Lady Red —-> brittle blossoms
24. Leo. Neurotic.
I'm brittle blossoms (formerly Lady Red) on Lunaescence. I WILL be moving after Lunaescence shuts down. New information will be posted here.
This is most likely going to be a weird combination of word vomit, updates, and odd little notes to myself about fic ideas. This is a side blog to my personal, so I cannot follow back, though that may change in time.
Some things are better out of your head than in it.
at spindle’s end the air was heavy with magic and moisture; the briars in my belly grew thick and strong, winding up my throat and out my mouth. words start deep, you see, at your very core, and mine are thorns, short and sharp and tipped with blood.
at spindle’s end i fell in love. your fingers were short and blunt and thick; they dug into my soil with untrembling certainty. we smiled beneath the willow and i thought my tongue-thorns hooked into you.
at spindle’s end, you tasted of damp soil and tender mosses, of moonshine and bloodwort, of freshly turned gravedirt.
at spindle’s end, the dead walk.
at spindle’s end, you tempted me down.
i told myself i would never write a Loki story, but then my second time seeing Thor: The Dark World happened and welp…
In light of Luna’s inevitable closure, I will eventually be moving to Ghosts of the Vanguard Archive. I do not know when; in fact, it may be a good deal after Luna actually closes down.
When I make the transition, I will provide all pertinent info here.
I hope I’ll see some familiar faces at GotV.
someone once asked me what i would give to bring a loved one back. i shrugged and said nothing, because death is death and sometimes it just happens, and we have to accept it.
more fool i.
i would give anything to have you back.
i was still just a child when you first pressed your thumb into the soft loam of the earth and shook out a few small opalescent seeds. they grew and grew, strong green limber crawling vines that wound around the porch pillars and blossomed to imbue the air with the syrupy sweet scent of hope. you harvested them easily, as if they were an extension of yourself, and wore them in your hair. your smile was lit with the sun; it shone bright and strong from the face i knew so well.
today i pressed my thumb into the fading imprint of yours. the earth was damp with rain and it clung to my finger as i pulled away.it seems to fill my mouth and throat, clotting strong within my airways to choke me with grief that tastes like wet loam and the sultry summer air that used to fog our minds.
i am meant to miss you, but i cannot not even fathom that you are gone.
when i was still just a child you fed me flower petals; pressed your thumb against my lips and told me to chew. they tasted of water and sugar and the green, green grass. you laughed and held my hand. we tumbled in the weeds, rolled away to nowhere, and stared up at the vast expanse of sky.
i wore a flower in my hair today, as I trembled at a podium and read the words that had poured from my eyes in the dark of the night. once night had fallen, i pulled the petals from their anchors and pressed them to my tongue, let them sit feather light, then closed my tombstone teeth on top of them.
they tasted of sorrow and hope and the bittersweet dying breath of summer.
your hand cooled in mine.
when i was still just a child you grew hope in your garden and parsed out its tender flowers to others with a gentle smile and with an open heart. i do not know if i can do the same without you by my side.
but i suppose i must try.
i am in the ICU holding my non-responsive mother’s hand and waiting for her to die. don’t expect any updates, new stories, or whatever for a long while.
a year ago today you sat down, put a gun in your mouth, and chose to stop breathing. it made you the third friend in two years. it made me, trapped on the other side of the country, having not seen you since high school, sit down and sob on the floor of my apartment. just two days earlier i’d been staring at the blotches on my jeans, because it had been so long that i’d forgotten how to scrub blood out of cloth.
i was not well, that month. september days still blaze hot in california, make sweat trickle across the valley of your skin, make you feel like there’s fire licking through your veins. i’m not sure i’ve ever actually been well.
i miss you in ways that i would not miss you were you still alive; you would be a boy i knew, i cared for, but a boy that had faded with time until the pixelated lines of your facebook picture were the clearest image i had. i have no right to miss you as much as i do.
they laid flowers on your grave and i laid flowers on my doorstep because even as i mourned you, i also mourned me. it’s selfish and perhaps a bit monstrous, but i am selfish and perhaps a bit monstrous.
you were born two days after me (though a few years apart) and we both, perhaps, blazed a bit too bright in our time, shared a penchant for self-destruction, and had very similar sunny smiles. i wish i’d known.
i see too much of you in me, or perhaps too much of me in you, and it makes the world spin uncomfortably beneath you. i see the grief, the broken hearts, but do not even stop thinking about the pull of the ocean, the way the waves would lap at my waist as i waded ever deeper.
the ocean is dark, dangerous, deep, and full of creatures with horrendously sharp teeth, but the creatures in you and me have teeth even sharper.
i miss you.