was different here, but in many ways. It was exactly the same. The push and pull of the tide. Tugging his body in every which way. Yet still guiding him. Towards the sinking girl just barely in his reach. Her eyes were closed and she was limb, but Lance wasn’t afraid yet. The waves were helping him, giving him that final pull down to grab her, before the push came, dragging Lance and his friend towards the shore and the surface. Lance mourned the sight. He wanted to relish in the sight, the sounds, the feeling of being weightless. But this ocean was not his home. This ocean was trying to push him away, telling him this wasn’t home. But an outreach of it.

           Voices. The voice calling him home was never so urgent and loud in his mind than in that moment. But it wasn’t calling him into the depths. It was calling him out of these depths. Urging him to go towards the ocean of air. To give his friend the oxygen she needed. Life Lance craved for her to keep. Lance’s muscles didn’t strain in the water. Even with the added weight of his sodden friend. He broke the surface easily. Relieved as he shoved Pidge’s head above the water and heard her gasp and cough. It was wet sounding and sent shivers down his spine when he heard how close he’d been to failing her. But it was also a freeing sound. A sound that she was alive, as he held her close with one arm and used the other claw his way up the shore where the flock was gathered. Wing fluttering worriedly with various degrees of fear and relief on their faces. Lance’s claws elongated to dig into the solid earth beneath the loose sand to hoist Pidge up and shove her onto the dry said into their waiting arms as Lance’s head dropped. His arms spread in front of him in almost a push up position as he greedily gulped in air to replenish the energy he lost in carrying Pidge to shore. He didn’t notice them staring at the long black marble looking claws until it was too late. He was already in a sunk ship as they stared. Watching in horrific awe as Lance detached from the earth. Claws slipping easily through the sand with the lost tension and fluidly retracting and forming back into long fingers with soft tan skin as Lance sat up. His long limbs folding into his lap with one movement. Hands tucked into his sides protectively.

           He’d gotten them broken for his adaptation before. Hard rubber work boots, stomping and cruelly twisting into the flesh of his hands. Breaking bones and skin. He couldn’t even hold a skipping stone right for months after that. The pain being renewed and rebroken every time anyone in his family saw an inkling of tiny black kitten claws piercing his skin.

           What would they think over him now? Long, sharp, dangerous and war tore claws?

           Did he look like a monster now?

           Lance looked up nervously to them, still sitting on his knees as they stared. Until Coran kneeled in front of him. Holding out his hand for Lance to presumably place his own hand within as Coran smiled reassuringly.

           “Thank you for helping Pidge, can I see that your hands aren’t torn up from the currents?” Lance frowned for a fraction of a second. Body curling instinctively to protect his hands. But Coran didn’t back down. He cared for Lance. Very much. Lance reminded him of his own son, but also not. Lance was witty and funny, but even Coran could see that something was not clicking with the paladin. There was always something just a little, off. The way Lance would move, the way he’d act. Keeping everything he didn’t initiate at arm’s length. Avoiding bonding sessions or showing everyone his mind and his body. Coran felt the need to shield Lance from the harsh reality of the world that Lance had already suffered. And with this new development surfacing, Coran was not going to back down on his small bit of progress. It wasn’t the lad’s wings, but it obviously was a sensitive piece of him. A private and more personal side of him. The instincts and tools of a predator. But also not dangerous at all, as Pidge had been held by these same weapons, and had not been scratched in the slightest. Eventually Lance caved in, hand shaking as he gave Coran one of his hands. His arm trembling fiercely as he did so, the stares of the others and Coran’s touch seeming to make his anxiety worse as his arm tried to tug itself away as Coran was able to get a small grip. But Coran didn’t let him. Studying the smooth skin, and watching as it formed into the claws they’d just seen. They were blackish grey, like the rocks on the sand. With white scratches on their hard surface. Probably from the rocks. Coran gently traced the scratches. Lance didn’t flinch, rather, he stared at Coran curiously, relaxing as no threatening move was made against his hands. Even handing Coran his other hand with no resistance. Letting it shift immediately as soon as Coran’s skin touched his hand.

           Lance had never looked so calm then in that moment. Even Pidge who’d begun to breathe properly ventured closer, not even the least bit afraid as she practically sat on Lance and grabbed his hands. Studying them for herself. Pressing her fingers against the sharp edges with the pads of her fingers. Marveling that even when they looked like they could slice her skin easily they didn’t even leave a mark. Lance answered the silent question.

           “They’re for digging into rock. They won’t hurt you unless you apply force to it.” Pidge slid her finger against the claw, her skin curved around the smooth yet hard nails. But didn’t get cut.

           “When did you get these?” Lance shrugged.

           “I’ve had them for as long as I can remember. They make climbing and swimming easier.” Shiro injected himself into the conversation.

           “You can swim? How do you not drown?” Images of the ocean bubble back to the front of Shiro’s mind. Not a fantasy. A memory. Lance can swim. That’s amazing. It’s practically unheard of. Lance looked down sheepishly.

           “I just do I guess. I lived on the beach my whole life. I knew how to swim before I knew how to climb or say my alphabet honestly.” Shiro’s eyes were locked on Lance’s wet form, his brown hair was curling with the water in it and sticking to his face. Lance looked up at him and their eyes met. Shiro hadn’t seen a look like that on Lance ever. He looked so at home, kneeling in the sand and the water. Pidge hanging onto him like a lifeline as he held her up on his lap, hesitantly letting Pidge wrap her wings around him. He looked a little uncomfortable, but not about to deny the girl who still probably shaken up for her near-death experience. They all filed back into the castle shortly after that. Allura smiling as she immediately demanded they learn to swim from Lance. Everyone smiling at the joy apparent on Lance’s face when he saw the salt water pool. It was no beach, but it was something at least. And Shiro was happy to say that he seemed to be getting better at reading Lance. Not quite good. But no longer completely clueless. Just. In the middle.

           Though Shiro had to admit, it was nice to see Lance so happy and in his element, the swim shirts and shorts they had to wear were suffocation. The males in the group even stripped off the swimming shirt, just deciding to preen out the water after every lesson. Though, Lance seemed happy enough to wear the suffocating material. Shiro guessed it was how he grew up. Parent’s doting over his wings, placing a shirt on him to make sure the currents and salt didn’t rip away or ruin his feathers.

           Shiro wondered why he’d never heard of people swimming if that’s what Lance had grown up with on the coast. He’d visited the east coast after all. The closet he’d seen to swimming was boating. And that was a completely waterless sport if you were talking about getting yourself soaked in water and not machinery meant to withstand it.

           Lance was proving himself to be a man of many very odd talents and surprises. And it wasn’t a surprise to Shiro that it only intrigued him and made both him and Keith want the Cuban boy more than before. Longing to hold onto that tan skin, feel it underneath their hands, their lips. Feel soft hair and soft feathers. Even Lance’s odd shifting claws were perfect. Scratched up with ‘scars’, but so beautiful in their own way. Having a destructive power, yet grace to not breach skin and blood unless intentioned that way.

           Either way, Lance was happy with the outcome of the days. Shiro and Keith were ecstatic too as Lance began to grow closer. Hiding away less. Letting himself occasionally be held by them, letting them wrap their wings around him like a tight cocoon. Lance finally joining the cuddle sessions. Even without showing his own wings. It was progress. Progress like reading Lance’s moods. It made the two so happy. Lance was happy too.

           His truth was safe. Hidden.

           Until later on, it wasn’t.

           Shiro also wondered why he didn’t see it coming when the truth did come out.

           Lance flopped to the ground, back smacking on the metal loudly. Making Keith wince and panic. Back shots were forbidden in training as they often caused wing injuries. Hell, no one could ever sleep or rest on their backs without being uncomfortable. Keith was immediately kneeling on the ground, pulling Lance up and reaching for his back to check before Lance jerked away from him. Keith immediately backing down even when Shiro’s and probably Keith’s instincts too, were screaming at him to put his hand on Lance’s back and check the health of his wings. But Shiro hesitated. Lance hadn’t even shown them a feather. Touching them was probably a very off limits thing to do. Lance proved that right as he ducked into his room, promising Coran to check his wings, before coming out ten minutes later, smiling and saying it was just a little sore. Though they wanted to look and check for themselves, Coran simply told Lance to take it easy for the rest of the day. Lance had smiled at them and nodded. Going with what they said easily.

           If only Shiro had insisted on seeing Lance’s wings that day. Maybe he wouldn’t have been this way. Maybe Shiro wouldn’t have sent him on this mission. Either way, even possible different solution or way didn’t end with Shiro pacing in front of a healing pod that contained Lance after a mission gone wrong. Lance needing it after trapped in a crevice deep in the planet’s earth. The crevice was large enough for Pidge to fly in, but not Hunk or Shiro. But Lance wasn’t flying out. Keith and Pidge had to go down to get him. Finding Lance bloody and unconscious on the ground, but thankfully still breathing.

           Though nothing was more shocking then when Keith finally said fuck it to Lance’s privacy after dragging the injured boy out of the earth and lifted his shirt to make sure there was no damage. And there were some bruises, some gashes, not surprising to see after such a fall. The real surprise, is what they didn’t see.


           Lance’s back was muscular, but smooth, there was no protruding muscles or slit where his wings could tuck themselves in for protection. There was nothing to indicate Lance was even supposed to have wings on his back. It was bare. But oh god were there scars.

           Lash marks lined Lance’s back like tally marks on an elementary school chalk bored. Long slashes of thick scar tissue on Lance’s back that went in every direction. Shiro knew exactly what caused marks like that. Belts. Whips. He’d felt their sting before. It was a normal sight on him. He’d grown used to the sight of scars on himself.

           But god if the sight of scars on Lance didn’t make him sick with anger. How dare anyone put someone like Lance. Someone so self-sacrificing and pure through pain like that? How dare anyone touch the one he and his mate were hoping to claim. How. Dare. They. Even Keith had bristled at the sight. Wings stiffening and puffing up in a threatening pose to make everyone aware of his anger. Shiro’s own wings had a similar response. While Pidge cowered. Pressing her wings against her back to make herself smaller as she pressed herself into Allura’s side. As if she were hoping to disappear into the princess. Hunk looked like he wanted to throw up.

           Lance was a wingless.

           An abused, and mistreated boy.

           He swam and climbed, and did all of these amazing things, because he had no escape besides hiding into the waves of the ocean or the rocks of the shore. Having claws and ways to survive in a world that rejected him. Treated him as if he were a plague.

           Lance had been afraid of them.

           Afraid to tell them.

           Because he was hurt so badly before that he didn’t see any mercy. Probably didn’t think he was worthy of mercy. Only knowing hands raised to hurt him. Voice raised to yell. Shunned from affection. Preening sessions. Home. The beach was his home. The fantasy of being called home.

           The ocean called for him like the sky called for them.

           Shiro could understand it now, why Lance didn’t trust them. Why he was in pain.

           But that was over now.

           Royal blue eyes, dark and light as the ocean. With kindess and gentle waves, as well as storm and raging waters opened to them as the tan boy felt out of the pod and into their arms. Hands pressing flat against his back in a silent telling that they knew. Yet still held him close. And Lance closed his eyes. Letting himself be held by the two males. Held in their wings. Lance opened in his eyes, and in his mind he say the ocean. The pull of the tides pulling at his mind. Calling him home. And he closed his eyes with a smile. Holding on tighter.

           One day, he’d be a part of the ocean. One day, he’d get to go home. But today wasn’t the day for Lance to go marching home. Not yet. His sky of water had to wait for him, there was still the ocean of air for him to learn.

           He didn’t think his home minded waiting just a little bit longer.

           He’d be welcomed when the tide came all the same.

           Just, not now.

bts as untranslatable words

seokjin: forelsket (norwegian) the euphoric feeling at the beginning of love. we can’t believe someone so perfect has wandered into our lives. they enhance and complete us. 

yoongi:  mångata (swedish) the road-like reflection of the moon on the water. it’s the long, wavy shape that appears across the water when the moon is shining on it. 

hoseok: iktsuarpok (inuit) the feeling of anticipation when you’re expecting someone that leads you to constantly check to see if they’re coming. it’s the impatient excitement for a visit that makes you look out the window countless times in hope of seeing your guest arrive.  

namjoon: yūgen (japanese) a mood in which one feels that the universe as a whole possesses a mysterious, elusive, but real, beauty. moonlight, snow on distant mountains, birds flying very high in the evening sky and watching the sun rise over the ocean all feed this sensibility.

jimin:  hyggelig (danish) a warm, friendly, cozy, delightfully intimate moment or thing. it gives off imagery of a candlelit winter evening at home with warm blankets.

taehyung: ré nao (热闹) (chinese) usually translated as “lively” or “bustling,” but its true meaning goes beyond these adjectives. a place or situation that is ré nao is not only fun and lively, but also has a special vibe that makes everyone want to be there. 

jungkook: kilig (tagalog)  the thrilling feeling of butterflies in your stomach that you typically feel when something romantic happens. when used as an adjective, it refers to the exhilaration a person feels during an exciting or romantic experience, such as catching your crushes’ eye for the first time or watching a marriage proposal. 

fork on the road

i think of you when i catch a glance
of the sun rising over the dark ocean 
letting the mind wander like a dog without
a leash until i find myself in an abandoned
house with the roof collapsed wondering
what happened to the place we used to
call home

you were there.  in the kitchen.  for a brief moment.
i smiled before the weight of the past came crashing
down destroying the last remnants of my memory –
and you were gone.  burned & ruined like this house

warm memories drizzling with happy tears and laughter
reduced to echoes of footsteps into the dark i’m following
a ghost in the middle of the night with furious sounds of the
river crashing against the rocks

we fell from godhood into amnesia and our home almost
burned to the ground and all that’s left are relics of our past –
remembering hurts.  so we pretend nothing happened and go
about our day no longer finding the time to dream like ghosts
trapped in a machine

those comely snapshots of ancient ruins not too distant yet not
too close experiences lost but gained in wisdom buried steep in
my scars carried deep in my heart feeling apart like fleeting stars

but we’ll never be far



“I am the queen of the sea.” 

Independent. Bold. Strong. Ambitious. Grace was a woman of knowledge and beauty. A daughter, mother, and radial leader. In Ireland during 1530-1603, Grace became a history maker and remains a legend. 

Hair of embers, she was like a rising sun against the oceans blue horizon. As a pirate she sailed and lead her men into battle, winning from strategy and speed. A warrior of feminine strength, courage and wit, she became known as the queen of the sea. 

Crystals That Connect To Grace O’Malley:

  • Preseli Bluestone: Celtic earth, magick, warrior energy, lucid dreams
  • Aquamarine: Ocean energy, clairty, express the truth, intuitive
  • Garnet: courage, leadership, protection, goddess energy 

Art Credit 

Trek Fest 2017

Word Count: 1367
Tags: @dolamrothianlady, @supermoonpanda, @kirkaholic123, @curiosity-killed-the-speedster, @starmission @emmkolenn @sugarshai @outside-the-government@southernbellestatues @engineeringtrashcan @rayleyanns @sistasarah-sallysaidso, @yourtropegirl
Prompt: from @frostedej: Apples, cheesy pickup lines, soulmates, humor, sneaky crewmates, and of course our favorite blond, Jim Kirk, and gender neutral reader.


You couldn’t have been older than 14, helping for the summer at your Uncle’s orchard in Kennewick, picking apples. It was hard work, and the muscles across your shoulders became tight and corded from the labour. You took to laying in the dirt by the sorter at the end of the day, trying to work the knots out.

“I can show you a better way to work the kinks out.” He was silhouetted in the late afternoon sun, but his shoulders were broad and strong and you recognized his shape, somewhat. He usually worked in the lower orchard, and Uncle Matt had warned you to stay away from the guys that worked down there. “Nothing but prison fodder and ne’er-do-wells,” he’d claimed.

You sat up and tipped your head forward, inviting him to help, Matt’s admonishments be damned. His hands were strong and capable, and he worked the tight muscles loose, wordlessly. Almost like a guitar string being plucked, you felt him pull at the corded mass at the base of your neck and as each bundle of tension released, you felt the air flow out of you until you were practically melted, a puddle in the hot August dirt.

“If I’m not here to help next time, take the hardest apple you can, but it between you and the ground and roll,” he spoke quietly. You turned to thank him, and in the inceding time between his approach and finishing the massage, the sun had set enough for you to get a good look. He had the bluest eyes you’d ever seen. “I should go. Matt doesn’t like us lower orchard guys hanging out with the college crowd.”

“I’m not in college,” you blurted, kicking yourself for not thanking him.

“But you will be, Apples. Someday,” he smiled.

Keep reading

Cancer Playlist

1. Big Jet Plane // Angus & Julia Stone
2. We Move Like The Ocean // Bad Suns
3. She Ain’t You // New Hollow
4. Fool’s Gold // One Direction 
5. Work Song // Hozier
6. Give Me Love // Ed Sheeran
7. Little Bird // Ed Sheeran

Flaws And All (Lafayette x Reader)

Even though this isn’t incredibly happy, it was still very fun to write! Feedback would be greatly appreciated :)

Warnings: Self hate

Words: 762

Your eyes were swollen, tears staining your cheeks.

You absolutely hated yourself, and every time you looked in the mirror, it added another weight onto your shoulders.

You turned to the side, placing your hands on your stomach, seeing how it stuck out farther than most girls’ did. Leaning in the mirror, you looked into your eyes, the dark circles standing out more than usual due to your lack of sleep. Your boring eyes stared back at you. You could easily make a list of all of the things you hated about yourself.

Your stomach

Your thighs

Your boring eyes

Your not perfectly white teeth

Your plain hair that ended in the middle of your back

You weren’t smart

Your skin isn’t flawless

You’ve got stretch marks on your thighs

Every thought let new tears fall down your cheeks, before you couldn’t take it anymore. You broke down, sobs rippling through your body. You didn’t know what to do anymore. You weren’t about to burden anyone with your problems, especially your boyfriend. He always seemed so happy, you couldn’t take that away from him.

He deserves someone better

Someone skinnier

Someone prettier

Someone smarter

Someone who’s going somewhere in life

Someone with a purpose

Sobs continued to wrack your body, making you drop to your knees. You curled up in a ball, trying to catch your breath, to do something to make it stop.

“Mon amour! What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” questioned a worried Lafayette. He sat down next to you, pulling you into his lap. He stroked your hair as you grabbed at his shirt, the shoulder soaking up your tears. You continued letting the tears flow freely, held safely in the tight embrace.

“Oh belle, je déteste voir comme ça. Je veux vous aider, il vous suffit de me dire comment. Je vais faire tout ce que j'ai besoin de. Vous êtes tellement, tellement belle princesse, (Oh beautiful, I hate seeing you like this. I want to help you, you just have to tell me how. I will do whatever I need to. You are so, so beautiful princess.)” he muttered in your ear, his voice calm, which in turn calmed you.

“Why choose me?” you whispered after awhile, barely able to hear your own voice.

“Hm, belle?” he questioned, not hearing you.

“Why? Of every girl you could have, why would you pick me?” You were shaking, unable to cry any more.

“I have everything I could ever want, right here in my lap. You are the most captivating woman I have ever laid eyes on. I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else,” he grinned, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. The simple gesture brought tears to your eyes, and you hugged him tighter, as though he might just up and disappear.

“I’m not though, there are better girls out there. Ones that are prettier, and nicer, and more intelligent, and more creative. And then there’s me,” you admitted. Lafayette’s smile quickly faded, seeing how much you were really hurting.

“Mon amour, you are brilliant. Come, stand up,” he said, pulling you up with him. You both stood in front of the mirror.

“Your hair is so incredibly soft, it smells like coconuts,” he pointed out, kissing the top of your head.

“Your eyes look like they hold all of the stars in the universe.”

“Your nose is quite possibly one of the most adorable parts of you, it’s just so cute!” he exclaimed, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose.

“Your lips, mon dieu, they’re incredibly, how you say, kissable,” he added, kissing you again. This earned a giggle from you.

“Ah, your laugh, it’s more beautiful than the sun rising above the ocean waves.”


“Your hands, it’s like they were made for me to hold them.”


“Your stomach, you might think it’s too big, but it’s even more for me to love.”


Tears sprang from your eyes as he continued, finding something he liked about every single part of your body. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him with more passion than ever before. You didn’t know what you ever did to deserve someone as extraordinary as Lafayette.

“Je t’aime, Lafayette,” you whispered, hugging him tightly and burying your head in his chest.

“Ah, je vous aime à la lune et retour, (I love you to the moon and back.)” he smiled, kissing your forehead and swaying lightly back and forth, humming a sweet song.

“Belle, I promise, I love every single part of you, flaws and all.”

ohreallyarley  asked:

What are some things to keep in mind while creating our own history, wars, rulers, myths, legends etc. from scratch?

Follow this equation to start from the scratch

  • People + Conflict of Interests = Social Processes


There are, at least, three types of History

  1. Written History, the one you find in books, notebooks, internet, the one the media tells you, the one they teach you in school, etc. Is easy to spot because it’s written by the winners, by living people with different perspectives, this means this History is biased. It also leaves behind important points of view, social processes, and people. It’s called Oficial History because is the one they want you to know and believe.
  2. Oral History, before writing system there was Oral History, people gathering around a bondfire, food, or something else. It’s told during a celebration, a rite of passage, in daily life. The main support of Oral History is memory, individual or collective. It changes with time but hold people together stronger than Written History, specially when two or more sides are in conflict, it’s also called Unofficial History, because of its fragility and because it tells a different version of the Official History.
  3. True History, no one has ever seen it, lived it, or heard it. No one. Not even the elves of the Middle Earth. Why? Because each and one of us sees and lives the world in different ways, with different experiences behind us.


  1. Why using a war to solve a conflict? Who’s going to war? What are their resources? Does the leader goes to war too or do they stay? What happens after war?
  2. There’s no such thing as fair war. Athena I’m watching you.


  1. Myths try to explain the origin of something. The beginning of the World, the beginning of Life, why the Sun rises, why the Ocean has waves, why Flowers bloom at certain times of the year. They hold important meaning to the people they belong to. It also has symbolism that can be translated to daily life.


  1. Usually a story related to people and why they became what they became. It’s basically good versus evil with a moral compass. It also holds meaning. It can be written but it has different variations.


  1. Why do people need a ruler? Are they a part of our basic needs or can we survive without them?
  2. Who’s choosing them? A god, people, their parents, a symbol?
  3. For how long do they rule? Can we overthrow them? Do we fear them?
  4. Where do they live? How do they live? How old are they?

To keep in mind.

  • Not only your main characters aren’t puppets. Sometimes your main characters are the puppets.
  • To every event there’s more than one version of it.
  • By burning books you don’t erase the past.
  • Collective memory is a strong form of memory.
  • Buildings, streets, statues, paintings, and every form of art tell a different form of History.
  • Not every culture develops to be a western culture. Not every culture wants to be a western culture.
  • Don’t be afraid when creating a new world.
  • People need each other but there are people no one needs.
  • Not always the government is the enemy.
  • The military isn’t subjugated by the government.
  • Sometimes people have no idea what they are celebrating and why. That’s okay.
  • People are killed, erased, forgotten because the way they look, the way they think, what they believe, who they love. Violence exists in different forms and is prepetrated by different people and different institutions.
  • Don’t be afraid of your people rioting. Not everyone is as blind as they look.
  • There’s always someone who thinks differently. It doesn’t have to be your MC.
  • Natural disasters happen and they can trigger social processes.
  • Form and substance don’t always go hand in hand.
  • History is weird. Randomness occurs.
  • Forget about Unilineal Evolution.
  • Events get mixed. People who should be remembered are forgotten and vice versa.
  • Stories are also part of History.

There are more things I’m sure I’m forgetting right now, but the information above should help you.

Good luck (:


The Raider’s Wife: Part One

So literally the same day I said I hadn’t written anything about Hvitserk, a request for an imagine involving him found its way into my inbox! The request was: a Hvitserk imagine where the reader is a princess and he and Bjorn are on a raid and to become allies, Bjorn notices Hvitserk has taken an interest in you, so Bjorn and the king (your dad) agree you and Hvitserk will marry as an ally. This is going to be a multi-parter, because I just love this idea so much! I started writing it and just couldn’t stop. Here’s part one, I hope you like it, nonny!

It can be read below, or it can be read on AO3 here:

The rumors of these men in their fast ships had reached your kingdom only a few days before the men themselves—their ships were so swift they were almost faster than rumors. Your homeland was sun-drenched, a land of rolling hills and fertile soil. Your father ruled only a small kingdom along the coast, but its position was vital. The seat of his power was a city with high walls, right in the place the sea narrowed to a channel between the mainland and the nearby island. It was a hub of trade, an exciting city full of people from many far-off lands.

But the men from the north, with their harsh tongue and coarse customs, had never walked these broad streets. You first saw their ships from the ramparts—you loved to watch the sun rise over the sea. It was a clear morning, your keen eyes could see for miles. But there was no need. The long, lean ships, their sails the color of hellfire, were close enough that you could hear the splash of their oars in your bright blue ocean, could see the water dripping from them as they left the water. The prows on the front of the ships were hideous; growling wolves and dragons with curved teeth.

You couldn’t stop the scream that flew from your lips—you had to warn somebody, anybody, of the doom that was about to befall your beloved home. Every eye from down below turned to you, their shock mirroring yours. Clearly they had expected to strike before anyone was awake. One of them waved to you, you almost swore you could see a grin stretching his mouth. You ran down the stone steps of the city walls as fast as your shaking knees would carry you. Your feet pounded along the street and you hitched your skirt high with your hands. Damn decorum, God would forgive you this moment of indecency when the lives of your people were on the line.

You crashed through the door of the guard house in a disheveled rush, “the…Northmen are…here,” you panted, trying to catch your breath. Both panic and the unexpected run made it difficult.

“Luca, take the princess back to the palace immediately. Do not leave her until you have delivered her into the hands of the king’s household guard. After that, run back, rousing as many men as you can, and lead them to the walls.” The captain turned his attention from you, and a tall, dark-haired young man, sword at his hip and shield slung across his back, ushered you out the door. You jogged back to the palace, the silent guard behind you the whole way.

The palace guards sprang to attention when they saw you approaching, and finally your guardian spoke. “The Northmen have arrived at our city gates. The captain of the guard will send a message about the invaders as soon as he is able.” He placed his hand between your shoulder blades and shoved you roughly forward. “The princess alerted us of their coming. She has saved us all.” And then he turned and ran, shouting as he went, rousing the men to arms in defense of our home.

The guards hurried you inside the palace, one escorting you to your father’s chamber and the other running off to alert the captain of the news. Three hard knocks on his heavy wooden door and you were invited inside. The guard dropped instantly to his knees in a deep bow, but you couldn’t stop yourself from blurting the news. “The Northmen have come! The ones who have been plundering the coast.”

Your father regarded you, nodding. “I suspected they would.” He turned to the guard. “On your feet, man, there is no time for this. Gather my children, take them to my wife’s chamber. I will have four guards posted there, two within the chamber and two without. I go to the gates.” Irritation flashed through you as the guard placed his hand on your shoulder to guide you to your mother’s chamber. Did these men have no respect for their princess?

They worked swiftly, and soon you sat in your mother’s chambers, eating breakfast with your younger sisters. The food turned to ash in your mouth, and you pushed it away. Your mother—believing idle hands to be an invitation for sin—somehow found embroidery for you to do, even during a raid. You sighed. The city could be in flames around you, and still your unshakable, dutiful mother would be tending to her work. Your younger brother sat at Mother’s knee, reading an old Bible aloud. You envied him the easier work, but had to admit you found the familiar passages comforting.

It was near mid-day when your father returned to the palace, releasing you from the prison of embroidering in your mother’s chambers. It wasn’t that you disliked embroidery, you simply preferred weaving. And not being locked in one room all day was even better. The guard informed you all that you were to meet your father in the hall for the noon meal.

Your mother sent you off to your room with a maid to redo your hair. You hadn’t bothered to fix it after your misadventures that morning. Quickly, the maid pinned your curls into place and straightened the cap covering your hair, and you made your way quickly to the hall to join your family for the meal.

Except it wasn’t just your family. Your father was seated at the table with a small group of the Northmen, and your knees turned to water just like they had earlier. “My daughter,” your father greeted you, beckoning to you to come sit at the table. “Our guests do not speak our language, I am afraid, but they do speak the Frankish tongue. I know your mother has taught you the language of her people.”

You moved toward the seat your father motioned you to, dread curling itself in your belly as you took your place between two of the Northmen. One of them—you were almost certain he was the one that waved at you from his ship, arrogant man—turned his attention to you immediately. “What is your name? I am called Hvitserk.” He did indeed speak the Frankish tongue, but the words fell clumsily from his mouth. You tried to hide your disgust at his poor mastery of the language, and at the ugliness of his name. Hvitserk? What a harsh, strange language they had, if that one word was any indication at all.

“My name is Y/n,” you told him, the Frankish language coming easily to you. You hoped he would feel embarrassed by his clumsy way of speaking, maybe see that him and his people simply did not belong here. Maybe it would send him back to the ice and snow he came from, never to bother your sunny shores again.

“Your home is pretty,” he told you, taking a large bite out of a chicken leg. You pursed your lips in distaste. Obviously this man was incapable of feeling shame, doomed heathen that he was. What had your people done to offend God so, that he sent these wild men to plague you? However, unlike this man, you had manners.

You took a delicate bite of bread, taking your time to chew and swallow before answering. “Prettier than your home?”

He grinned at you, mouth full of more chicken, and you had to look away from the site. He wouldn’t have been so hideous if he had better manners. In fact, you found him quite pleasing to look at—light brown hair pulled back in braids, eyes a shade of green that reminded you of a jade bead your father had given you. His hands—covered in chicken grease, you noted with some disdain—were strong; the tendons stood out beneath his pale skin, startling you. You had never seen hands so strong, and the thought of what they might be capable of sent an involuntary shudder through you.

You’d heard the stories of the Northmen, of course, but seeing them in the flesh, the strength of Hviterk’s hands, the mischievous glint in his green eyes…. You could imagine the destruction such men could bring, and before you realized what you were doing, you crossed yourself. God would save you. “Why are you doing that?” Hvitserk asked, reaching for his goblet.

Embarrassed by your rude behavior, you looked down at your plate. It was a good thing Father didn’t see you, or he would punish you for that rudeness. “It is to call the protection of God,” you explained. “To bless my food.” You felt only a  little guilty over the lie. It would save Hvitserk’s feelings, and perhaps he wouldn’t kill you. From what you’d heard of these savages, they were just the type to break bread with a man before killing his family.

Hvitserk considered this, chewing bread. “Does the blessing make it taste better?” You giggled at the absurdity of the question and he grinned at you, the corners of his forest-green eyes crinkling. His chest swelled out with pride, pleased to have gotten a positive reaction from you at last.“You have a pretty laugh.” He swallowed, took another bite, and smiled even as he was chewing. “Good thing I am funny.”

His glimmering green eyes drew a warm blush across your cheeks, widening his grin and forcing you to turn your flustered gaze to your plate. How could this stranger, this heathen, draw such impossible feelings in you already? You should hate him, instead you found yourself intrigued by him, charmed by his easy smile and jade-green eyes, even by his voracious appetite and sickening manners. Everything about this man was so vibrant. You only ever felt this alive watching the sun rise over the ocean. Your quiet, safe life was far from exciting, but that’s what it meant to be a princess. He was more open than any person you had ever met, guileless, not wanting to make you laugh than for any reason other than he liked the sound of it.

In his company it was easy to ignore the hum of conversation in the background as Hvitserk continued to smile at you, waggling his eyebrows to make you laugh. You were shocked when your father called for your attention. “Yes, Father?” You tore your eyes away from Hviterk’s laughing mouth to find your father’s gaze.

“You are to be wed on Sunday. You will help your mother with the preparations.” The air sucked itself from your lungs, leaving you gasping in shock. You knew you were old enough to be wed, and there had been several suitors seeking your hand, but your father had made no mention to you of choosing one. In fact, he had seemed unimpressed by every single one.

“To whom, Father?”

“The young man sitting beside you. I believe his name is Hvitserk.” Your father was speaking in your native tongue, but upon hearing his name Hvitserk looked up. His eyes traveled from your father’s face to yours, confusion plain on his features, and he looked to the man with the long blond braid for answers. You’d been so intent on Hvitserk before you’d barely noticed him. Even though he smiled, the words sounded harsh and low coming from his throat. Would you be forced to speak that terrible language, to hear it every day until you died? This must be God punishing you for your indecency this morning, showing your legs as you ran through the city.

The tall blond stopped speaking at the choking sound from the chair beside you, and the man on the other side of Hvitserk—another blond—pounded on his back. Hvitserk gasped, took a drink to compose himself, and turned his shocked green eyes to you with a weak smile. “I….” he shrugged. “There could be worse things, right?” You nodded slowly, still in shock. As far as punishments go, marrying a heathen was about as bad as it could get, no matter the jade of his eyes or the strength of his hands.

I love my mornings spent interning.

I get to watch the sun rise over the ocean every (work) day. I get to drive up and down the beach with my coworkers patrolling, excavating, and expanding sea turtle nests.

This morning my mentor commented on my oatmeal saying, “I don’t know what that is but it looks amazing. I wanna lay down in it.”

On monday I spent all morning talking with another coworker about running, traveling, veganism, etc.

Getting up at the crack of dawn can be a pain but damn is it worth it. It’s wild how much fun you can have when you’re doing a job you love.


for @itsokaylittlepuff


“Close your eyes”

“I can’t”

“Just close them”

“I- i swear i’m-”

c’mon baby” he gently mutters.

It’s silent for a while.

“I’m just scared of falling back into my nightmares.” It comes out as a weak whisper.

But he was already fast asleep as i whimpered those words into his ears.


“put out these fires in my head babe. cause i’m wide awake. why am i awake?”

I feel a light shuffling next to me and tired yawn.

I try my best not to move an inch.

I don’t want him to know i haven’t been sleeping.

I just don’t want to bother him. He doesn’t need this.

He would care. A lot. Too much.

He’s probably going to feed and head to university right after.

I can hear him dressing up. The sound stops for a while.

He makes his way towards the bed and I stop breathing.

He kisses the top of my head before going out and closing the door.

I finally decide to release my breath. I fucking love him.

and i feel like i’m ruining the trust he has in me.


“The city sits below and we take, shots at the moon
I wanna give it to you”

On my 19th birthday, i saw the sun rise over the ocean for the first time.

It wasn’t as movies or books told me it was like.

No, not at all…

It was on the first days of June and the cold wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be at six a.m. when I arrived to the beach. I took off my shoes and walked straight to the sea, or the sky; at that moment, when the colors melted so perfectly, no one could see the horizon line defined.

It started very subtle, as it was afraid to rise. Bit by bit, it covered the pearl morning haze with a pale, pure white light. The past few months seemed to disappear, and all the bitter moments of those bad times I’d just been through washed away with the soft lullaby the waves sang along as the daisy sun finally showed up in the porcelain sky.

Since that day I’ve been obsessed with sunrises. And every morning around 6a.m , after my sleepless nights I go up to the rooftop and sit on the edge. Today’s the same.

The black sky gradually turned into dim grey and the illumination of stars got languidly lusterless. Millions of stars in the ebony sky started hiding their brightness and got slowly dissipate, as if someone was going to coming. Divergent birds were gently flying in manifest sky and their dulcet dawn chorus was easily audible.

The first orange hued rays appeared on the skyline, which went through the clouds and the prodigious sky was easily visible. The sun came out of its abode across the brilliant orange horizon and glimmered in the sky. The sparkling sun started slowly rising up the scarlet skyline, which clearly differentiated the sky and the land.

Now the warm breeze can be felt and the plants made a beatific smile towards the sun.


“Tell me is it so bad cause it hurts like that when I think about it
We’re both cynics now and it kills me but I’d die for you anyway”

Baz isn’t here tonight. He told me he had some business with Fiona. I haven’t seen her in a while. I don’t think she hates me as much as before. At least I hope so. We’ve hung out once or twice. Surprisingly.

Eleven o'clock morphs into twelve and then one. The time trickles by, marked only by those changing glowing numerals. My mind is blank; where there should be dreams is a heavy blackness. My eyes are as stationary as the silhouette of my bedside lamp, which is where they rest. When the sallow glow of the streetlamp behind it becomes white, I know my night is over. My mind flickers to the bedside table and the sleeping pills the doctor prescribed. I don’t want them, I don’t want chemicals.

I tried to go to the doctor. I mustered up all of my courage and went to a psychologue on my own. I wanted to fix all of this. All on my own without anyone’s help, without troubling anyone. I’d do anything to save Baz from the trouble of convincing me into going to therapy and to see the doctor about my insomnia. But I just can’t seem to do this.

I close my eyes and they almost sting, open too long I guess. After some moments I recall an old tale Penelope told me about and let it mull around my head. Perhaps this old story can pull my thoughts into the randomness that is a prelude to sleep and dreams.

“Sasha is in the snow, the bitter wind whips at her as she trudges to the lodge-”

It didn’t work.


“Are you so scared when it hurts right there’s no way around it
In too deep now and we’ll never be the same.”

I tried to sleep today. I really did. And I even managed to end up sleeping for an hour or so. But the nightmares came back for me and they don’t leave either. Riddle me this. How can I call it a nightmare, if it doesn’t leave my presence when I awake?

Baz’s spot is empty beside me. My heavy wheezing is the only thing audible in the room. I cradle up to a corner of the room.

A salty fluid dripped over my small, cracked lips. My knees buckled as the marble tiles collided with my knees.

Crying is how I understand myself best. When I cry I know who I really am. I cry when others hurt as well as myself. I cry at the brutal world news and stupid soft movies. It’s my strength and my weakness. Strong because it brings understanding and weak because who wants the listener to weep when they are looking for a strong shoulder? I wish I could turn my tears off, I do. Or perhaps just save it until I’m alone, but I’m not wired like that. My emotions swirl like ocean currents, deep and strong. Sometimes I’m scared to dive in incase I don’t make it out again, but I can’t be anyone else, I don’t suppose any of us can.

I head towards the bathroom, to clean my face, before baz comes back. He can’t see me like this.


“Wearing my heart beneath those rolled up sleeves.

Where my eyes can’t see, tell me what my dreams could mean”

There were times I felt like the world was slowly disappearing in front of me. Or maybe it was just me who was fading away. Those moments it didn’t mattered anyway. Because my empty burning lungs and my heart hitting my chest so hard I thought it will break my ribs and rip apart my skin were the only thing I could think about.

And the void. The black hole in my head, deep inside my soul, slowly swallowing all my hopes and dreams. That was the worst of those moments. The realization of the vacuum, the nothingness, the absurd of my existence.

Those times kept me awake all night and made me wonder: why am I living for anyway?

Maybe for me. Maybe for him. For the others  Did it really matter?

And when I couldn’t find my answers on the ceiling, the anxiety turned into panic.

Now red, tear-rimmed eyes stared back at me, with watery streaks falling down my freckled face. I smoothed my now chaotic hair and wiped the tears from my cheeks which were now blotchy and mottled. My whole face was now washed with a dull red, including the very end of my nose.



“When my love won’t sleep, love won’t sleep”

I’ve been out feeding for almost an hour or two now. My mind’s somewhere else tonight.

I think about Simon. He seems different. The blue in his eyes doesn’t look the same.

I’ve been busy with university these past days, as finals are coming in. I feel like I haven’t been here for him. Not enough. It’s October now. Almost a year after everything happened.

Penelope tells me he’s okay some days. And others, he isn’t.

I hurriedly get back to our flat, wanting Simon in my arms at this moment. I gently open our room’s door, expecting Simon to be sleeping. To my surprise he’s sat on the floor in a ball, with dozens of pills around him. My heart starts beating faster. I think my hands even start shaking.


Simon turns, but too slowly to be normal. When he speaks his voice trails slowly, like his words are unwilling to take flight. There is a sadness in his eyes and fright, the blue too glossy.

As soon as he sees me, all of the emotions he’s been holding crumble down. Two fresh tears start rolling down his rosy cheeks before he lets himself break down. My heart breaks at the same time.

When he cried there was a rawness to it, like the pain was still an open wound. He would clasp onto something for support, anything, a table or the back of a chair, and then his whole body would shake. The sobs were stifled at first as he attempted to hide his grief, then overcome by the wave of his emotions he would break down entirely, all his defences washed away in those salty tears. When he at last turned his face to me he was a picture of grief, loss, devastation. It was the face of one who had suffered before and didn’t know if he could do it again. Then, just when I thought the breakthrough would come and he would trust me with his vulnerability, the shutters would come down, his emotion walled off behind a mask of coping. He would just wear it until everything was right again, he didn’t know another way.

I rush to his side, take him in my arms. Soothe him. I wrap my arms around his waist, feeling him calm down instantly at my touch. I rub the tears away with my fingers and started rocking back and forth. Soon nothing but the night time noises filled the room.

In the darkness our cuddles are feel like a little touch of heaven, warm, together, cozy. I wish I could extend the night just so I could stay close to him for longer, safe in your embrace. His arms wrapped right around me bring a peace I’ve never known before, a calming of the storms in my heart. I think it’s him  that gives me hope for the future. In his embrace I start to believe that there is nothing out there to fear, that all there is is sunshine, beautiful trees and kind people - friends to be. His cuddles are the only medicine I need, they are the light in the darkness, a lone star in an otherwise empty sky.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry Baz. I didn’t want to bother you. I know you have a lot on your mind. I tried to do things on my own. But it was for your sake. I didn’t want you to find out this way. I wanted you to be proud of me. But all I do is fuck up. I’m so sorry. I’m such a shitty and untrustworthy boyfriend. I don’t deserve you do I. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

I looked up at him. The swirls of emotion I saw there made me gasp. Lust and desire. However, before I could ponder about it further, he yanked me to him and covered my mouth with his in a hungry kiss. As our lips crushed together, I felt like i was walking on air. It was magic, the way his lips connected with mine. His mouth was so warm, the caress of his lips softer than I could have imagined and I opened my mouth with a low moan.

Then I felt his hands shake behind my back. I broke the kiss and embraced him in a hug once again.

“Shh. Simon. Simon. Listen to me. I love you. I’m sorry too. I love you. That means I would defend you with my life even if the odds were insurmountable. It means I will comfort you in the difficult and painful times. It means I will dance and rejoice with you when times are good. It means I will never betray you, never give up on you. Tell me anything and everything. Trust me with everything. You will never be a bother to me. I’ll do anything for you. Understood? You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. There is no perfect lover, we are all flawed, but knowing those flaws and still loving with all your heart creates perfect love. I will never look further than you, my love. If my heart is a flower waiting to bloom, your love is the only sunshine it needs. I’m sorry my love won’t sleep. We’ll fix all of this. You and me. Together.”


there we go! surprise surprise! i’m your secret valentine! i really hope you liked your gift! based off ‘my love won’t sleep by lostboycrow’ and also lots of inspiration from daisy, one of my favorite writers! but anyway this was really fun to write! happy valentine’s day <3