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kinsbin · 4 years

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Night Blooms

Title: Night Blooms Ship: Asra/Jenna [Self Insert/Canon] Word Count: 3035

Summary: Asra takes Jenna out to find a rare flower for some potions. What happens instead is a recollection of just why she fell in love with him.

A/N: A commission for @asrasdarling! Another wonderful commission for a wonderful person, I hope you enjoy <3

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The sky above them was beautiful.

It almost negated the chill that hung thick in the air around them. Jenna shuddered at the feeling of the icy winds assaulting her skin, pulling the all too thin sweater she had worn on the adventure she was currently on closer to her form in hopes that it might do something to prevent the bitter frost. Instead it almost seemed to emphasize it, each fang of ice now greedier than ever in its effort to sap her heat and will her to succumb to its clutches. She watched her breath puff outwards into the air with every inhale and exhale she exchanged with the atmosphere, the crystals of breath hanging stagnant for a brief moment before evaporating as they always did. She watched with a smile, imagining herself a dragon in the frosty forest night. Patrolling its territory and marking its way through its home as she did so.

But no. She was merely a magician whose lover was by her side.

Jenna let her gaze cast itself over to Asra, who was dressed far better for the chilliness of the forest air than she. The scarf he wore was a mismatched pattern of various fabrics stitched lazily together. It might have been a solid color once in its life but years of use and repair have built it into the chimera it was today. Perhaps it was an important gift at some point whose sentimental value was higher than its damage. Perhaps it had once belonged to a lover who he could no longer forget. Perhaps it was just because Asra was too much of an airhead to actually remember to buy himself a new scarf when it was rarely needed in most months of the year in Vesuvia. The options for the situation were pletherous to the point where considering each and every one gave Jenna more of a headache than satisfaction.

His eyes shone in the space between the scarf and his hair, the strands atop his head as beautiful as the crystals of ice beginning to grow around the pathway they took together. His eyes were alight with the shade of the moon glistening against them, searching the treetops and route forward around them with an intense sort of interest that she could not quite place. He looked so far away despite being right next to her. His eyes were the galaxy in which they lived. A swirling and beautiful vortex of arcana and wonder that she could only hope to get lost in every day they were together. Her heart beat faster in her chest when she looked at him for as long as she was. He was an ethereal form in a land of mortals and magicians alike.

Jenna reached her hand out, bumping the knuckles of her own with his in a gentle manner. A simple request for what she wanted, longing and soft but no pushy as she offered it to him. It was enough to startle Asra out of whatever reverie he had put himself in, his gaze switching to the woman at his side for a moment as he took her in. His smile was soft. A curve above the edge of his scarf as his hand extended out towards hers.

Gloved fingers entwined with her own, the grip of his hand still warm despite the chill around them.

“Cold?” Asra asked as their fingertips held tight together, the smirk just visible in the tone of his voice as he eyed her.

“Just a little,” Jenna laughed with a slight amusement in the lilt of her tone, the vaguest chattering of her teeth giving away the actual chilliness she was experiencing. The laugh that followed suit was a beautiful sound as well, bell like and chiming in her ears as he joined her in the shared amusement of the night. The way his cheeks turned rosy when he did laugh was something so beautiful, Jenna wished she could watch it on repeat for hours on end.

Instead her mind worked to find a different subject. A change to the current situation as they meandered through the forest.

“Was this ingredient so important that we had to come out here in the middle of the night?”

Asra hummed his response and swung their arms together in a lackadaisical matter. A single finger from his free hand pointed upwards, causing Jenna to gaze forward with surprise at the area he was gesturing to. The night sky was alight with a beautiful series of stars, all aligned in such a gorgeous way that it nearly caused her a breathless gasp somewhere in the base of her throat.

“It’s a type of flower that only blooms during a specific time of the year,” Asra noted with a softness to his tone, not reprimanding but explanatory as he continued, “I’ve been tracking the alignment of the stars to make sure I wouldn’t miss the peak of its season, so that we could collect a couple more outside of what we need for the future.”

“It’s so cold though.” Jenna shivered as she looked around at the dying grass and wilting plant matter surrounding the frosty forest floor with a frown, “Wouldn’t vegetation just die?”

“It dies almost immediately after its bloomed unless you pick it at the right moment,” Asra hummed his agreement with a rub of his thumb across Jenna’s knuckles, “Which is why I appreciate the extra set of hands.”

“Oh, and here I just thought you had me along because you needed someone to hold.”

“It might be partially that as well.”

The teasing tone to his words made her scoff as she leaned to the side, nudging his arm with her own in a gentle and playful shove of their bodies. Asra moved with the shift, laughing as well as his head came up to nuzzle the side of Jenna’s cheek lovingly. She blushed at the gesture, averting her eyes to try not to give away the genuine feelings they gave to her.

There was another swath of silence as they walked, bodies moving in tandem as they often did. Many joked that Jenna and Asra were one now, a well oiled machine that moved perfectly in unison. Years of staying together did that to them. They had picked up one another’s habits and spoke at the same time without really meaning to. That coupled with the blush they both accumulated when the entire event occured made others tease them relentlessly in their muschiness the point of their faces being warmer than any volcano nearby. Julian was usually the worst with it, he and Portia teaming up on them both in order to relentlessly amuse themselves until Asra sent a glare so cold over his shoulder that they stopped in their tracks.

It didn’t stop them for very long, though, and Jenna thought their persistence was cute in an annoying way.

Regardless, they were alone now. The forest was the only one who would bare witness to the movements of the couple as they meandered deeper into the night chill. She had almost lost track of where they were, the trees blending in with one another and the path disappearing under their cold feet as they moved. Asra’s eyes remained ahead, focused and careful as they always were, until he stopped. Jenna stopped with him, nearly running into him in the process with a startled grunt. She looked up at the man, whose gaze held itself forward with awe.

So she followed it.

The field before them was a wide, open space that spanned nearly the length of their shop back in Vesuvia’s busy city center. The grass within it was tipped with white bits of frost and snow that had gathered themselves from the cold in the atmosphere. Dewdrops froze in mid drip off of blades of grass, creating natural ice sculptures so miniscule that one had to focus to watch them. The slightest breeze broke those droplets, shattering them into water that fed the moistened soil beneath them. Rocks covered in moss glittered with wetness, the chill doing nothing to retract from their beauty as the hums of crickets broke against the starlit night.

It looked like a sea of glittering stars on the ground, each sparkle matching the ones in the skies above them, the milky way dancing overhead with the stars that mimicked the ground’s patterns bit by bit.

“Oh, Asra,” Jenna gasped in awe, her hand coming up to cover her mouth to prevent the puff of cold air from blocking her sight of the gorgeous clearing, “This is… I’m speechless.”

“It’s beautiful.” Asra agreed with a smile, letting go of his lover’s hand in favor of meandering into the forest around him.

He looked perfect here. A fae spirit dancing amongst the stars. His hair, white and silvery as it was, reflecting the moonlight with blinding efficiency. Even the stars seemed to shine on his head, sparkling with excess droplets of water and sweat that beaded on his perfect skin. If anyone else saw the visage before her, Jenna knew they would think they were looking at a ghost. No, not a ghost she corrected herself as she swallowed hard, an angel. An immortal being walking amongst common men. A form the world did not deserve, whose wings were bound to the earth that he loved so much.

Fuck, Jenna realized, she was really in love with him.

Asra leaned down amongst the plat matter, his fingertips brushing against the light blue buds of plants so small that they barely counted as noticeable by anyone without a trained eye for them. Their tightly curled tips glowed a gentle baby blue in the low moonlight, pulsating with neon and brightness that made them look ethereal. They looked like something out of the realm of the Magician themselves, Jenna mused as she watched Asra’s hands reach out to caress the bud delicately. He held it in his palm, weighing it as his brows furrowed. As he tilted his head, his bangs fell into his face. It made him look like an angel.

He gazed up at her, his smile half apologetic as he looked up at the stars in the sky, eyes searching for something amongst them before he finally spoke his mind.

“They need just a few more minutes. Then they’ll bloom and we can pick them. We’ll have to wait until then, is that alright?”

Jenna couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her mouth, wide and warm as she followed after him. She moved her feet carefully as not to step on any of the glowing buds surrounding the field in a halo of soft glows. When she reached him, Asra was already sitting down on the forest floor. His legs crossed in front of him, he had an elbow resting on his knee and his chin in his palm as he stared upwards at her with that wry, sweet smile of his. The one that made her think that he was coming up with some sort of mischievous idea. Fox like in his deliverance, Asra always had something going on in his mind for one reason or another.

She took a seat at his side, the dew of the grass moistening her legs for a moment before the feeling faded into moderate familiarity. She smiled as she reached out to take his hand in her own, squeezing the flesh gently as she hummed.

“Oh no,” Jenna purred sarcastically, “Waiting in a beautiful, romantic field with my wonderful boyfriend? I can’t believe that you’d ask this of me, but since I adore you so much I can grin and bear it.”

“Oh, so you think that this place is romantic?” Asra questioned with an equal tease in his tone, sitting up straight so that he could wrap one of his arms around Jenna and bring her closer to him. His chest was warm on her back, the two maneuvering so that she was sitting between his legs and his chin was resting comfortably on the top of her head.

“Of coures it is,” Jenna returned as she leaned back into her boyfriend. Her hands found his own and played with the soft skin of his knuckles as the two relaxed amongst the plants, “Half of me is suspicious that you brought me here on purpose.”

Asra’s responding hum was mischievous as he smiled down, “Maybe I did.”

“Of course maybe you did.” Jenna snorted, lifting her head up and turning it back so she could plant a kiss on Arsra’s cheek. It was warm despite the chill outside and it brought the sweetest sound of laughter from his lips. Jenna admired the noise. Admired the warmth his entire body offered to her as she shut her eyes to further appreciate it. To appreciate the point in where she was and just how much she adored it. Just how much she adored him…

The two sat in the field like that for a while longer, hands entwining and discussions ranging from thing to thing with no real direction to its movements. Asra and Jenna were always good at that. Being able to hold conversations for hours with no real direction to the words they were both discussing with one another. The world was their oyster, the knowledge infinite between their lips as their eyes wandered from one another towards the trees in the forest and the skies around them.

It was so beautiful like this. HE was so beautiful like this. There were no stars in the universe that could align as perfectly as the ones in his eyes. As the stars of his smile when he looked down at her with that most loving and beautiful expression. It made Jenna’s cheeks heat up, the mere reminder of the fact that this man was her significant other enough to send her spiraling into a state of disbelief.

A tap on her shoulder broke her from her momentary thought process, her breath inhaling softly as she looked at him with confused eyes. Asra only smiled and pointed ahead of them. She let her gaze follow towards his finger and downwards into the grass. His breath grazed her ear as he looked over her shoulder and she could feel the smile on it, delighted and excited as he exhaled. It gave Jenna goosebumps as she stared.

“Look,” Asra whispered softly against her form, “It’s happening.”

Sure enough, when the stars aligned oh so perfectly, the flowers before her eyes began to bloom. The neon buds lifted their heads like children opening their eyes to the world for the first time. Thick, heavy set blue petals unfurl from the center, revealing a brilliant yellow sheen of its glowing center. Its long stem pulsated with warmth, sending sparkling rows of stardust up from the ground and into its bloom. Jenna could hardly believe her eyes at the gorgeous thing that had spread itself open before her so suddenly.

Asra watched as Jenna’s face glowed with bewilderment. As her eyes conveyed wonder at the magical item before her. The petals pulsated their soft neon blues and spots of purple formed on the petals as it finished its full bloom, displaying its beauty to the two magicians. It garnered their admiration in the form of whistless ‘wows’ and speechless gasps of awe. Even in the cold of the world around them, they looked so perfect. So unharmed by the elements. It was their true signature of magic.

Asra reached down, his hand extending over Jenna’s in order to pluck the bud from its roots carefully. The flower gave way with little resistance, its beautiful bloomed form keeping despite the sudden sever from its ground home. It glowed and pulsated still, feeling almost warm in his hand as he held it closer to Jenna’s face so that she might be able to get a better look at it.

Jenna studied the plant, her hands reaching up to touch the silk soft petals with delight. She memorized the feeling of it, silk and smooth fabric against her fingertips, and the smell. It was something akin to lavender but closer to chamomile, a blend of herby richness and floral beauty that had her head spinning as she watched it with her jaw slack at its form.

“It’s… “ Jenna tried to gather the words between her lips, “It’s so beautiful.”

Asra twirled the flower between his fingertips, kissing the side of Jenna’s temple as he did so. The feeling of his lips was electrifying on her skin and Jenna sighed lovingly into the embrace of her lover. The world around them was still so quiet. The nature was perfect as she smiled into the blooming field of flowers.

Suddenly his hand rose, brushing pieces of her hair back to tuck the flower behind an ear. Jenna blushed at the gesture, facing Asra as he admired her face with a gaze of utmost love.

“I can think of one thing more beautiful around here right now…”

And then he kissed her. His kiss was slow and tender. It’s passion was endless as he filled her up with his heart and soul. As he took her in. Every part of her. The good and the bad and inbetween, as lovers tended to do, and it was the first time she had ever felt truly in love. Truly part of someone in this way and form that the entirety of his devotion seemed to take her breath away as they shared the intimate moment in the moonlight.

Asra pulled away, his face flushed and his lips curled into a smile as Jenna stared back at him for a long moment. Eventually her own mouth smiled back and she leaned forward to place a kiss on the corner of his cheek, sighing into the warmth of his skin as she did so.

“I love you, Asra.” She whispered, her breath endless as she clung to him.

In return his arms wrapped around her tighter, holding her close to him and never letting her go. He would never let her go. He had sworn that to himself time and time again and, now, it was true.

“I love you too,” He whispered back, “Forever and always.”

And it was a promise.

#kinley talks #words #self insert #self ship #self shipping #writing commission #the apprentice #the arcana #asra #arcana asra

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bubmyg · 6 years

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Maybe like, a picnic with yoongi or jin, if you havent done that before, that ends with a. s u n s e t. k i s s.

a/n: not to be predictable, but this is slightly cheesy. just like. slightly lmao.

word count: 1,758

Your hiking feet softened into the luscious shards of green grass below, the darkened hue flushing into a lighter mint to the path your shoes carved out. A spring seasoned dandelion peeked every few feet, eliciting small swarms of striped bees and buzzing flies. The chattering of soaring birds flagged elongated shadows across the sloping hill before they dissipated into the rustling cast of trees.

The sun ducking under the knoll chilled the fluttering winds of the dry humidity, instead picking up the soft strands of Yoongi’s ebony locks to toss across his head. You squinted into the sun, bringing your wrist to shield at your eyes the second his torso twisted to grin at you.

“Come on,” Yoongi teased, turning completely so that he was trudging backward. “The faster we get to the top the faster we can eat.”

Your eyes trailed to the basket clutched at his waist, the woven wood bouncing off his thigh each time it flexed to propel him backward. A fond thrum of your heart paired your exaggerated snort as you eyed the checkered whites and reds peeking out from the ajar lid.

“Never have I seen you so excited about something like a picnic date,” You giggled, lengthening your stride to fall in step with him. Lightly, you elbowed his side, “or exercise.”

Yoongi’s gums appeared as he turned away from your smile, chin catching the kicking toe of his shoes into the dirt. The light pink dusting his cheeks painted over the sun rays tinging his pigment. “Can’t a man crave a soggy ham and cheese sandwich sometimes?” He grumbled, scraping up a dandelion by it’s roots with the curve of his turned out foot.

Your nose wrinkled, “That’s what you packed?”

“Hey,” He pouted, sharply rimmed eyes glancing at you, “I just thought-”

You reached for his wrist, tugging him to a stop. You rutted the balls of your feet into the earth below, leaving a gentle hand against his shoulder as you softly pecked his cheek. “I’m kidding, Yoongi,” You pecked at the blotching flush that splayed upward from his tensed jaw, “Thank you for planning this.”

His voice was small, tentative as he mumbled out a you’re welcome.

“So, how much farther-”

Yoongi’s lips found your cheek this time, nose feathering softly under the curved apple of your cheek. He carelessly tossed the basket in front of your statures, instead mumbling, “We’re here.”

“Oh, good,” You danced the crook of your fingers from his wrist to grapple at his open palm. You squeezed when the lace of his digits tangled over your own, “I thought my demise was going to happen on the side of this mountain-”

“Stop being dramatic and help me with this blanket.”

You flexed your feet, pointing your ankles toward the descending slope of the landscaping over the curl of your toes. The bright colors of the playground looked desolate without cheering children hanging from the barred metal. Maze like sidewalks were free of waddling dogs on retractable leashes, over sized strollers decked in toys with high probabilities of being forgotten under the rusted metal shelter house just beyond your smallest toe.

The higher your gaze raced, the more fluorescent the colors of the vegetation below the press of your palm to the patterned fabric. Soft yellows in weeds mirrored the goodbye of the sun as it shied away from the crescent of forest green trees lining the horizon. Sprinkled in were deep purples, the flowers much smaller, entirely more symmetrical, some missing petals, so robbed of their pea sized leaves. One rested over the stitched edge of the blanket, one you ducked at the waist for to secure between the knuckles of your middle and index finger.

Yoongi glanced at your actions with a gentle, knowing smile, adjusting the luxurious lean of his stature onto his palms as you curved over him. Tender fingers brushed wind stained bangs away from his ear, tucking and pleating the strands until you’d secured the colored flower against the stark black.

“They weren’t soggy, by the way,” You mused, eyes trained to your actions.

He chuckled softly, nose scrunching, “What are you saying?”

“Your sandwiches,” You frowned, softening your lips to his temple, “they weren’t soggy. They were really good.”

Yoongi bit the inside of his cheek as a sliver of his teeth appeared, “Would you be mad if I told you I got Hoseok to help me?”

“No,” You curled your stature to settle against his side, leaning your cheek against the cool strip of the zipper on his jacket, “I’ll tell him thank you when we get back home.”

He slid an arm to settle over your hips, fingers toying with the sheer material of your top. “Are you cold?” His lips flushed into the top of your head, assessing the sprinkle of goosebumps to the skin of your waist as he toyed the hem higher.

“No,” You lied, shifting closer to him to enjoy the radiating warmth of his embrace.

Soft leather was spread over your shoulders before you could protest, Yoongi’s lips melding to your temple as he again tucked you to the curve of his stature. “Just take it,” He hushed, lips curling against you, “add to the cliche’.”

You gratefully wrapped the bend of your wrist to tuck the jacket tighter around your bare arms, humming quietly as you curled into a ball at his side. “I like cliche’,” You mumbled tiredly, digging your nose into his shirt, “I like you.”

“You know, I have this strange thing that happens to me, too,” Yoongi’s thumb passed over your hip, “My heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest every time you kiss me. You’d think I was seeing you for the first time every time with how sweaty my palms get. I have this strange urge to hold your hand all the time, which is really inconvenient with the clamminess and all ...”

Your chin hooked into his chest, peering at him with curiously knitted eyebrows. His grin was playful as he pecked your nose, “...is that love? I think I love you.”

“I know I love you,” You huffed, chasing after his lips when his neck straightened, “You know that’s what I meant.”

The impish curve of Yoongi’s teeth died when he swallowed, eyes shifting to the dimming rolls of the landscape beyond your figures. Your curving mouth to inquire what’s wrong? was overlapped by his tentative inquiry.

“Can I ask you something?”

Your lips pouted, cheek squishing into the planes of his stature, “Anything, babe.”

The curve of his irises caramelized into a soft amber as the casting shards of light thrown over the shade of the treeline as the sky canvased into thirteen shades of oiled pinks, purples, oranges. Soft cheeks puffed out as pretty pink lips suctioned into a pout.

“Where do you see yourself in a few years?” He blinked, once, twice, before amending softly, “Us. Where do you see us in a few years?”

“Hopefully eating something other than stale bags of chips-”

Yoongi’s scrunched features cut to you as he chuckled softly, “No. You know what I mean.”

You studied the hesitant, hopeful, appearance of his steady features. “Happy?” You rolled the word on your tongue as if tasting the chewy crunch of the potato chip, “Yeah. I hope we’re happy.”

A positive slope caught his thinly pressed mouth. “That’s all?”

“What-”

“Could we be happy and, I don’t know,” He shifted, catching a hand to rub against his skin, “Married?”

The only ounce of oxygen not stolen from your lungs in that moment allowed you to utter the word back at him.

Yoongi laughed, a breathy, shaky sound. The hand around his neck slid to the jacket wrapped in your shoulders, fist digging around in the pocket for a second before he was placing a weighed velvet box against your curled thigh. His thumb flicked, drawing open the lid to glitter the reflection of a handful of diamonds over the shocked contours of your visage.

“Would you like that?” He hushed, coaxing your gaze back to his widened eyes, “To be married to me, that is. Fuck, I mean, would you-”

He caught you by the waist when you forced the flush of your lips against his, forgetting the plop of his jacket off your shoulders and the roll of the ring box. The scrunch of his features contrasted to the harsh release of pent up anxieties that melded into the purse of his mouth against yours.

“Yeah?” Yoongi inferred quietly, an affirmation that stuttered on the end of his tongue when his forehead against yours separated your lips. “Is that-”

The second kiss was softer, a tender ministration that had him smiling to dislodge the affection. He adverted the overwhelmed adoring shine of his eyes to fumble for the hinged black box. The ring was plucked between shaking fingers, gaze trailing up the slope of your cheek, “Are you sure-”

“Don’t make me kiss you again.”

His teeth caught the corner of his unabashed lips, gently pushing the jewelry over the swell of your knuckles. You gasped, not because of the newfound weight and all that it mirrored in your heart but instead the violent twitch of his appendage against the crook of your fingers. You desperately grappled for his massive palm, cradling it in both of your hands as your shocked gaze flew to his.

“Yoongi, you’re shaking,” You dropped his hand to throw your arms around his neck, burying your face to the crook of his shoulder. Your mumble was muffled against him, “Did you think I was going to say no?”

He shrugged around the loop of his arms to your stature, shyly admitting, “I don’t know. I’m not good at things like this. I thought maybe you’d-”

You pulled away, squishing his cheeks in your fingers. “You’re an idiot, Min Yoongi,” You hushed, glowering at the innocent expansive dilation of his pupils, “This couldn’t be more perfect. You couldn’t be more perfect.”

The geometric shade of his teeth was a faux confidence as he mumbled under the duck of his chin, “Your idiot though?”

You rolled your eyes, the third kiss chaste, short, audible. “Yeah,” Another kiss was showered to the soft dot to the corner of his mouth, “Forever-” another to the mole on his cheek, nose nuzzling there as you met his adoring gaze.

“-and always.”

#min yoongi #bts #bts reactions #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi scenarios #bts imagine #yoongi imagine #evidently im in the most cheesy and soft and gross mood today wow im so sorry #two overly cheesy fics in one day? on a roll #hannah says as if that's not everything she writes ever #sugacraving

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celebrityvictima3 · 6 years

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EDGAR ALLEN POE AESTHETICS.

rules: bold the aesthetics that apply to your muse, italicize the aesthetics that loosely apply to your muse or an element of their canon. tag as many people as you like. REPOST , don’t reblog !

stole from the dash tagging: @deathreflected, @sopranic, @underoosed, @ghcstdoctor, @hellblazed, @breedsmisery, @asperad, and you!

THE TELL - TALE HEART.

very very dreadfully nervous ! an evil eye that follows your every move. the burgeoning tendency of a most murderous inclination. floorboards drawn up by a scuffed boot. the glinting gold of an uniform’s adornment. a pale stiff draped across its bed. blood that runs a cold, gelid chill. love turned to hate. to be fancied mad and believe it in part yourself. how sane you must be to recall with vivid alacrity the very method of your madness. the creaking hinge of a door in which you hesitate upon its threshold. paranoia creeping up your spine. resisting the urge to move a muscle. your finger held to a wrist without a pulse detected. a beating heart that grows louder, louder ! smiling for what have you to fear. to admit the guilty deed and escape its burdensome weight.

THE MASQUE OF RED DEATH.

the inevitability of an all consuming death. to laugh away one’s sordid fate. twelve hours of unparalleled delight. fascination with the grotesque. beckoning faces bizarre and beautiful and wanton. the swelling of music as fear is forgotten. dreams stiff frozen as they stand. seven chambers each glowing a different color. the grand spectacle of a masquerade. a contagious pestilence that has long since devastated the country. the dull chime of a clock interrupting the gaiety of abandon. the deafening strike of midnight followed by an unmistakable silence. black drapes lining the walls in a room of ebony. the reddened glow of stained glass casting shafts of light into the darkness. crimson garb bedecking the gaunt figure of a wraith. an assembly of phantasms. chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion. a vesture dabbled in blood. a broad brow besprinkled with scarlet horror. a being shrouded from head to foot. death stalking through the midst of the revelry. corpses traipsed about the polished floor of a ballroom. seize him and unmask him ! illimitable dominion.

THE OVAL PORTRAIT.

an artist’s all - consuming ardor. a state of beauty in death. the vignette of a portrait dulled by time. the telling incandescent light of a tall candelabrum. a girl just ripening into womanhood. the softness of brush strokes contrasting the violence of the hand that holds it. the serene visage reflected upon the face of one who loves you. unsettling paintings hung about the walls depicting horrors in their unusual aspect. to devoutly, devotedly gaze. incipient delirium. the pain of knowing your love can never be fully reciprocated. an idol that has replaced you. to finally achieve utter life-likeliness. to mirror life and appear as death.

THE RAVEN.

once upon a midnight dreary. curious volumes of forgotten lore. an unrustling purple curtain. something tapping, tapping at your chamber door. the darkened violet feathers of a raven. the eyes of a demon that is dreaming. window lattice bedecking the glass you shy away from. lamp light streaming o’er casting shadows on the floor. to be grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous. fiery eyes burning to a bosom’s core. a beautiful maiden that haunts your waking dreams. your voice so frightened it can only croak. a seraphim’s footfalls tinkling on the truffled floor. a tempest tossing you ashore. leave my loneliness unbroken ! the dirges of hope that a melancholy burden bore of never —— nevermore.

THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM.

fearful images overspread and disfigured. light that appears like luminescent righteous angels until your vision focuses apart from its illusions. the resounding strike of judgement. thin lips that whisper of your demise. when nothing else matters in the wake of a sudden revelation. deadly nausea of the spirit. cold lips seeking your own. the swath of a bandage. to perceive a wound alike a pendulum. a wild sulphurous lustre. the smell of decaying fungus. to smile up at glittering death. the illusion of freedom.

#* ✧ ῾◞ just because i lost it doesn’t mean i want it back ⌈ aes. ⌋

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wndibro-blog · 6 years

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EDGAR ALLEN POE AESTHETICS.

rules: bold the aesthetics that apply to your muse, italicize the aesthetics that loosely apply to your muse or an element of their canon. tag as many people as you like. REPOST , don’t reblog !

tagged by : @corpsemade tagging : if u wanna do this go ahead !!

THE TELL - TALE HEART.

very very dreadfully nervous. an evil eye that follows your every move. the burgeoning tendency of a most murderous inclination. floorboards drawn up by a scuffed boot. the glinting gold of an uniform’s adornment. a pale stiff draped across its bed. blood that runs a cold, gelid chill. love turned to hate. to be fancied mad and believe it in part yourself. how sane you must be to recall with vivid alacrity the very method of your madness. the creaking hinge of a door in which you hesitate upon its threshold. paranoia creeping up your spine. resisting the urge to move a muscle. your finger held to a wrist without a pulse detected. a beating heart that grows louder, louder ! smiling for what have you to fear. to admit the guilty deed and escape its burdensome weight.

THE MASQUE OF RED DEATH.

THE OVAL PORTRAIT.

THE RAVEN.

THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM.

#`` 🎥 ̖́- ◞ ⋆°◝ you suckers can’t take a joke !! ——— ( dash games. )#thANK YOU FOR TAGGING MEE

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glitteringxchaos · 2 months

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Aventurine is not a morning person. If you wake him up...bring coffee.

https://x.com/debbielu9972/status/1775159954288357506?s=20

#out of glitter: ooc #muse: Aventurine #glittering reflection: muse visage

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starshua · 7 years

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k.sy ❥ a little push

soonyoung x reader

gif; mine

word count; 2.1k

synopsis; highschool!au, soonyoung and y/n just need a little push. based off of prompt 37, “can i kiss you?”

✎ listen,,,i know this is late but happy birthday to seventeen’s squishy dance leader ily soonyoung also the gif doesn’t exactly match up with the story bc i said he has dark hair but shhh

A gentle breeze drifted through the air, slowly dragging its incorporeal essence through the vivid leaves decorating the oak tree that overshadowed everything in sight. The individual blades shook as the wind strayed past the curtains of your classroom to softly caress your visage. The students around you shuddered at the sudden coldness, but you merely trained your gaze on the raven locks in front of you. Swallowing, you resisted the urge to run your fingertips through the silky strands just inches from your face.

No, you told yourself as you busied your restless hands with doodling, praying that decorating the blank page laid out in front of you would calm your restive digits. The boy that occupied your thoughts slumped in his chair, effortlessly snatching your attention from your drawings and stilling your fist. He hurriedly scribbled something on a sticky note and pressed it to your desk, breathing a sigh of relief when the teacher kept his eyes on the whiteboard. Quickly, you reached for the slip of paper and placed it in your notebook.

“Wanna sneak up onto the roof after school?” it read. You scrunched your eyebrows and peered over at him, judging that he was in earnest from the way that he twirled his pen around in his grasp, a nervous habit that you would often catch him doing when he would ask you to do strange things with him. Letting out a resigned puff of air, you scrawled out a reply and stuck it onto his back, patting it a few extra times just for the fun of it. He released a poorly contained laugh into the back of his hand and reached to grab it as soon as the teacher was distracted.

“Sure, Soonyoung. Any specific reason?” it asked. A bright smile graced his face, lighting up his features and pushing up his cheeks in that way you loved to tease him for. He snuck a quick look at you and shook his head in response. You gave him a nod in acknowledgment and went on doodling little stars.

A specific reason, huh? he mused. While Soonyoung did enjoy his odd adventures, this little excursion was more for you than for him. Sure, he would get a thrill out of evading the teachers and lounging in a place where students were forbidden, but in truth, he just wanted to see that look on your face. He wanted to see the joy on your face—the glee that would flood your cheeks with pink and make your eyes shine like stars against the night sky—as you gasped at the breathtaking view overlooking the little city that the two of you shared.

Of course, there was no way in hell he would ever say that out loud.

“Soonyoung, shut up!” you hissed at the boy crouching at your side. “Do you wanna get caught?” He attempted to stifle his chuckling as you both rounded the corner, barely evading the sight of a grumpy history teacher.

“Well, no, obviously. I just want to have a bit of fun, y/n. Is that so much to ask?” he whispered, his signature smirk displaying his unyielding confidence and accentuating his sly orbs. You rolled your eyes at him and grabbed his wrist, dragging him through the hall and up the stairwell before any staff could catch you. He clutched at your arm and kept pace with you until you both stopped, panting and exhilarated, in front of the locked door to the roof. Chuckling, Soonyoung bent down and fished around in his pocket, finally bringing out a single bobby pin.

“...Did you steal that from me?” you asked as he began picking the lock. He let out a high-pitched laugh and licked his lips, not even sparing a moment to tear his gaze away from the doorknob.

“Maybe?” he said, his tone betraying his otherwise vague insinuation. You smacked him lightly on the head, enjoying the small Hey! that escaped his throat.

“C’mon, you must have over a hundred of those things. Do you really need this one?” he inquired. In his defense, he wasn’t entirely incorrect. You did own way too many bobby pins, especially considering they were more for visitors in your home than for yourself. It wasn’t the missing pin that you were flustered about, however.

“When did you even take that?” you asked him incredulously. He shrugged and raked a hand through his hair while maintaining the movements of his hand against the lock.

“Uh, remember when I came over to work on that science project like two weeks ago? It was when I told you all about my friend Minghao wanting to break into this weird room in his house,” he explained, pausing to gasp when the locked clicked. Your ears perked up at the sound and you trained your sight on Soonyoung as he stood and threw the door open.

“Wait, you took it to break into his—whoa,” you said, a bewildered grin pushing its way onto your face. You stepped out onto the roof and gaped at the sight before you. The view of the city was wondrous—each building stood proud and tall, the beautiful shine of each edifice reflecting off of the glittering river near the street that you and Soonyoung resided on. The setting sun cast a golden glow on your surroundings, filling the world with a layer of honey and warmth. The air itself seemed to shimmer around your starstruck form as you twirled around to look at Soonyoung. He smiled softly and stepped toward you with an odd look in his eye that you couldn’t quite place.

“So...you like it up here?” he inquired. You let out a breathy laugh and beamed at him, loving the way the breeze tussled his hair. He met your gaze ardently, his expression bringing heat to your cheeks.

“Are you kidding? I love it up here,” you told him happily. He grinned widely and let you take his hand as you led him to the perimeter of the roof. Placing your hands on the ledge, you took in a breath and closed your eyes, allowing the breeze to play with your hair and envelop you in its chilly grasp.

Soonyoung observed the relaxed slump of your shoulders and the swell of your chest as you breathed in the brisk air, memorizing the blissful curve of your lips and the feeling of your fingertips ghosting over the back of his hand. He was beyond enamored with you—he was positively enchanted. You were beautiful, otherworldly so, and you made his heart flutter with every look, every breath, every word.

The two of you stood in silence, too enraptured by the view to tarnish the ethereality by speaking. After a few moments of fiddling with Soonyoung’s fingers, you opened your eyes and examined the world in front of you. The sky had gotten darker, the rich flaxen having melded to a burnt titian. You looked to the courtyard down below and watched the remaining students gradually trickle through the school gates, each one of them appearing equal parts exhausted and content. You sighed and squeezed Soonyoung’s hand, his dazed look abruptly changing to a curious stare as you captured his attention.

“I think we should go home, don’t you?” you asked, your voice tender and sweet. The boy nodded slowly and followed you as you led him down the steps, his hand never leaving yours. The rooftop door clicked shut behind you, locking away the wonderland that you and Soonyoung had discovered. Its effects continued to linger on your adolescent frames, keeping your eyelids droopy and shoulders limp.

Soon your thoughts returned to the world that you would have to face—more accurately, to the stack of homework that you would likely have to assist your companion in completing—and your stupor dissipated into the air as smoothly as it had descended upon you. Soonyoung’s thoughts, however, remained entirely devoted to you. He recalled the countless times his friends had encouraged him to confess, Jihoon’s cranky tone and Seokmin’s sincere advice bringing a smile to his cheeks.

“You just need a little push,” his friends had told him, finishing their encouragement with a playful shove. Truth be told, Soonyoung would often find himself dwelling on that particular advice. There had been countless times when his self-control had worn thin and his feelings had nearly thin, and his feelings had nearly leaped from the tip of his tongue, but he had always managed to hold himself back.

Being so absorbed in his recollections, Soonyoung wasn’t even aware that his steps had slowed to a halt. You stalled your movements and turned to rest your eyes upon his countenance once again, curiously taking note of the nervous bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

“Soonyoung?” He met your gaze anxiously and gripped your hand just a bit tighter. What’s gotten into him? you wondered. He opened his mouth to speak, but not a sound could escape his lips before a voice called out from behind you.

“GO FOR IT SOONYOUNG!” someone shouted. Bewildered, you turned to see Seungkwan staring at the two of you with wide, glittering eyes. You turned back to Soonyoung and released a light laugh at his friend’s silly antics.

“Go for what?” you asked, refusing to get your hopes up.

There’s no way Soonyoung likes me...right? you wondered disbelievingly. You had spent your entire freshman year convincing yourself to ignore the little glances that he would throw your way, the frequent ghosting of his fingers across your skin, the dazzling grin that would light up his visage whenever he saw your face. You told yourself that it was just your imagination, that your ridiculous crush on him was making you think silly things.

You couldn’t have been more wrong, of course. Soonyoung had been infatuated with you since your days as middle schoolers, back when you were still growing into yourselves and exploring your untouched passions.

A little push, huh? he mused as he gazed at your expectant face. That was more like an awkward shove.

Soonyoung’s eyelashes fluttered upon his cheeks, his blinking gradually snapping him out of his thoughts. He rubbed circles on the back of your hand and lifted his unoccupied palm to your cheek. Slowly, he leaned closer to you, his breath gently ghosting against your lips.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered. You blinked a few times in surprise, not believing your ears and convincing yourself that the river below you had merely distorted his words. It was only when you took note of his firm, unwavering stare that it hit you—Soonyoung, your childhood friend and longtime crush, was just as enamored with you as you were with him.

“Yes,” you responded with a nod, your voice so delicate that he wondered if your words would shatter before him.

Tentatively, Soonyoung leaned forward and closed the distance between your faces, his palm steady against your face, his other hand never leaving the delicate tangle of your digits. The kiss was gentle and sweet, too short to satiate the years of pent-up attraction but long enough to leave you with your toes curling and shivers shooting down your spine. Soonyoung pressed his forehead against yours and closed his eyes, basking in the infinitesimal distance between the two of you and finally breathing a sigh of relief.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for years now,” he admitted, his cheeks as pink as the sky that surrounded the setting sun. You giggled and placed your hand on top of the palm that cradled your face, unconsciously leaning into his touch.

“Me too,” you said breathlessly. Glancing up at him, you took note of the way his eyes shone as a shy grin slipped its way onto his visage. You cast him a coy smile and stepped backward, hoping that the cool breeze blowing above the river would ease the heat rising to your cheeks. Soonyoung ambled to your side and leaned against the edge of the bridge, his dreamy stare aimed toward the glistening aqua. The lucidity of the gloaming light bestowed an opalescent shine upon the stream below, its soothing waters calming the rapid beating of your heart.

Without a word, Soonyoung grasped your hand once again, his fingers immediately intertwining with yours. The two of you drifted down the street, easily slipping back into your routine and heading toward the neighborhood that the two of you shared.

Seungkwan watched the both of you meander hand in hand and smirked. He tapped his phone screen and laughed to himself, eagerly awaiting the replies of the eleven other boys in the group chat when they saw the video that he had taken of the long-awaited kiss.

“Soonyoung will kill me for this but...oh well,” he declared with a content smile. “It’ll be worth it.”

It was only when his phone buzzed a few minutes later that the boy felt the first inklings of fright in his heart.

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rustleandeddy · 7 years

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Chapter 12

Eddy slid to a stop at the bottom of a slope. The long smooth paths ground into the surface by the mysterious and tasty creature he’d grappled with weren’t the best way to get around. He tended to build up a bit more speed than he could handle and ended up pitching off into tufts of sticky golden stalks, but it was better than dragging himself. And the good news was he’d reached his destination.

He turned and peered up the slope he’d traveled down, spying Borgle’s distant form. When he turned back and spread the stalks ahead of him to investigate the similar machine he was heading for, he’d expected to find an exact duplicate. Perhaps at one time that might have been the case, but no longer. This mechanism had plainly been here for ages. Tufts of the stalks grew up through it, and the plummet through from the ceiling, whenever it had broken through, had been far more destructive. The thing lay smashed apart. Its delicate internal mechanisms had spilled out on the ground.

“Oh… Dear… You will not be waking up to help us, will you?” he mused.

Eddy slid forward and painfully curled his tail. His injuries were really starting to accumulate, another thing that didn’t seem to be in keeping with the narrative of any adventure he’d ever heard. But this could simply be the bit between chapters.

“Let me see now,” he said, sifting through the spilled remains. “If you can’t help us, perhaps you can donate a part or two. Hopefully whoever made you did so with great precision, because it seems whenever I find myself trying to replace this or that, I’ve always got to make adjustments to make it fit.”

None of the sprockets and gears on the ground were the right size, but there were plenty more where they came from. He tugged at shafts and chains, gently disengaging them as best he could without doing too much damage.

“Ah! A-ha!” He proclaimed. “This looks just about perfect. And if not this one, then this, or this! Three gears, just the same. And so well made.”

He cupped a handful of smaller sprockets and held them up to glitter in the light of the stalks and his own eyes.

“The sea has barely touched them. And they are so intricate. I wonder what sort of things Mira could do with these. No sense leaving them here to go to waste!”

He threaded one of the smaller drive chains through the gaps and holes in a dozen or so small gears—as well as the three he hoped to use. Raising his arms to hang the makeshift necklace about his neck revealed at least five other aches and pains he’d not noticed.

“Oh…” he murmured, looking at the hill between him and Borgle. “This will not be a pleasant climb. How do land creatures do this? I can’t imagine legs are that helpful. What if they hurt one of them, like my tail is hurt? Didn’t Mira say something about how people move faster on land? What is the name of it… A carriage! Yes. That’s the thing. I remember it now. Those round things for rolling… wheels.”

He reached into what remained intact inside the mechanism and gave one of the larger free gears a spin.

“Gears are like wheels. And there’s plenty of rods for them to spin on… I wonder…”

“So they have music too?” Cul said. “How does anyone hear it? Trendana says you have to shout for anyone to hear up there.”

“You don’t have to shout. You just have to get close. I’ve heard Disaahna play something she called a lute once. It was quite lovely.”

Mira found herself almost at ease for the first time since her thoughts had turned to Eddy’s potential fate. It wasn’t that she was no longer concerned for him. But Cul had proved to have an unquenchable curiosity for the details of the surface dwellers and their ways. Mira half suspected he was just trying to distract her, but she couldn’t fault him for it. She needed a good distraction, or the worry would have eaten her alive.

“We’re right near the end of the rift now,” Cora said. “We should be near your farm, right?”

“Yes. Yes, I believe it is below us. Eddy has been growing seaweed, and we’ve got a very nice bed for farming pearls. It should be easy enough to find the place.”

“And what exactly do you want done, once we find it?” Bult asked.

“First, just go and see if anything has happened. Any collapses, fresh breaks in stone, anything like that. If something has happened, come back up and let me know,” Mira said. “If nothing has happened, then you’ve done all you need to do and I thank you. If it looks like something may have happened, and there isn’t any sign of Eddy, come back and tell me and I’ll tell you how to find the mine.”

“Why waste our precious time?” Sitz asked. “Just tell us where the mine is now so we can check it all at once.”

“It is a very deep, very complex mine, I wouldn’t—”

“She doesn’t trust us,” Bult said.

Cora darted up and poked Bult in the chest. “The way you two have been acting, I don’t trust you.”

“Come on. We’ve been paid. We do the job as ordered. Just like when we do labor back in Deep Swell during our swings up that way,” Cul said.

“If I wanted to keep doing labor I’d stay in Deep Swell,” Sitz muttered. “But fine. Let’s go.”

The three mermen thrust their tails and swam downward, quickly moving beyond the depth Mira could comfortably travel without magic. Cora remained behind with her.

Mira turned to the nomad mermaid. Even if she’d not been dressed differently, Mira would have known Cora was a nomad. There was something about how they moved, even when idle. Her head had a slow, casual pivot, perpetually scanning the area. It stood to reason. In a life of constant motion with no comfortable, familiar surroundings, knowing precisely what was around you was probably essential for survival.

“I really do want to thank all you for your help. It is probably nothing. But I worry.”

“You paid. No thanks necessary. And of course you worry. You’d be a lousy sister if you didn’t. Your brother’s family. Family’s just the word we use for ‘people who we worry about and who worry about us.’ It’s why we’re all here.”

Mira smiled weakly. “I am not certain if that is a wonderful or terrible sentiment.”

Cora shrugged. “Just the truth.”

“Your brother is very curious and interested.”

“Nope.”

Mira was taken aback by the blunt denial. “He plainly is.”

“Nope. Not until you came around. That’s the most I heard him talk all at once in a year. But then, you’re the first person with the stink of the surface on her he’s got a good whiff of in a while.” Cora grinned. “Just a turn of phrase by the way. You don’t stink.”

“I’d assumed. Or at least I’d hoped.” She reached up and touched the skull in her hair. “Tell me. You say you don’t do much trade with the surface.”

“We don’t do any trade with the surface. Nothing directly. But we have plenty of third and fourth-hand contact. Not much value in it for us, though. Once a thing has passed through that many hands, the price gets so high we’re not likely to find someone willing or able to pay for it.”

“How often do you and the others pass by Barnacle?”

“Three or four times a year, depending on who we’re set to meet with. Why?”

“As I’ve said, even if I am paying you, you didn’t have to do this. And if it turns out you’ll miss that meeting with… with…”

"Casta’s Drift"

“Yes. I wonder if trimming down the chain to simply secondhand goods from the surface could help you at all.”

Cora grinned. “Now you’re talking a language a nomad can understand.”

Rustle gazed into the blackness, shivering a bit. His icy raft was doing its job, but it wasn’t the most comfortable way to travel. As the ice melted—which it was doing quite rapidly—less wind was necessary to keep him moving. But it also made for an unstable vessel. Worse, eventually the cold migrated up through the shield-size digging claw that had been the closest he could come to an insulated perch. He was just about recovered enough from the long flight, and energized enough from the big meal, to take to the air again, but it was difficult to pull himself from his reverie.

Images had been flitting through his mind. The most frequent was the stunning face of the marvelous and magnificent Merantia. She was a creature with a severe beauty, a perfect balance of power, authority, grace, and elegance. These reminiscences of her wondrous visage were periodically tempered by the reminder from another part of his mind that he’d never once actually seen her face. This image in his mind was either imagined or inserted. Both possibilities were equally unreliable.

A second focus for his daydreaming was of the escalation of power he’d noticed. He found himself hungering for further strength and growth. That much was a staple of his longing and dreams for as long as he could remember. But now there was more. He saw that power being used for glory. For domination. And for attaining further power. No other fairies had a place in these dreams of aspiration. It was all about individual achievement and gratification. It was all very unfairy-like.

The lowest, weakest layer of his stack of daydreams was the longing for the thrills of what would come next. He’d always wanted to discover things, but not until he’d met Eddy did he realize that he had wanted no part of the excitement that so often accompanied discovery. Now, as he thought of how he would find Eddy, how Eddy would help with Merantia and Stuartia, and how they would eventually escape, a tiny part of him was quite enthusiastic for the dangers they would surely overcome.

For the dreams of devotion and empowerment, he worried that these thoughts were not his own. For the dreams of excitement, he worried they were his own.

What finally shook him from the near fugue of layered daydreams was the gleam of something other than water and lava rock in the distance. He only saw it for a moment, lit by a reflection from the water’s surface, but it was certainly not the same field of black.

He blinked. “How… How could I have missed something? I flew this way to find my beloved and adored Merantia. … Oh, that’s right. I had my eyes shut, as I’d yet to awaken her, and thus her incomparably powerful spirit was too weak for me to feel otherwise. If only I had known the wisdom of her desires, I might have come to her with the full knowledge of the things she’d sought. How proud she would have been for me to have foreseen and fulfilled her demands before I’d even met her!”

Rustle tugged the digging claw. The ride thus far had caused it to sink somewhat into the ice, so yanking it free took some effort. When it finally broke away he buzzed toward the source of the unexplained glimmer. It was a large rectangular tablet, similar to the one he’d fetched for Eddy before they’d become trapped here, but much more substantial, and more firmly affixed to a smoothed section of the wall now half-submerged in the water. He swept his eyes over the tablet and felt oddly terrified. It wasn’t what the tablet said, but that he knew what the tablet said.

His people had no written language. Not only did he not know how to read, he’d never even understood how reading could function. It just seemed like another form of magic. The larger creatures, like humans and elves, etched special shapes onto pages and bits of wood, and those shapes could conjure the message they were thinking of at the time in the other person’s head. What could that be except magic? But now, as he looked upon innocuous loops and points, it was as if a voice in his head was speaking the words to him. Astounding, and unsettling. Just to make it more like the speech that had until that moment been the source of everything he’d ever learned, he decided to read the message aloud.

“Woe be to the merfolk unfortunate enough to read this message,” he said. “If the divine are true to their covenant and the fates are kind, this tablet will not exist long enough to be read. By the joint workings of Tria and Tren, and under the observation of Tria’s Left and Right Hands, the diggers have been sent forth, to reach through the earth and bring forth the cleansing burn of the glowing heart. If the children or children’s children of those who witnessed the formation of the Broken Fields look upon this tablet now, fear the stirring of the Great Ancient and the Thieves. Should they rise again, when they fall, they will take the very sea with them.”

He stared for a moment, blinking in silence.

“It was supposed to have instructions!” he snapped. “Merantia said! I don’t need a warning. I know this is all horribly dangerous. The moment I felt the water close over my head when Eddy grabbed me I knew it was dangerous. It being dangerous and uncertain is why Eddy likes it so much. Being dangerous is was makes it an adventure!”

He buzzed up to the table and kicked it. Though he immediately regretted the decision, while flitting about in pain, his flaring glow cast on another fleck of white further below the half-submerged table. He took a breath and darted below the water. With breath held, he couldn’t read aloud, so he was forced to deal with the unsettling experience of having words form in his head simply by looking at the strange shapes.

This point lies between the cages crafted to hold the lingering spirits of the mages foolhardy enough to threaten the sea in their efforts to prove once and for all which was the mightiest. Like the Great Ancient, and like the Thieves, they could not be extinguished. In death, they remain dedicated to their endless aspirations. The strength of the spirit of Stuartia empowers the chains that bind the Great Ancient. The Spirit of Merantia seals the crypts of the Thieves. The struggling of the Great Ancient seals the cell of Merantia. The flails of the Thieves seals the cell of Stuartia. So long as the creation of one exists, the other shall remain focused upon its defeat. So long as the spirit exists, the beasts of the other cannot escape. So long as the beasts exist, the spirits cannot escape. Pay heed to this. Any who would free the world of their torment must take all in a single stroke, lest the others escape.

Rustle darted for the surface and spun the droplets of water from his body. He tried to fit the pieces together aloud.

“The Great Ancient and the Thieves. They are dangerous monsters. Merantia and Stuartia created them, I suppose? One each. And they hate each other’s monsters, and keep them at bay. My magnificent and wise Merantia wants me to destroy Stuartia, free her, and release her beast. … It doesn’t say how to destroy Stuartia, but Merantia’s beasts somehow fuel the spell that binds her… I would have to destroy her beast to free her… I don’t think she wants that. If I destroy Stuartia’s beast, that would free Stuartia… This is a terrible knot to untie. And I don’t know where either beast is anyway, and I don’t know how to destroy them. Except, maybe… that bit about ‘the cleansing burn of the glowing heart,’ and I don’t know where that is either.” His shoulders slumped. “I am going to have to find a lot more tablets…”

A quiet but insistent part of his mind spoke up.

“And that is why I need to find Eddy first!”

He darted off toward where his friend had been buried. Now more than ever he needed the merman. There was too much to do for one little fairy.

Eddy took a break from hammering two pieces of metal with a rock to catch his breath. This was by a large margin the longest he’d ever breathed air, and by an even larger margin the longest he’d been entirely out of the water. He did not like it. His skin felt awful, like he had been rolling in sand. The worst of his injuries had swollen a bit, and supporting his weight on his folded over tail was easily the most uncomfortable thing he’d ever had to do. He turned aside and flopped onto his back.

“I don’t know why surface folk always seem to build things. It is terribly unpleasant to work without being able to move freely in all directions.”

Now that he’d settled back to rest, he slowly became aware of some fresh aches and pains. His hands felt strangely numb, a consequence of striking great big gears and feeling the shock rebound clear up to his elbow. He may as well have been bashing gongs as well. Each fresh blow brought a mighty clang that left him half deafened and with a throbbing headache. Now that there was relative silence and his hearing was gradually returning, something seemed… off.

Here and there while he’d been working, he’d heard the clacking footsteps of one of those long lobster creatures, but it was always far enough away that he wasn’t concerned. Now he was hearing something else. It was far too small to be another such beast. And it was far too close for comfort. He glanced aside. His pick was well out of reach. Quietly he worked himself toward it, wriggling on his back rather than taking his eyes off the stalks around him long enough to flip himself over.

He heard the rustle of stalks and saw a subtle swaying motion.

“Hello?” he called, eyes locked on the source of the motion.

No answer.

He stretched and scrabbled with his fingers until he caught the edge of his pick. When he tried to pull it closer, the long metallic grind shattered the silence.

“Ha!” cried a raspy voice from the thicket.

Eddy pulled the pick in front of him as a flurry of motion swept the golden fronds aside. Something stout and frenzied launched toward him and pounced on him. The attacker was a blur of maddened motion, barely discernable. Whatever it was, it was roughly human shaped. The thing was short and stocky, and from the weight as it grappled with him, it was of a very sturdy build. The assailant was covered head to toe in strange, overlapping plates of chitinous material, bound with twisted golden fronds and accented with sparkling gears and levers. The thing’s head was hidden behind a mask of sorts, a rather ornate one with care taken to craft it into a fearsome, angular visage with matted white hair poking out the bottom. It carried two hatchets, one in each hand. They had clearly been fashioned from parts harvested from diggers like Borgle. The heads of the axes were wedges of gear with sharpened teeth. The one thing Eddy had in his favor was a significant size difference. It was very squat, and only a bit over half his height.

“Stop! Stop! Wait!” Eddy grunted.

He curved his tail and flopped to the side, spilling the attacker off him and rolling atop it. Slamming to the ground caused the attacker to lose its grip on its hatchets. The clattered to the ground and the gauntleted hands instead wrapped around the shaft of Eddy’s pick. They wrestled over the rusted bit of metal. It was a test of strength. If not for the beating he’d been taking, Eddy would have been able to overcome his opponent, but whatever this thing was, it was stronger than it looked, and his own arms were knotted with fatigue and pain.

“Listen!” Eddy grunted, putting his full weight on the pick and pinning the attacker to the ground. “I don’t know who you are, but we can talk about this! I don’t mean you any harm!”

The struggling attacker responded with a boot to his midsection. Eddy grunted, and grimaced.

“Fine!” he barked.

He heaved himself aside. The attacker held tight to the pick until the force of the roll launched it into a tuft of fronds. As it scrabbled to get back on its feet, Eddy jabbed the pick down into the stone beneath him, embedding its tip and giving him something to anchor himself with. He rolled to his back and held tight to the pick. The squat little attacker recovered and rushed him once more. It made an ill-advised dive. Eddy flexed his entire body, putting his well-developed swimming muscles to work to swing his mighty tail upward. The tail struck the attacker and turned its dive into an arching, out-of-control arc. The hostile creature flew like a batted ball into the half-gutted hulk of the digger Eddy had been scavenging. The hollowed out shell rang like a bell and rolled over backward, sending sprockets and chains scattering in all directions.

Eddy clenched his teeth tight. His muscles tightened in pain. The attack had further aggravated whatever injury had already been ailing his tail. On the other side of the upended digger, he heard the attacker groan.

“The first thing I see in who knows how long, and it fights dirty…” the thing muttered.

Clattering and clanging signaled the attacker’s attempt to haul itself back to its feet. Eddy wrestled with his pick until it finally slid from the ground.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, but you attacked me,” Eddy said, clutching his pick warily and looking in the direction of the voice.

The attacker limped out from behind the digger hull. The mask was askew. Rather than fight it back into proper alignment, the stranger simply removed it. The face beneath was barely visible, hidden as it was behind dense white hair. Everyplace hair could find purchase was thick with the stuff. Beard and mustache hid the lower half of the face. Eyebrows so long they curled at the tips reduced the eyes to little more than a twinkle beneath. The hair atop the thing’s head was wiry and barely tamed by a sloppy braid that disappeared down the back of its armored suit. Only the forehead and nose were clearly visible, pocked and creased with age.

“Look, I don’t understand that garbled nonsense you’re spouting, so you can just shut that mouth for all the good it’s doing.”

Eddy slumped a bit. It seemed he would have to rely upon the spell again.

“If you come and do a hit as your first thing, I do a hit back,” he said, struggling to resume use of the badly cast enchantment.

“Ah. So you can talk. In a fashion,” the creature said.

“Who are you?” Eddy asked.

The stranger pulled a hunk of dislodged digger from the wreck and propped it up as a makeshift seat.

“Mab Mill-Mason,” it said.

“I am Eddy. I am a merman.”

“Are you? You look a bit more fishy than I thought they looked. I have it in my head that mermaids are half and half.”

“Mermaids are. Mermen are different. Are you a very small human, or a normal-size dwarf, Mab?”

“I’m a dwarf. Isn’t it obvious?”

“I have seen as many dwarves as you have seen mermen.”

“Mmm… I suppose that stands to reason.”

“It does stand very much to reason. But now we each have seen one of the other type of thing. Eddy the merman and Mab the dwarfman.”

Mab’s hirsute brow furrowed. “For someone who can barely talk, you can certainly fit a lot of mistakes into a single word. No one says ‘dwarfman.’ I’m just a dwarf.”

“Oh? But mermaids and mermen are how we say it.”

“That’s fine. You talk about yourselves however you want. But no one else sees the need for that. And even if we did, you got it wrong.”

“Did I?” Eddy leaned forward and squinted. “Are you a dwarfmaid?”

“It’s just dwarf! Not dwarfman, not dwarfmaid!” Mab snapped. “… But yes.”

Eddy pointed. “You have hair on your face.”

“Very observant.”

“I did not know anything that wasn’t a man could have face hair.”

“And I didn’t know a merman looked like a monster. Nice of fate to give us both a chance to be ignorant.”

Eddy smiled. “Yes! It is very nice, and a fair thing. But I still wonder, why did you attack me, Mab the dwarf who has hair on her face.”

Mab shut her eyes and shook her head.

“How long have you been here?” she asked.

“A few hours.”

“I’ve been here years. Most everything I’ve run into has tried to kill me. When sort of thing happens enough times in a row, you make it a habit of making sure you strike first.”

“Well I am very much not trying to kill you.”

Mab removed a gauntlet and rubbed her neck. “You could have fooled me.”

“I was trying to be not killed by you. It is very much the same as attacking you, but different too.”

“Fine.”

“Is this your home?”

“It is now,” she muttered.

“You have a very strange home. I am sorry I smashed through the top of it.”

“I’m sorry I did too.”

“Are these diggers your diggers?”

“These hunks of slag?” He kicked a gear. “Nothing but spare parts. They don’t work, and there’s no way for them to work. A bunch of moving parts with nothing to move them.”

Eddy shook his head. “Not so. A digger brought me here.”

Mab creakily stood. “It’s been ages since I’ve had someone to talk to, but if you’re going to lie to me, I may as well be alone.”

“I tell the truth. Look! It is at the top of the hill there, waiting.”

The merman pointed and Mab turned her head. After a bit of squinting, she fetched a cobbled-together contraption that looked to be three eyes harvested from diggers fastened together in a row. She gazed through one end and pointed the other toward Borgle.

“How… By the mountains themselves, how did you get one working.”

“I smeared blood on it.”

“… What has that got to do with getting a clockwork contraption running?”

Eddy pulled himself over to the “head” of the dismantled digger and pointed to the mark. “That thing with the two points. That is the symbol for one of the gods of bad things. Tren. To please Tren you need blood.”

“Magic…” Mab muttered. “Of course it was magic.”

She kicked the hulk angrily.

“Who ever heard of magic and clockwork being used together?! You stupid, worthless machine. All of that time wasted patching them up, swapping parts, collecting parts, and it was magic. And you figured it out when I couldn’t? A fish who can barely talk!”

“I can talk very much. It is just that I am not so good with the casting of the spell for talking to people who do not talk the talk that I talk when I’m not talking with magic.”

Mab shut her eyes angrily and quietly worked through the sentence. “Are you saying you’re using magic to speak to me, and that you cast it poorly?”

Eddy nodded.

“Do you think that’s supposed to make me feel better? That you’re bad at magic and you still figured it out when I didn’t?” She turned back to the broken digger and thumped it repeatedly with her boot. “Stupid, stupid, stupid machine!”

“Why are you so very much angry now?”

“Do you know how many years I’ve been here?”

“No.”

“Neither do I!”

“I see. No sun and no tides, time can be not easy to count.”

“I’m a dwarf. We go months without seeing the sun. Marking the hours as they pass is something we all learn to do intuitively. But I’ve lost count a hundred times now. I may have been here five years. I may have been here twenty. The best guess is keeping track of how long it takes for the Skitter-Clamps to grow.”

“Skitter-Clamps?”

“That’s what I call the big things that grind these paths into the ground here.”

“Oh, yes. Very tasty!”

“You’ll change your tune after you’ve been eating them day in, day out for a few years.”

“I will not, because I will be leaving soon. Borgle will help me.”

“Borgle?”

“That’s the digger I am making work better with these parts! Or I hope I will.”

“Right, right. The digger. Wait. I thought you said it was working fine. I can see it moving.”

“It is awake, but it is hurt. From the fall from the sea up above.”

Mab clapped some dust from her hands and fetched a hammer and pliers from her belt with all of the flair of someone drawing a dagger. “If you need help fixing one, I’m your dwarf. Let’s get out of this place.”

“Hah! You see! The sea and adventure are the same. They provide a way, no matter how bad things get.”

The dwarf glanced about, eying the distance between herself and the functional digger.

“How did you get this far from that thing if you’re a fish out of water?”

“Much sliding and much crawling.”

“Ah. Well I hope you don’t expect me to carry you. That little tussle has got my joints complaining already. I’m not a youngster anymore.”

“No, no. I had a thought. I was working on this for helping to move better when you came and tried to kill me with axes.”

He painfully slid himself to the project he’d been hammering on before he was assaulted. Two of the larger gears had been roughly affixed to a curved shaft between them. A bit of digger-carcass was attached to the inside of the curve, producing a sling of sorts.

“What is it?” Mab said, scratching her head.

“Wheels! For land moving!” Eddy said proudly.

“You’re trying to make a cart?”

“Or something. Anything for land moving. But it isn’t a good moving thing yet. More hammering is needed, I think.”

Mab marched up and gave it a rattle.

“Wobbly. You’ll need to shore this up with a brace. And here you’ll want a counter balance. This needs to be straightened. That should be peened over… Give me a few moments. I think I can get you rolling.”

“Yes, please!” Eddy said. “Very, very please! But let me watch. I want to know the way to build a thing like this. I think people at home will use them.”

Mab fished around in the scattered mound of parts and made a few selections, then went to work with speed and skill while Eddy watched with rapt enthusiasm. And to think, he was beginning to wonder if this adventure had taken a turn for the worst!

#fantasy #merman #fairy #the adventures of rustle and eddy

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bcrtrand-blog · 6 years

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⁽ tags ⁾

#¸.·*¨ ⁽ our love lingering in pressed flowers and paper stars ⁾ — antoine bertrand.#¸.·*¨ ⁽ turns out the mosaic in her hands was her heart ⁾ — answered.#¸.·*¨ ⁽ her soul is split into stardust scattered through the skies ⁾ — additional.#¸.·*¨ ⁽ she dreams of supernova seas crashing through the lights ⁾ — memes.#¸.·*¨ ⁽ she is a lightning strike heralded by thunder ⁾ — musings.#¸.·*¨ ⁽ she wears a pretty blue dress in shades of jungle lagoons ⁾ — wardrobe.#¸.·*¨ ⁽ she has sunshine in her curls and blue skies in her smile ⁾ — visage.#¸.·*¨ ⁽ blue fire in her palms; bloody roses in her hair ⁾ — aesthetics.#¸.·*¨ ⁽ pond glittering green: a little girl’s dreams reflected in the ripples ⁾ — drabbles.#¸.·*¨ ⁽ flowers blooming in the lines of her hands; blue lily & lily blue ⁾ — edits.#¸.·*¨ ⁽ secrets behind every stone; fairytales etched into trees ⁾ — mentions.#¸.·*¨ ⁽ the strum of seasongs bright in her aquamarine veins ⁾ — mixtape.

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chevd-blog · 6 years

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My Top 100 Favorite Albums of All Time (Part 5: 20 - 11)

20. Hand. Cannot. Erase. – Steven Wilson (2015)

For his fourth solo release, Steven Wilson took inspiration from the real-life story of Joyce Carol Vincent, a young woman who passed away in her London flat in December 2003 and remained undiscovered for more than two years, even despite having family and friends, and having left her television on at the time of her passing. The album follows the story of a fictional woman heavily based on Vincent, ending with her abrupt disappearance. With a stylistic nod to prog pioneers like Rush and Yes, as well as the powerful guest vocals of Israeli singer Ninet Tayeb, Hand. Cannot. Erase. serves as a poignant examination of the isolation and alienation of modern urban life.

Prime cuts: "Home Invasion / Regret #9", "Routine"

19. Absolution – Muse (2003)

Bolstered by the success of the lead single "Time Is Running Out", Absolution is the album that first gained Muse major mainstream recognition as a band to watch. There aren't many hints of their later excessive, over-the-top tendencies here— though "Butterflies & Hurricanes" does contain a piano section which aptly demonstrates Muse's appreciation of classical music. Instead, this is one of Muse's more low-key and easy-to-listen efforts, demonstrating the prowess of a band that could be content with crafting hauntingly beautiful melodies ("Sing for Absolution", "Blackout", or "Ruled by Secrecy" all come to mind), or simply shredding (as on "Stockholm Syndrome"). Sometimes, less is more, and simplicity is just better.

Prime cuts: "Stockholm Syndrome", "Butterflies & Hurricanes"

18. Core – Stone Temple Pilots (1992)

At the beginning of their musical career, Stone Temple Pilots was another in a lengthy list of bands that benefitted from the exposure afforded them by the Seattle grunge explosion in the early 1990s. They spent years dogged by accusations of sounding a bit too much like Pearl Jam, before they eventually managed to develop a more distinctive voice that distanced themselves from anyone else. That isn't to say that their early material is bad, though; on the contrary, their first album, Core, is hands down my favorite of theirs. I don't think of it as derivative, either; rather, I appreciate it for what it is. Like most of the alt-rock at the time, there is a dim, dingy feeling about it— but it's all channeled through a sunny production, reflective of their San Diego roots. There's more California here than Washington. That makes for an album which is oddly upbeat about being grungy, which I find rather appealing.

Prime cuts: "Plush", "Wicked Garden"

17. The Downward Spiral – Nine Inch Nails (1994)

There is no album that encapsulates my high school years quite like The Downward Spiral. Which probably says something terrible about me, because— with all due respect to Trent Reznor, but let's be honest here— this is a seriously fucked up album. This album is what it sounds like to slowly be driven into the ground, day by day, until you are ground down into little more than a cold, numb machine made of rotting meat, just begging for the sweet release of death. This album is how it sounds to gradually become an automaton, going through all the motions, but truthfully no longer giving a fuck. This is nihilism incarnate. And I've been on that brink myself, more times than I can count, driven by a sense of alienation from the hostile outside world, and it never gets any easier. But at least through the rough patches, I've had The Downward Spiral to reflect my turmoil. When I first encountered this album, I immediately adopted "Heresy" as my personal anthem— a song that expressed perfectly to my repressive Bible Belt surroundings just how I felt about their precious 'Good Book'. I buried all my vulnerabilities and my pain beneath a mechanical visage, as modeled in "The Becoming", and I grew a thicker skin. I gravitated to this album, and (at least in my head) eventually embodied this album, specifically out of spite; I recognized it as everything the religious conservatives hate about our culture, and I had no greater desire at the time than to piss off a world that had rejected me. I'm happy to report growing out of that phase of my life, for the most part. I still have occasional episodes where I stare longingly into the abyss, and ponder jumping in. But the power this album has had, to take the chaotic tempest of negative emotions inside of me and give them form, is awesome. Ironically, I think this album has actually prevented me from following through on several occasions, just by allowing me to work through my angst and get all of that built-up poison out of my system in a constructive way. Now that's power.

Prime cuts: "Closer", "Hurt"

16. Altered State – Tesseract (2013)

Following the departure of lead singer Dan Tompkins, Tesseract went through a period of searching for the right person to replace him, beginning with Elliot Coleman's short-lived turn at the microphone, but ultimately settling on Ashe O'Hara. Perhaps it was kismet that it was during O'Hara's time in Tesseract that Altered State was recorded, as the new voice also heralded a new direction. O'Hara's silken voice was obviously best suited for clean vocals; all of Tompkins' guttural screaming went right out the window. That made emulating peers like Periphery essentially impossible, which also provided the band with an opportunity to reinvent themselves, tighten their sound, and be more adventurous (such as on the track "Of Reality: Calabi-Yau", where they underscore their blend of palm-muted heavy metal with the extremely unexpected wail of a saxophone, and actually pull it off). Consisting of four multi-song suites (Of Matter, Of Mind, Of Reality, and Of Energy), the album also contains extremely dense metaphysical lyrical material to match its heightened musicality. In combination, all of these new circumstances result in Altered State being nothing short of a miraculous metamorphosis for the band— Tesseract in a literal altered state.

Prime cuts: "Of Matter: Proxy", "Of Mind: Nocturne"

15. Mer de Noms – A Perfect Circle (2000)

Mer de Noms is a cryptic album, in the same way that Tool albums generally are. Furthermore, this is the only album of A Perfect Circle's where I really feel there's an apt comparison, if not in sound, then in attitude. Setting aside the music for a moment— can we talk about how much I geeked out over the band actually inventing their own arcane-looking alphabet to use in their liner notes? I was a nerdy teenager at the time I obtained this album, and being a lover of puzzles, naturally I decrypted it and then adopted it for my own use for encoding secret messages in my notebooks. But, I digress. What makes the music so interesting here, after listening to Tool for so long, is Maynard's voice being channeled into music with a completely different energy. Tool is logical, cerebral, and quite masculine; APC is much more of an emotional experience. That goes even for the harder-edged songs like "Judith", where Maynard's cry of "Fuck your God!" is intended less as a slight toward religion in general than as a frustrated outburst from a person who had watched his devout mother paralyzed in an accident when he was a child, and who was astounded that such a trial did not cause her to lose her faith. With nearly all of the song titles being names (hence the album's title, which translates to "sea of names" in French), much of the puzzle presented by this album comes from familiarity with the eponymous subjects; some are Biblical or legendary, while others are somehow personal connections to the band. But regardless of how much the listener may know about the myth of Orestes, the music is still a reward unto itself.

Prime cuts: "Judith", "Orestes"

14. Ten – Pearl Jam (1991)

You know how certain songs are attached to memories or sensations so strongly, that you can't hear them without replaying those other associations in your head? Pearl Jam's Ten is like that for me. Yes, the entire album. It's an album that makes me feel the cool, crisp autumns of northern Georgia where I grew up, and see the leaves turning, and smell the hickory smoke of roadside boiled peanut vendors. It's an album that I see in dark reddish colors— maroon, sienna, burgundy. When I listen to "Black", I remember staying home from school for two weeks in 2001 due to a bad case of pneumonia, and the flannel blankets, and spending my daytime watching old episodes of SNL from the early 90s. When I listen to "Garden", I remember quiet, rainy nights in my on-campus apartment during my first year of college, just sitting in the dark after my roommates had gone to bed, drinking a cold glass of milk while watching the rain dance and glitter in the outside light with the windows narrowly slatted. When I listen to "Jeremy"— well, of course, that song makes me remember how terribly I was bullied all through middle school and ninth grade, and how reliant I was on that song to help me through one of the most miserable times of my life. (Seriously. This is another album I credit with literally keeping me alive.) I know none of this is concrete or tangible to anyone else but me, but… this is something that frustrates me about lists like this when music journalists write them. By the nature of their publication, they can't focus on the intangible impressions they get, because they're supposed to write about universally-appreciable things. In this case… I can't do that. Everyone already knows it's a goddamned brilliant album. But these impressions, and the way they make me feel— they're so strong here that they're basically half of the album's appeal to me, as far as I'm concerned. This is just an album that I've known so long, that it is deeply ingrained in me.

Prime cuts: "Jeremy", "Alive"

13. Master of Puppets – Metallica (1986)

I was introduced to Metallica (and heavy metal itself) in ninth grade by a classmate of mine named John. On one fateful extended class field trip to Mentone, Alabama, for a trust-building workshop, John lent me his copy of Master of Puppets to listen to during leisure time. I didn't know it at the time, as I sat on my cot in that cabin in the forest and listened to my Discman, but there was absolutely no better album to initiate me to metal. It was revelatory. Up to that time, I was still finding my taste. I had never heard music so hard-edged, or drumbeats so fast, or guitarwork so intricate before. And 8-minute songs? Being a prog rock fan who now routinely listens to songs two to three times that length, it's funny to think about in retrospect, but when I was that age, my attention span wasn't used to anything longer than 5 minutes. I was used to the stuff being played on the radio at the time— stuff like Smash Mouth and Sugar Ray. It should be a testament to how much of an earthshaking experience it was for me, that I still even remember the trip to Mentone (which was otherwise pretty forgettable, honestly). When I got back to Georgia, one of the first things I did was buy my own copy. There are eight songs here, and not a single weak one among them. Lars Ulrich's drums are on point. Kirk Hammett's guitar is on point. The lyrics, and James Hetfield's vocals, are on point. To this day, I still get goosebumps listening to the opening of "Damage Inc.", or the instrumental "Orion" as it slows down into a more laidback tune, led by the incomparable bass grooves of the late Cliff Burton. And in addition to being technically impressive, it was a cathartic album, too; this was the album that first allowed me to tap into my inner adolescent rage, and to release it. "Fuck it all and fucking no regrets", as they say. Wherever you are, John… thanks.

Prime cuts: "Master of Puppets", "Battery"

12. Superunknown – Soundgarden (1994)

It's sad for me to write this now, still only a few months out from Chris Cornell's passing. He was a hero to me when I was a teenager, and this was my first encounter with his music. First I got into Nirvana, then Pearl Jam, and then gradually I got into Soundgarden and Alice in Chains. Out of all the releases between the four of them, Superunknown is and probably always will be my personal favorite, even over Nevermind and Ten. The combination of Cornell's unearthly voice and Kim Thayil's guitar stirred something inside me that the others just couldn't quite reach. Maybe it's because, at the time, Soundgarden had been together longer than the other three bands, and they were able to reap the rewards of knowing and playing with each other for a longer time. Whatever the reason, it just felt (and still feels) to me like one of the most musically mature albums to come out of the whole grunge scene. And the sad thing is, I think a lot of people pay attention to it because of "Black Hole Sun" being such a gargantuan hit, and undersell the rest of the album. There are lesser known songs here, like the title track, or "Fresh Tendrils", or "Like Suicide", that are absolute sparkling gems. To listen to those songs, and to know now that the moment has passed, and that chemistry can never be truly replicated again with Cornell gone… it's really disheartening. But at least they left behind one hell of a masterpiece.

Prime cuts: "Black Hole Sun", "Superunknown"

11. The Dark Side of the Moon – Pink Floyd (1973)

Did you really expect me to leave this one off my list? Pink Floyd has been showing up on my list with a fair amount of frequency, and I saved the best one for last. I mean, it's almost ridiculous how clichéd it is to talk about this album as an example of a musical tour de force. It's practically to the point where I can just say the words "great album", and this will be one of the ones that people automatically think about. And as I sit here writing, trying to come up with something to say to rationalize my choice, I realize— there's probably no other album in my life which has served more as a soundtrack to the truly awesome moments. I've painted to this album, and felt the invigorating high of inspiration. I've synched it up with The Wizard of Oz, not once, but twice. I've played it while taking a breathtaking car ride through Badlands National Park in South Dakota. I've listened to it while watching a total solar eclipse. There's no other album that fits these kinds of experiences as well. It's an album that compresses time with its mellow nature, and causes 42 minutes to disappear so rapidly you can scarcely understand where they've gone. It's an album that simultaneously makes you feel insignificant, as a tiny human in a grand cosmos billions of lightyears and aeons large, and important, as someone fortunate enough to bear witness to the splendor of the universe. In short, about as close to perfection as an album can aspire to be.

Prime cuts: "Money", "Time"

At last, we’re down to the final 10. Which ones made the cut? Find out the first half tomorrow, with Part 6, featuring #10 - #6!

#top 100 #top 100 list #music #albums #favorite #list

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