nightraiderwrites

[nightraiderwrites]

The Implications of an Unlocked Door

The nature of dreams.

Tws: unreality, explicit descriptions of violence -.-.-

The dream starts on a train. 

It’s one of the trains that are used for local transportation; rides across a city or a town. The people who ride it are ordinary. Students, yawning off a night of study. Office workers, struggling to stay awake, balancing a coffee in hand. Old men, on their way to the gambling hole. Women on their way to the market.

To you, there is a crowd in a train, and this is a perfectly normal dream. Slowly, you take it in. The train moves over a bridge, and the sun rises out the window. Someone has spilled coffee on the floor. You can smell it. The seats are old.

The train rolls into a dark tunnel. Overhead, lights flicker on weakly, washing the compartment in dim white light.

This is, you think, a nice dream. A different world, a different time, where things are normal.

It’s in a split second of darkness when you see him. As the lights flicker, throwing the train car in pitch black, you see his eyes. Deep, ominous red.

You shudder involuntarily. This is a dream, you remind yourself. He cannot hurt you here. You are safe.

The tips of his hair are blue. There are deep bags under his eyes. His hands are hidden.

This is a dream, you remind yourself. You do not know how you know it is a dream, but it must be.

The train rumbles on. Above, the automated voice announces the next stop.

“I love you,” he says, voice thick and raspy, and then you know it is a dream because he had never told you that and you know he would never say it.

“I love you,” he says again, and you hang on every word like it’s the last thing you’ll ever hear.

You had forgotten, the cadence of his voice. He did not speak for so long, and the first thing you forget about a person is the sound of their voice.

You take a step closer. He takes a step back.

The train slides out of the tunnel, the morning light flooding into the carriage. You blink at the sudden light, and he’s gone.

~

The dream starts in the plains.

Morning dew soaks the knees of your pants as your hands grip his throat. He isn’t doing anything to stop you. Why isn’t he doing anything? Why isn’t he crying out?

Blood is splattered over your arms. It stains the white of your shirt, and you press deeper, your wait digging into his chest. He reaches weakly for your wrist. Darkness creeps over your vision.

It’s taking so long for him to die, you note impatiently. You should just snap his neck. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

You exhale.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His face is turning blue. Ice starts forming around you, solidifying the dew on the grass. It spreads around you, driving away everyone else, but not you. No, the ice never touches you.

He loves you. You love him too much to let the tender bones give way beneath your hands.

There is no world in which you kill him.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His mouth moves. “Fal-”

Morning dew soaks into the back of your white shirt as his hands grip your throat.

You understand now, why he didn’t struggle. His weight presses into your chest, and you feel your ribs crack, a little.

The thing about being choked is that you can feel everything. There is air that does not enter your lungs and there are knees pinning your wrists to the floor. Wet dew seeps into your clothes. There is no more blood on your hands.

He’ll snap your neck. Any moment now, and he’ll do it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your hands move on instinct. Your wrists are pinned with his knees, yes, but your fingers can still touch his legs.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You love him. He still kills you.

~

The dream starts in front of a glowing purple portal.

Lizzie stands in front of you. “Alright,” she says. It’s obvious to you that she’s a cat wearing a mask, but maybe you shouldn’t point that out. “We’ve got a weird magic portal, so obviously the most logical thing to do is go through.” 

Everyone nods, like this is a perfectly normal thing to do. You think it’s insane, but no one else disagrees.

Katherine and Shelby lock hands. They share a kiss before stepping through the swirling magic portal. You watch as Joel hugs Lizzie and kisses Sausage carefully before jumping in as well. 

You’re the last to enter. You watch as Pix and Jimmy and all the others go through and your heart aches. 

Something tugs at you as you are about to step through; a hand, maybe, someone with hands the same size as yours, and familiar enough to grasp your own like nothing else matters.

Don’t go, the person begs, because you are sure it is someone now. If you go, you’ll be changed forever. 

There is nothing more terrifying than change. You had woken up in this world with bleeding wings and half empty memories, and the world has done nothing but change.

The portal hums, almost menacingly. Change is scary. You don’t want to change. You want to stay exactly the same, because if you change, you’ll never know who you are. You’ll never know who you were. You’ll never know who you could be.

So you don’t go through. No one will notice if you don’t, so you stay. You shake your head and turn away from the glowing portal, boots heavy on the unsteady wooden platform.

You step. Left foot, right foot, feeling like you have been unmoored.

The platform isn’t built well. There is no one to catch you when your foot goes through the splintered plank and submerges you into the river.

~

The dream starts with your hand resting over a familiar door knob.

You hesitate. It’s night time. When you walk in, you know that Tango will be waiting on the couch, and Pearl will be upstairs, Pix will be in his room or out in his swamp base, and Gem will be…

Gem will be gone.

You turn the handle. “Hey, Tango,” you say. No one replies.

The lights are on, but the house is empty. There is no one home. 

Fire crackles, casting a soft glow over the wooden flooring. Four pairs of shoes are lined up where you left yours. There are no dishes in the sink.

You climb the rafters. The paper eagle- the one from god -is gone. Your shelf is bare, the satchel you had brought to this world, your spare knives and the threadbare blanket that you had folded this morning are all gone.

Gracefully, you tip backwards and fall silently to the floor. The house is quiet, deathly still, almost as if it's holding in a breath. You don’t like that. Dead houses don’t breathe.

You climb the stairs, struggling to find your way in the dark. There’s never really a reason for you to come here, other than calling Pearl to dinner or dragging Pix to bed, so the beautifully carved handrail feels unfamiliar in your grasp.

It’s cold. Despite the fire you know was running in the living room, chill clings to your fingers and your breath fogs your vision.

There is no way it should be this cold. The stairs are slippery with ice and frost covers your sleeves. Your movements are stiff as you step, joints creaking and squeaking. But you’re so close.

The landing is two or three steps away. Surely you can make that. How long have you been walking up for? It’s impossibly close.

Squeeze your eyes tight. Squeeze them so hard you feel a hot tear streak down your cheek and turn to ice. This house is not your prison. This house is not your home. This house is not your love.

When you open your eyes, you are on the landing. The cold is gone. It is no longer dark.

Sunlight fills the hallway. Golden light falls through the window, lighting your path to the room at the very end of the hall.

You have a feeling about who is waiting. You missed her so much.

At first, your steps are slow as you feel your feet on the hardwood below. In your lungs, it’s like breathing sunlight. The air is like honey.

But you can’t take it anymore. You break into a sprint, cheeks hurting from how wide you’re grinning. You shouldn’t let yourself hope it’s her, but you can’t help it.

The corridor shortens, and you stop, breathless. A sun is carved into the door, and the soft morning light makes the rays glow. This has to be a sign, right? It’s her. It’s her. It’s her.

God, why are you hoping? It never goes your way. Everything you hope for never happens. People betray you, they leave you or you leave them. Nothing you hope for ever happens.

Still. You really hope it's her.

Your hand hovers over the familiar door knob.

Take a breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. It’s only opening a door.

It’s only a small change.

You grasp the knob and turn. It opens, easily, as if it was made to be opened. As if it was made to be changed.

The first thing you notice when you walk into the room is the light. Every nook and cranny is filled, and you can see everything. From the shrine of candles on a table to a small bed tucked in the corner of the room, everything is… gold.

She’s leaning against the windowsill, eyes closed with a smile curling on the edge of her lips. Her hands are folded in front of her, and her crown shines gold. Soft breaths rise and fall in her chest.

You don't… remember her ever looking so content. There was always sadness or stress or a glance at the future creasing her brow or pulling her mouth into a frown. She had always been burdened with destiny, and you had never been strong enough to lift it.

As you stop in the doorway, she opens her eyes and turns to you. They’re green, with little hints of purple. It makes you pause, unnerved.

“False,” she says. She opens her arms, wide. It’s been so long. 

You can’t take it anymore. No more waiting. No more looking over your shoulder a missing presence. No more cold.

You crash into her, buying your head on her shoulder. “I missed you,” you mumble. You sniffle. It really has been so long.

Gem strokes your hair. “I know,” she says. “But you’ve been so brave. I’ve been gone, but you’ve been so brave.”

Tears start welling up in your eyes. “I don’t want to be brave anymore,” you sob. They streak down, hot and fast. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Her hand stills. You cling to her like you’ll drown if you let go. “I’m sorry you have to go through this,” Gem murmurs. It’s strange. It’s almost like she’s apologizing for leaving you alone. You start to panic.

You pull away, breathing hard. “Gem,” you say, shaky. The world feels unsteady under your feet. Nothing is golden anymore. “Are you leaving again?”

The sunlight drips away. From the bed to the candles to the door, flashing the sun at you the color bleaches, fading away. Even the color on that gets sucked in towards the center. Gem’s room pales in comparison to her, and she herself grows in color, vibrancy bursting from her figure.

Your hands are still on her shoulders. It burns.

“Gem,” you repeat, desperate. She keeps leaving. Nothing good ever lasts. You should know this by now. “Gem.”

The room is faded, like a toy left in the sun too long. All the color has been sucked dry, and Gem is the radiant sun.

She’s still smiling softly at you. You hate it. No, that can’t be right. You could never hate Gem. But how can she be standing there, smiling…?

“False,” she says. “My knight. My loyal soldier. But most importantly, my friend.” Your chest is heaving, and you cannot let her go. “You are a good sword,” Gem tells you. Her eyes flash - purple, gold, green, gold - but she smiles, carefree. “You are a good sword,” she repeats, “but you are an even greater friend. Don’t forget that, okay?”

It hurts to look at Gem. You want to shield your eyes, look away, protect yourself, but you’ve never been good at caring for yourself. She is your blazing sun, and you are a helpless little dog.

“Don’t go,” you beg. She takes your hands off her shoulders and holds them tight. It burns. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Oh False,” Gem says. The color in her eyes finally settle into a deep purple hue. Wings like the rays of the sun emerge from her back, and her robes flow like the ocean. Her crown glitters gold. A wry grin plays on her lips. “Don’t worry.” You can hear her heartbeat, like thunder.

It’s terrible.

“I’ll always be Watching.”

~

The dream starts on a train.

The sun sets over the horizon, throwing the city in front of it into a midnight silhouette. You sit in one of the seats. There is no one else in the carriage.

Someone had spilled coffee on the floor. Brown stains the grimy carriage floor, glistening wetly in the dying light. The seats are old.

You sit in one, observing the sun set. A soft orange glow makes everything feel warm. Unsteady. Unreal.

Your teeth rattle as the train rumbles on. In your chest, you feel your heart; ka-thud, ka-thud, ka-thud, assuring yourself that you are still alive.

Where is this train heading? You don’t know. All you know is the tracks seem to stretch forever, into eternity.

There are things to ponder. Your purpose, for example. If there is no one around, if there is no one to dedicate your life to, what are you even here for? Did you ever matter? 

Maybe. Maybe you mattered. More likely you didn’t.

Who cares, anyway? You?

Sometimes, thoughts are not there to be listened to.

The train heads into a tunnel. The lights remain off, throwing the carriage into total darkness.

When you come out the other side, he appears on the other side of the seats, facing you. His face is clean. His hair is yellow. There are no bags under his eyes.

“Hello,” you say. Swallow. “How have you been?”

He stares. “Oh,” he replies. “Good.”

The silence stretches between you. What are you supposed to say? What is he supposed to say? There is nothing that can be said.

“I haven’t forgiven you,” you say. Curl your fingers into a fist. Your nails dig into your palm. A lie. “I haven’t forgiven you.”

Across the carriage, his lips curl into a smile. Do you remember the last time he smiled?

“I know,” he tells you, but you know he knows it’s a lie. Everyone always says you suck at lying. “You’ve been very brave.”

Now he’s echoing Gem’s words. Gem left, so is he leaving too? You force the tears and the panic down, and shove them into a little locked chest inside your heart.

You close your eyes, leaning sideways. Your head lands on his shoulder. His breaths, steady and deep, are a soothing rhythm. He grasps your hand.

“Can you stay, this time?” you ask quietly. 

His breath hitches. “Okay,” he says. 

The train rumbles on.

~

So the implications of an unlocked door is this: it is just a door until you try and open it. Then, it gains either the adjective “locked” or “unlocked”. This means if you describe the door as “unlocked” you have changed it in a fundamental way so as the door is not just a door, but a door that you have interacted with and changed.

Therefore, the implication of an unlocked door is that a person existed to unlock it. A person has existed to change the door in a way that allows for further expansion and development. The door would have remained a door even if no one had bothered to try and open it.

Nevertheless, the sheer fact that someone opened the door showed they care about it. The door cares about the person too. It stands strong and guards the house. It unlocks for the person, allowing them to enter the home and rest.

A door is just a door until you try and open it. At the same time, a life is just a life until someone else enters it.

-.-.-.-

Hi :)

#nightraider writes #lifesmpmafia #falsesymmetry #unreality #violence

[nightraiderwrites]

ao3 wrapped [writers edition]

How many words have you written this year?

How many works did you publish this year?

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

What work of yours has the most hits?

What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

Favorite title you used

If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

Pairing you wrote the most for this year?

Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

What work was the quickest to write?

What work took you the longest to write?

How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

What’s your longest work of the year?

What’s your shortest work of the year?

What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

Your favorite character to write this year?

The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

Which work of yours have you reread the most?

How many kudos in total did you get this year?

Which work has the most comments?

Did you do any collaborative works this year?

Did you write any gifts this year?

Did you receive any gifts this year?

What’s your most common category?

What do you listen to while writing?

Favorite work you wrote this year?

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Biggest surprise while writing this year?

#ask game #tee hee

[nightraiderwrites]

🌹

You are False Symmetry. You used to serve a Watcher that loved the sun.

#nightraider talks #ask'd

[nightraiderwrites]

🌹🌹🌹

Does this mean I have to give three-

Joel is glad his wife and best friend are already dead, actually. If they weren't, he'd hate to imagine how they would be suffering with him.

-

The woman smiles at him adoringly, like he can do no wrong.

-

This is where the story starts. This is not where it ends.

#nightraider talks #ask'd

[nightraiderwrites]

for every "🌹" received in my inbox i'll post one random sentence of a random WIP i'm currently writing

[nightraiderwrites]

Introspection

I break the fourth wall.

Tws: unreality, graphic descriptions of dead bodies

We set the scene. FALSE SYMMETRY, a woman dressed in golden armor and blonde hair sits in the snow amidst freezing bodies. Her sword sits at her side. [???] Hello. [False Symmetry] [Glumly] Hello.

[???] Not surprised to see me? [False Symmetry] I expected it. You seem to like doing this. [???] Well- I- hmm. I’ve only done it once, though. [False Symmetry] That’s true. FALSE SYMMETRY looks over the dead bodies. There aren’t very many, not compared to the ones buried beneath the earth. [False Symmetry] Did you like how it ended? [???] Which me are you asking? The me that is you or the me that is not? [False Symmetry] Both, I suppose. [???] To answer your second, yes. I am happy with this ending. I knew we weren’t going to survive to the end anyway. The information we had… It wasn’t enough. For your first… Well. Did you like how it ended? [False Symmetry] No. Not at all. Wind picks up, sweeping snow over the already cold bodies and filling in footprints that lead far into the distance. It howls, whipping through FALSE SYMMETRY. She is a ghost. It does not affect her. [???] Hey, can I ask you a question? [False Symmetry] Don’t you already know the answer? [???] Humor me. [Pause] Did you love him? [False Symmetry] Of course I did. Of course we did. [???] And we paid the price. [False Symmetry] We did. I heard you cried. [???] Very rude. I could leave right now. [False Symmetry] But you won’t. [???] No. I won’t. The sun peeks through the clouds. Its red glow illuminates the frozen expression of the bodies in the snow. Light glints off a pair of glasses, shining down on blank eyes. [False Symmetry] What now? [???] Hmm? [False Symmetry] What are you going to do now? [???] Keep going. I’ll sing this tale until there is no one left to listen, and then a little more. [False Symmetry] And me? [???] It’s over. [False Symmetry] It is. [???] Doesn’t that mean you should go home? [False Symmetry] You know the answer to that question. Where is home anyway? [???] I… Don’t know. I could send you back. Just not this you. [False Symmetry] I am you and you are me. If you go home then I am too. [???] That’s not how it works and you know it. [False Symmetry] I know. I was hoping. [???] [Laughs] Hope. We know how it goes. [False Symmetry] Yes. We do. Around her, the snow glows red. Solid blood form wings behind her dead body. It halos around her companions' heads.  [False Symmetry] This is it, then? [???] Yeah. I’ll come back, though. I like this story too much. [False Symmetry] Hmm… I’ll see you around, then. [???] You certainly will. FALSE SYMMETRY disappears. The bodies in the snow stare lifelessly into the sky. [???] You. Reader. The one who reads this. Are you just going to sit there? Are you just going to Watch? You. Reader. The one who sits behind the screen. Understand this. The story is not over. There is so much more delicious sadness to consume from it. You. Reader. The one who loved the story. What comes next?

~

Tee hee. Once again based on a game of mafia with my friends.

#nightraider writes #falsesymmetry #lifesmpmafia #tw unreality #HEHEHEHE #oh god im not sorry

[nightraiderwrites]

I've been thinking about season 8 again.

Like, they must have known it was coming, right? It was planned. From the start.

But like, everyone had a rushed plan to leave. No on was prepared to go.

Cub blew himself into space. Tango planned to blow up the moon.

Gem and False might’ve been the most prepared with their bunker, but even they ditched that for last minute plans.

Boatem threw themselves into the hole they fed the entire season. Stress and Iskall were off world.

Joe filled his inventory with rockets and donned wings unused for a season. Cleo gathered their prepped shoulders and dove into the end portal.

But no one was fully prepared. No on knew exactly what was going to happen.

No one had time to get things in order.

Hey. That reminds me.

Did you get everything you needed?

#nightraider rambles #hermitcraft #wow #been abwhile since ive used that tag #boatem #hermitcraft boatem #joe hills #zombie cleo #season 8

[nightraiderwrites]

The Grave.

She finds her sitting among the burnt ruins of the house, tracing letters in the burnt snow. The Lady of the Sun stands behind her, light emanating from her transparent form.

“Everything alright, False?” she asks. Her finger stills for a moment, before continuing to trace unrecognizable symbols. Her helmet is off, set aside in the snow, and reveals a milky white eye set in burnt flesh.

False’s golden armor barely reflects Gem’s shining light. Instead, it seems to swallow the glow, taking in the warmth without giving back. “What’s Sausage doing?” she replies.

“Oh, you know,” the Lady says. “He’s flirting again.” She steps closer, footsteps warming the snow. False doesn’t react. Her wings lay still behind her, half buried in the cold. 

“I envy you,” says the Soldier finally. “You, at least, get a grave.” 

The snow melts as Gem sits next to False, turning to sludge. “It’s alright, though,” she continues. “I haven’t ever entertained the thought of someone leaving flowers for me. Or give me the grace to be buried.”

Her hair is loose, fluttering in the cold air. Gem watches as False looks on at the burn remains of the house they once called home. She remembers the soup and the cuddle piles and the nights of whispered, desperate prayer.

Only the altar remains, where the Temple of Light once stood. If she squints, she could probably make out two lumpy piles of wax sitting on it. 

She bumps shoulders with False, still sitting in the snow. “I can tell when you’re lying, you know,” Gem says. “Yeah,” False sighs. “Our bodies aren’t even going to rot away, you know? Everything gets perfectly preserved in the snow.”

False grabs a handful of snow. “And when the spring comes,” she says, throwing it half heartedly in the rising winter wind. The snow explodes in a powder of white. “We all thaw and disappear.”

The Lady of the Light moves to touch the burnt flesh around the milky, unseeing eye. Her Soldier allows her to, unflinchingly. Gently, she traces her finger down the skin, around the neck that has similar scars and down onto golden armor engraved with straight rays of sun.

“You don’t have to stay,” she murmurs quietly. “Joel and Lizzie have already left. You could go too.”

“And where would I go?” she asks. “Back to Cogsmeade, empty and cold? Back to the lab?” The Soldier reaches blindly for her Lady, grasping for her hand. “You promised I had a place in your empire, but I know you can't leave. Home is nothing without the people there.”

She swallows. “Home is nothing without the love. And here, there’s no one even left to grieve.” The unspoken words ring through the air. Not like we did. Not like we washed your body clean of blood and closed your empty eyes. You, at least, get a grave. You, at least, got the love that disguises itself as grief.

“Will you stay then?” Gem asks. “Stay by my side, as you promised during the nights of prayer. Sausage has a son to be getting back to, you know. Even he’ll be gone soon.” The hand in Gem’s is cold, the golden metal refusing to warm in her heat. She supposes the winter sun has always been the weakest.

False pauses. “Of course,” she says. 

The Lady of Light nods, and after a moment, rests her head on the Soldier’s shoulder. She tenses for a moment. “Thank you,” the Lady murmurs. “I was afraid I might be alone with Impulse.” 

“No,” her Soldier replies. “I won’t leave you alone.”

~

Once again, this was based on a game of mafia I played with my friends! I was kind of inspired by this piece I did a while ago. Because hey, when everyone is dead and no one cares, who's going to grieve? Who will leave flowers at your grave? Who will bury your body?

#nightraider writes #geminitay #falsesymmetry #lifesmpmafia #TEE HEE #UM #goodness #tw injury

[nightraiderwrites]

Shoutout to the lady I bought new a dice for my friend from: I told her about my exams and she said "roll for initiative" as she was scanning my items

#nightraider talks

[nightraiderwrites]

Pearl lays in bed, her suit torn to shreds. Queen Gem is sitting in a chair next to her, carefully peeling the remains of the beautiful midnight blue cloth.

Everything hurts. The explosion had ripped through the wall, and Pearl had vaulted over people to the Queen. She remembers wrapping her arms around Gem as the heat had torn through her. Then… nothing.

"You're such an idiot," Gem mutters as she inspects the skin. It's red and blistered, and the skin around the left side of her face is full of pain.

She coughs. "Well," she replies weakly. "I couldn't let the Queen die. You're too important to Eden."

"There's a reason Eden chose me to be her Queen," Gem replies, applying a salve. Her hands glow faintly green, as she moves them down Pearl's body. "She won't let me die so easily. You, on the other hand…"

Gem hesitates, before applying the salve to her eye. "You don't know that, Gem," Pearl says. "You don't know when the blessing of Eden will run out." Her hand is cool against Pearl's eyelid. She doesn't think she'll be able to see Gen's beautiful face with it ever again.

A knock on the door sounds. "It's me," comes Impulse’s soft voice. "Come in," the Queen orders.

The door opens silently, revealing a short man dressed in beaten up armor. "Hey Pearlie," he says. "I brought you soup."

"Thanks Impy," Pearl replies. She pauses. "Why're you still in your armor?" He chuckles, placing the steaming bowl on her bedside table. "Paranoia," he says. "They might launch a counter attack. And with you bedridden…"

Gem grumbles from where she's wrapping the last of Pearl’s wounds. "You're both idiots," she grouches. She sniffles suddenly. "I can't run this kingdom without both of you." 

Impulse exchanges a quick look of panic with Pearl, who tries to sit up. Her ribs scream, but she moves to sit at the edge of her bed. Impulse moves to stand on Gem's right.

Pearl takes her hands. There are little flecks of gold in her antlers. She thinks about Eden, and magic, and claims. "I swore I'd always stay by your side," she says. Her soft hands are cold in Pearl’s. She brings them up to kiss it softly. "I do not intend to leave."

Impulse kneels. "I swore I'd always be here too, my Queen," he says. Gold still gleams above his heart. “My axe will always be there for you.” Pearl nods, "You'll have us until we die," she adds.

Her emerald eyes stare at Pearl darkly. “Impulse,” the Queen says. “You can go to bed. Or check the guards stationed around the palace.” He starts to protest, but gives up as soon as he sees her focus is all on Pearl. Good luck, he mouths as he exits the room.

“Pearl,” she says. Pearl thinks about gold and magic and claims. “You can’t do that again. You can’t keep throwing yourself in danger for me.” Her antlers are flecked with gold, just like the necklace burnt into Pearl’s neck. “Eden’s blessing will keep me safe,” she continues. “But you-!”

She cuts herself off as Pearl surges forward in a kiss. Her lips are dry and cracked, Pearl notices. Gem tastes like wine. Pearl kisses deeper, moving to sit on Gem's lap and wrapping her arms around her neck.

Pearl thinks of gold and magic and claims. Gem tastes like wine and hope and love. 

They part, and Pearl presses her forehead to Gem's, as they both gasp for breath.

"I can't lose you," she whispers. Gem's eyes are emerald green, flecked with little slivers of gold. Droplets of tears color the corners blue."I love you," she murmurs, rough and real and desperate. "I love you, and I can't lose you."

"I can't lose you either," Gem replies, voice low and raspy. "I- I don't want to see you go." She wraps her arms around Pearl’s waist, moving her head to rest on her shoulder. Pearl clutches the base of her neck, terrified to let her go.

“I don’t want to die,” Pearl says. “But I would do it if it meant you would be safe.” She watches as Gem gasps for breath, gulping the air like a fish gulps water, and feels her earthquake under her fingertips.

Gem's dress is streaked with soot. "I can't lose you," she repeats. "You've all I've got left." Pearl shakes her head, ignoring the way it makes her ribs feel like they're being torn apart. "You've got Impulse," she says. "You have the rest of the Court."

"But it won't be you," Gem says. Her lip quivers. "I won't have you." 

Pearl thinks again of gold and magic and claims. Have Gem says. Like she’s something to put a claim on. She's got her wrapped tightly in her fist.

She thinks as she hugs Gem again, that she's gotten herself into a half dug grave.

~

Day 3 for @mcyt-yuri-week ! This is once again from the soup group au, because I have been hooked and brain rotting about it deeply.

It is later today, because I had a horrible exam, but thankfully I made it through to write women kissing.

#nightraider writes #pearlescentmoon #geminitay #whats the ship name for these two #idk #mcytyuriweek 2023 #fic: my queen my axe my hand

[nightraiderwrites]

Uh- Guys, this was my only way of making a decision what do I do-

im so curious about your au now form your snippet i found through yuri week! is it just soup group centric? and will there be other hermit guys? :0

Oh my god hello! Welcome! It will be soup group centric, a sort of au based around the King Ren arc on Hermitcraft, so I'm going to try and include as many Hermits as possible.

I started planning it while the arc was actually happening, but lacked motivation to write it. But writing that prompt as well as the general nice responses of everyone to it really is encouraging so I think I may get to writing it after my exams.

With that being said, I'd Iike to ask a question while people are here:

#nightraider talks

[nightraiderwrites]

I KEEP FORGETTING TO TAG SHIPS

#nightraider talks

[nightraiderwrites]

Cleo opens their eyes blearily. The roof needs another layer of paint.

Detective Pearl Moon rests her head on their chest. She can feel her little breaths on her bare skin, and the warmth of her skin as they curl around her stomach.

Last night was… something. Cleo yawns as she snuggles under the covers and closer to Pearl.

"Mrph," says Pearl, her face tiredly looming up. "Morning already?" Cleo presses a kiss to her forehead. "You don't have to go home straight away, do you?"

"Nah," she replies sleepily. "BigB can handle it without me, and I think Grian is getting the hang of running the bakery on his own." Cleo laughs, and wraps her arms Pearl. They nuzzle into her neck. 

"Stay for breakfast," she murmurs.  Pearl laughs, and Cleo can feel the thunderstorm in her veins. "Okay," she replies. 

There are days when the haze over her face gets worse, where Cleo can't look her in the eyes because of the dripping water color, but Cleo thinks they'll always love her the same.

Cleo traces the scars on Pearl’s face. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. She seems to wake up a little more. “Sorry for what?” she asks. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.” Cleo sniffles, tears springing to their eyes. “Still,” they say. “I’m sorry.”

Pearl smirks, but softens into a smile as she caresses Cleo’s cheek. “I thought you weren’t the kind of person to say sorry,” she says. “I’m not,” they reply. “But when the rose crumbled, and I thought you had died…” They swallow, and melt into Pearl’s arms a little more. “I regretted yelling at you the night you left. I regretted telling you. If I hadn’t done that, maybe we would be here sooner.”

“And maybe we wouldn’t have this,” Pearl replies. “Everything would be different, but I’d still have you.”

Cleo exhales. The watercolor drips. Pearl snuggles in closer.

“Let’s go back to sleep,” she murmurs. “Okay,” Cleo replies. They pull the covers up more. “Okay.”

~

Day two of @mcyt-yuri-week ! Because I'm on an au kick apparently, this is both AU and post-canon from my mcytblr aufest fic They say All the World's a Stage . I had a chapter where I accidentally wrote them gay, and I thought I would expand on it a bit more.

#nightraider writes #fic: atwas #pearlescentmoon #zombie cleo #mcytyuriweek 2023 #me smiling sweetly: i told you there would be more right? #pearleo #moonrot

[nightraiderwrites]

im so curious about your au now form your snippet i found through yuri week! is it just soup group centric? and will there be other hermit guys? :0

Oh my god hello! Welcome! It will be soup group centric, a sort of au based around the King Ren arc on Hermitcraft, so I'm going to try and include as many Hermits as possible.

I started planning it while the arc was actually happening, but lacked motivation to write it. But writing that prompt as well as the general nice responses of everyone to it really is encouraging so I think I may get to writing it after my exams.

With that being said, I'd Iike to ask a question while people are here:

#nightraider talks #ask'd

[nightraiderwrites]

GOING FERAL GLAD TO SEE PEOPLE WILL LIKE THE AU WHEN I HAVE TIME TO WRITE IT

#nightraider talks

[nightraiderwrites]

Pearl is dressed in her midnight blue suit, her silver rapier at her side. She swings Gem around the dance floor, the string quartet playing a jaunty tune.

She looks beautiful tonight. The royal seamstress did a good job on her dress, which fans around in a whirlpool of green.

They step in time, Gem's heels clicking on the floor.

Pearl's pulse is racing. Her heart thuds in her ears, eyes scanning the ballroom for any threats. She's certain Gem can feel her hands sweat, as they grasp light together.

The ballroom is full of masked people, gossiping about, no doubt, the Queen and the Advisor dancing together. They do not understand. She needs to stay close.

"Relax," the Queen murmurs to Pearl. "You're too tense. They'll notice." She swallows, and nods imperceptibly.

They twirl across the floor, Pearl focusing on the way Gem's hair bounces in the chandelier's light. Her antlers are adorned with little flecks of gold, and Pearl imagines them tonight, when this is over, curled up in bed. Her head will be on Gem’s chest, and she’ll be able to hear the soft thump of her heart.

Gem spins them off to the side, walking with Pearl’s arm in hers, making her way to the throne. The crowds part before her ornate green mask, detailed in gold. It is quite intimidating, Pearl thinks. It's fierce, gold shaped in such a way it looks like teeth.

"Stay close," Gem murmurs. Pearl thinks the mask brings out the sharp emerald of her eyes. "We don't know what he's planning."

Pearl would really like this night to be over actually. Or she'd like to go back to dancing.

She breathes in, spotting Impulse by the throne. He's dressed in  his deep black armor, outlined in jagged gold. His axe is on his back too, sharpened to perfection.

The Executioner nods as he scans the room as well, searching each face for threats.

Gold, Pearl thinks, is a very big symbol in their kingdom. Her own suit is adorned in gold stitching, leaves twirling around her wrists and neck. Impulse's own armor has gold up and down his arms and legs, with an "i" carved above his heart.

The Queen has claimed them, is what Pearl thinks. She's taken them and she's laid her claim on their souls.

They reach the throne. As she sits, Gem motions for Pearl to lean in close. “I see them,” she whispers. “Don’t look. Back left of the room, next to the drinks.” The Queen smiles, and presses a chaste kiss to the edge of Pearl’s lip. 

“Let Impulse know,” she whispers, as gasps erupt from around the room. “Get them out of my kingdom.”

Pearl takes a step back, and bows. “As you wish, my Queen,” she replies.

She does not look back as nods at Impulse and draws her silver rapier.

~

Day one of @mcyt-yuri-week ! This is from an au that I have yet to release, but I figured I'd give y'all a sneak peak.

#nightraider writes #mcytyuriweek 2023 #pearlescentmoon #geminitay #soup group #TEE HEE #I REALLY LIKE THIS AU #ITS COOKING #IM COOKING IT #fic: my queen my axe my hand

[nightraiderwrites]

i am, as ever, predictable: have you ever written any sort of isekai-type plot? (or really, just something involving unplanned/involuntary interdimensional travel)

You know, the first answer I had to this was no. And then I remembered what I've been writing and remembered the plot of that was basically isekai. So, yes? I guess?

#nightraider talks #ask'd #i dont know man #its focking funny