the stars were stolen

Stolen Stars

Who stole the stars
From your eyes?
Were they roughly plucked?
Did the culprit protect
Their pilfering paws?
It would serve them right
If their hands were reduced
To ashes; at the least,
They deserve to be charred,
Lastingly scarred for
Removing something so precious.
For what? To display
Like a trophy, proclaiming
Them a thief of dreams
Also capable of turning
An idealist into a pessimist
In one fell swoop.

But what they fail to realize
Is that those stars will die
Without a dreamer to
Keep them alive.

Inkstay August prompt #1

I fell in love
with a renegade angel.
Whose wings were torn and black.

He’d never say
where he was from;
Just swore he wouldn’t go back.

His eyes were
stolen galaxies,his
tears were shooting stars.

And though the
stories were left untold
I’d never not kiss all of his scars

He was the
most perfect thing.
My rebel angel on the run

With broken wings
And a crooked smile, he must
have cultivated from pieces of the sun.

One morning I rose
with a lonely black feather
Where his benign head would rest.

And felt the clusters
of stars he left inside me supernova
leaving a black hole, a void inside my chest

~ZiXo// This was supposed to be my love letter to deAngelo but my muse took it another direction….. I shall try again :)

I had a dream that Star and Marco were out somewhere and their car got stolen so Star was like “hang on I got this” and she called Oskar and she was like “Oskaär we nëed to rïde in yöur über” and he just went “fuck you” and I woke up because it was so fuckign funny

Bad situation starters. Send "How'd we get in this mess?" and I'll generate a number between 1-25

Mix of funny and angsty.

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Confinement || Hoseok || Oneshot

Originally posted by liveforeverneversaynever

Word Count: 1203

Genre: angst

Summary: Part of the Let Me Know series

Hoseok still liked you. He still liked the way you walked, the way your hair fell, the way your lips quirked the slightest when you heard something funny. He liked the way you spoke softly at night even though it was just the two of you. He liked the way you looked out the window whenever you saw rain or snow fall to the ground. He liked the way you curled against him on cold nights and the soft puffs of air that came from your lips. He liked the way you clung to him when he tried to move and the way you nuzzled closer. He liked all your habits because he liked you.

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It was such a lovely night, the stars were out, and the cool air felt divine. Such a shame Koiya was working tonight. She’d have loved to just gone wandering around on this shitty planet and seen what she could steal. But, work had to be done, and she had a person to steal instead. Funny how that snobby prince thought he could hide his little lover on this bullshit planet and expect no one to hear about it. They’d all seen the change in him. Jaihan did. It took a few weeks to figure out where we was going but they’d found the location of the apartment well enough.

She had expected guards or something, maybe even just a simple fucking alarm system, but there wasn’t anything. Just a casual lock on the door. What, did he really think this was enough? He really was just some dumb ophkenia. She picked the lock with ease and slipped into the apartment and looked around silently, trying to figure out where her target was.


concept: modern!finn and rey looking through baby naming books, shopping for clothes (and buying literally dozens, because yeah, the baby will likely outgrow them after wearing them once, but they’re so cute, okay?), painting the nursery and ending up more covered than the walls, and promising, not always with words, that their child will grow up knowing the love and security that were stolen from their own childhoods

Why don’t we know Rey’s heritage?

I’m confident that Rey is Luke’s daughter. But why not directly confirm it at the end of The Force Awakens? Wouldn’t that be the most impactful time to do it?

If she really is his daughter, then I’d bet we’ll find out for sure at the beginning of Episode VIII. So why are we waiting that long? What payoff could we possibly gain from learning this information at the beginning of the next film, rather than the end of TFA?

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There were a lot of things that Loki didn’t imagine happening. 

Of course, every attempt at the throne of Asgard went to great fanfare in his mind, every imprisonment left him wondering where he made a misstep and where he might better his footwork to dance when the opportunity arose. 

He didn’t imagine a world without Frigga. He didn’t imagine how it might feel to realize suddenly that he was alone, in the sense that the only one within whom he placed his trust would be gone. There were others who may have claimed that they cared for his best interests, but only she did not ask him to change. She may have wanted it, but she did not force it. She loved him. She always loved him.

He didn’t imagine he would be standing alone on the balcony of Stark Tower, looking out at the stars. He closed his eyes and listened briefly to the hum of the traffic beneath his feet. In the strangest way he felt some sense of peace in his aimless wandering, without any to worry for him, to lecture him, to speak down to him. Loki was determined in his intents, selfish in his interests, and though he willingly fought those who called themselves good, he fought knowing that he was valiant in his own mind.

Asgard was the last place he wanted to be, for a hundred reasons, and though he felt peace he felt just the same that he was a step away from being hauled back in chains. He ought to have been using his time to better plan revenge (again) but he was tired then, oh so tired. Of everything, of himself. A part of him thought imprisonment might finally give him a moment to sleep, to regroup, to…figure out what was left in his mother’s passing, pick up the pieces, and build himself a newer, a better throne. 

“Have you yet admired how lovely it is here at night,” he said suddenly, aloud, when he became aware that someone stood behind him. “An Asgardian sky holds such wonder that I’ve seen in no other realm. The Midgardian sky is dark, though their towers glitter as if the stars were stolen to power them. To look up is to see nothing, but to look down, is to see such beauty foreign even to the gods.”

When he turned around, his back to the glass railing, he was smiling. “Has Heimdall run his mouth again? Have I an appointment for a verbal beating with the All-father? If it is so then I might ask that we make haste for I’ve no place to lay my head tonight otherwise and I fear it’s horribly past my bedtime.”

He held out his arms, wrists together, and waited. “Do you ever resent that it is you they choose to come nanny me whenever it’s deemed appropriate? Seems a put-down for us both.”

Another sketch for the Legend of Zelda fan comic that I used to play with.

One of the ideas in Star Seeker was that Link would find stars that had fallen from Ganon’s pockets after they were stolen from the sky. In a land that has fallen to eternal darkness and winter, the little pockets of light and warmth that come from a fallen star or a traveler’s lantern attract all sorts of attention, mostly bad.

At one point, he receives a magic slingshot that lets him shoot the stars back to their places in the sky from certain mountains, depending on where the star belongs (if this was a game, finding all the fallen stars and shooting them into the sky would be the game-long mini-quest).

Why yes, I did think a lot about the story and world when I originally worked on it.

The first Star Seeker image.

Irreplaceable II

[Disclaimer: This story contains some themes that could be upsetting to some (a loved one dying / talk of assisted/mercy death). I am proud of this piece as it is emotional and real for me in ways I cannot describe here. But if those topics bother you too much to read it & you still would like to know what happens, hit me up and I’d be happy to provide a TL:DR. (baby is a happy part)]

On a swath of fresh linens, she was laid, a tiny squirming ball of life. Her face and skin was rosy with her little wails, protesting the chill of the air around her body in the contrast of the warmth she was rudely stolen from. The stars were bright and the moon radiant in the wee hours of the morning; the first day of the new calendar year, and an unkind one it was.

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A Little Bit Cliché

Summary: Growing up in the system left Emma Swan with a fairly fractured worldview on all things viewed as wonderful, familial, cliché. That still doesn’t stop her from finding her happy ending. (Have yourself some very merry Christmas fluff)

Growing up in the system left Emma Swan with a fairly fractured worldview on all things viewed as wonderful, familial, cliché. It really was the result of bouncing from home-to-home, family-to-family, always wanting and never having that made her that way. Hope and everything it entailed was a weakness, because hope inevitably led to disappointment, because life and things never worked in her favor. Why should they? The world wasn’t fair, and she was a little girl with parents who abandoned her by the side of the road with no information but a name. Get placed with a nice family? Oops, they decided they wanted another kid. Begin to make a friend in school? Oops, time to get dumped to a different family in a different district, and never, ever see that potential new friend again. Meet a cute guy? He’s a felon who will leave you to rot in prison, pregnant, and not even the age of 18. She hated the stories that say everyone and everything ended “happily every after,” scoffed at the triviality of “everything works out in the end” because it so very rarely did in her reality.

She was the kid who stopped believing in Santa Claus very early on, because while other kids were gifted the latest gadgets and gizmos, she was lucky to receive anything. (And the gifts she did get? Oh, how she cherished them until they were inevitably lost, stolen, or broken.) Wishes upon stars were wastes of time, and the promises of ringing in the New Year with a kiss hardly rang true. They just didn’t happen. As she grew older, when friends asked her over for “Friendsgiving,” she deftly turned down their invitations, because she couldn’t handle that level of cheese, and holidays just weren’t her thing, okay? (She was thankful for having food on table, and not in the clichéd “thanks for the good food, Mom” sort of way, but the kind of thankfulness that comes from never having enough.) She celebrated her birthdays alone, and drank herself to oblivion when it came around to the birthday of the son whose life she continued to miss.

She would always make fun of that picket fence life, you know, the whole perfect house with the white fence and perfectly manicured lawn, inhabited by a loving couple and their 2.5 kids, and that overly loyal and spectacularly trained golden retriever. On the rare girls’ nights that she did allow herself, or the rare ones to which she was invited rather, she would play the cynic relaying that “he’s just not that into you” and stamping down all speculation of “true love” and “fairy tale romances.” They existed only in storybooks, not in real life, and even in fiction, they were fake as hell. There was no way that Elizabeth would actually end up with Mr. Darcy, because marriage then was more Charlotte and Mr. Collins, not the utterly unrealistic affair that was push-pull of Jane Austen’s most famous pair. Prince Charming was most certainly a creep, because who made out with sleeping women? And if that’s fiction’s best, what do real men have to offer? (Bleary walks of shame and the occasionally satisfying night of sex, that’s what.)

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They decided they didn’t need anything fancy. That’s why Sam was wearing his black ring on the opposite hand, and why Cas’s matched.

They were laying together in what used to be a lush field, but this summer was brutal, so now it was nothing but crunch brown weeds and dirt without any give. Still, Sam and Cas always came out here because it was far away from town. There was little light pollution and even less noise. It was cloudy, but they could still see the silhouette of the almost-full moon shining through, and they could both probably name the stars from memory anyway.

But they weren’t here for the moon and the stars. They were here for a rare stolen moment together, nothing to worry about besides the impending rain and staying comfortable on the hard ground.

Curled up together as they were, it was a little bit of effort for Cas to take Sam’s left hand in his own and manoeuvre it between them, but he managed just fine. Sam opened his eyes slowly, sleepily, and watched Cas kiss each of his knuckles one by one with a small smile on his face, eyes full of reverence. Cas lingered a moment longer on his ring finger, and Sam took the initiative to pull him in gently. Cas tilted his head ever so slightly, and their lips slotted together perfectly.

Truthfully, Sam never wanted to leave. And even when they felt the first drops of rain, they lingered a while longer. There were people who spoke against them, who said a relationship like theirs would never last. Maybe it was petty to take pleasure in proving them wrong, but the tender smile they shared said no one had to know.