#Everything that touches you is moonlight and stardust; turns to gold in your grasp | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-cat-at-the-theatre-door · 7 months

Text

"You're so pretty."

Victoria's movements are soft, half formed, as though she'd not quite thought the action out before it started. She feels her ears heat up with embarrassment. It had been happening more often lately - moving before she can think clearly, as though dealing with two separate entities within herself, brain and heart. Perhaps Jennyanydots' amused diagnosis of "twitterpated" was not too far off the mark; there had certainly been enough reasoning to back it up.

Plato blinks, slow and confused, as though being pulled from a dream. And perhaps he was; he'd been staring at Victoria for the better part of an eternity, focused, but very clearly somewhere else. He did that sometimes - disappear somewhere she couldn't quite follow him, eyes hollow and dark. Victoria wishes she knew where he went; perhaps one day he'd tell her.

The staring, she couldn't fault, however; she'd been staring at him right back.

"What?" he asks, furrowing his brow.

"Pretty," Victoria signs again, submitting to having been caught, exaggerating the movement so he'd get it. Perhaps he'd been half paying attention, and only seen the tail end. "You're very pretty."

Plato wasn't much for laughing, Victoria had come to know - smiling, yes; Plato had developed such an easy smile over the year spent with them when they could coax it out of him. Laughing, on the other paw, not particularly, though he was never able to put quite into words why that was. Perhaps he was self conscious of the way it sounded; perhaps he hadn't much in regards to a sense of humour.

Be that as it may, for some reason, that affirmation plasters bewildered scrunches between his brows and his eyes practically disappear under his eyelashes. It even gets that odd, wheezing noise he'd make when particularly amused.

The queen could only be partially annoyed and a teeny bit embarassed - he was very handsome when he smiled, afterall, one fang hanging slightly lower than the other. An in consequential flaw that did nothing, Victoria thinks, flustered, than make him even prettier.

Victoria huffs. "What's funny?"

Plato tosses the motion back haphhazardly, as though brushing the thought aside. "You're funny."

"Not funny." Victoria frowns. "I'm serious."

Plato sobers immediately, smile gone as quickly as it came - it's like a candle being blown out; a night and day difference. The temperature in the clearing seems to cool as he continues to study her. There is an undeniable feeling creeping at the back of Victoria's neck that she may have mis-stepped somewhere, but all she'd said was...

She presses on, feeling an ache begin deep in her chest. She repeats herself, motions firm. "You're very pretty."

"I am not," he says after a long moment. There is an expression on his face that is difficult to read - he does not look embarrassed or pleased, even humbly so; he almost looks as though he is about to cry.

"Yes you ar-"

"You-" he points at her firmly, cutting her off, jaw set. The motion towards her is quick and harsh as a result, unsheathing his claws in the process. He startles as she does, horrified, staring at the space that has swelled between them; he is a breath away from scratching her.

"You," He points to her again after a moment, claw carefully pulled back this time. "Are very pretty. Not me. Look." He motions to the whole of himself, as though that were enough to dissuade her feelings. It only steels her resolve further.

"You look-" she insists, touching her paw pads to the delicate skin of his cheek to demonstrate. Plato flinches as though she'd hit him in retaliation; it looks to have been a struggle for him to resist moving away, but the desire is clearly there. There is fear burning in his eyes -anger and remorse and upset - like a bird trapped in a cage of teeth, waiting for its bones to snap in on themselves after the hunter had toyed with its prey.

Victoria pulls back, tangling her paws in her lap. The ache becomes a gnawing hurt. The fear in Plato's eyes burns hotter, guilt shining just beneath the surface.

"Please." Plato sets his jaw, and the fear fizzles slowly - forcibly - last of the flame suffocated. But he does not get near her again. He is gone to that place she cannot follow. "I cannot...do not lie to me."

"I am not lying," she manages, tears at the precipice of her eyelashes. The silence grows even heavier between them

"Then," he continues at last, breath hitching eyes wide and astonished, and Victoria feels ice settle at the base of her spine. After a moment, his expression dulls again. The smile on his face returns in a flash, a plaster over a wound, but it is bitter, cool. Empty. "You are being cruel? I did not think you had it in you."

#have this half finished nonsense too idk #Plato #Victoria #platoria #my fanfic #fanfiction #plato has body and self worth issues due to years and years of abuse #You walk in another world #Everything that touches you is moonlight and stardust; turns to gold in your grasp #I could only hope that being in your presence should do the same to me #I am stupid to think so #hahaha i'm sad #about this universe i mean #idk if this requires a tw but like plato has a very poor opinion of himself #and he's not mad at victoria - not at all - he is devastated that even she (in his twisted minds eye) would be cruel #and play with his feelings because he can't tell genuineness from a hole in the wall #but thing is victoria is 200% serious and besotted #not meant to imply any abuse or anything like that - macavity is just very close to plato's surface #in more ways than one and it terrifies him that he'll hurt her like macavity hurt everyone else #and the fact that victoria could be cruel in his mind? breaks his heart

31 notes · View notes

wordsofgravity · 2 years

Text

the letters i send you every time we kiss

I TO LOVE

to love is to fall asleep in your arms without dreaming, because with you i already am

you remind me, of warm honey, of dark wood crackling in a fire, of bruise-purple clouds in a sunset, of summer rain, of evening rain, of dried roses, deep red, of every love song ever written, even the ones i have never heard, will never hear you cover your face when you cry i tell you i won't look but really all i want to do is catch every tear and freeze them into diamonds and wear you around my neck forever, forever

my life revolves around you we're like two moons orbiting each other, pulling each other in, in some strange astral tango which i never want to leave

II TO BE IN LOVE

to be in love is to know, truly, that there is no god

why would there be when there is You right in front of me, to worship with my lips, my fingers, my tongue

i don't believe in souls but when you kiss me it feels like you turn me to stardust and sparks, dissolving into your very being; just you and i without the mess of matter in the way

you give me not butterflies, but moths trying to escape my stomach out to you, my moonlight, light of my life... the one i'll flutter to, day or night and every hour in-between

III TO BE LOVED

to be loved is to hear, in the depths of my sleep, the rustle of pages, while you flip and press down on a book with one hand, just to hold mine in the other

you make my whole body feel like sunlight with nothing but intertwined fingers and kyanite eyes (and gently whispered i'm proud of you's)

every door opened, every bus taken, every flower petal to be pressed and dried, every moment spent being heard, being held, patiently, each feels like a vow in its own right: a silently promised i'm yours, you're mine now and always

IV TO MISS

to miss is to write

i send you letters every time we kiss and fill my time waiting for yours, in the seconds in-between

some nights i smoke to remind myself of you just to pretend that i see your figure floating away with the trails of ash, just to pretend that i hear your voice behind billie holiday's: dearest bear, like bubbles in a glass of champagne...

i ration your words like drops of ambrosia, squeeze the letters off your pages into my eyes until i can next drink you in, savour you

my time spent with you is like gold dust. i cup it in my hands, knowing it will blow away, and knowing it will return safely to me with the next breeze

(...do you think we will still write to one another from opposite sofas in our living room?)

V TO BE INFINITE

no combination of syllables will ever do you justice there's no word big enough for what we have

my love for you is bigger than the word love is bigger than the gaps between the letters L O V and E, is bigger than the gaps between all the letters ever written in any word, and when there is no gap between us, my love for you is everywhere, in everything i am constantly flooding with it for you, for you, for you

i want to write song after song for you, i want to write books of infinite pages for you, i want to write endlessly for you, anything, everything you are endless to me nothing is big enough; i want to grasp the world and sit it in my hands, give it to you, and it still wouldn't be enough

i see you everywhere: in every exhale of the wind, in every swelling wave, i hear you, as if the planet itself is living, is breathing your name "Mia, Mia"

you are the fabric of the universe itself every touch of your lips to mine births new stars, sets skies ablaze you are my universe, my universe is you

. . .

#poem #poetry #original poem #original poetry #love poem #wlw #lesbian #sapphic

16 notes · View notes

ashes-and-ashes · 5 years

Text

Asu,

@of-stars-and-moon

First of all, I am so sorry this is late. The time zones completely screwed me up (time differences suck!)

Secondly, where do I even begin?

Asu, you are the most amazing person I know. You were the first person I befriended on this hellsite and God, you don’t know how excited I was when you responded to me! You were my first ship, my first Tumblr friend and you were always there for me. Without you, I undoubtedly would have given up writing ages ago.

You are so kind, funny, considerate and badass person ever. I am in awe of your fluff writing, your sunny personality and your fierceness when protecting your friends. I am so, so honoured to be able to call you a friend.

I wrote this thing for you! I know you wanted fluff, but I couldn’t resist throwing some angst in there :)

Remus stares down at his paper.

It’s smudged now, the letters smeared from the countless times he’s run his hands over the words. His fingers are covered in ink, splatters reaching all the way up to his forearms, looking like patches of night against the brightness of his scars. Rips and creases fill the parchment, little pockets of space and Remus idly plays with the edge of a hole.

He’s divided the parchment into two columns, the thick line of ink shockingly dark against the paleness of the paper.

Pros and Cons of telling Sirius.

He’s always loved lists, that feeling of organizing the chaos swirling around in his head into something legible. He supposed that’s why he loved them both, Lists and Sirius, loved the brutal honesty and clarity. He’s spent so much of his life shrouded in deception anyways - it was a breath of fresh air to be able to show the truth.

No matter how horrible it was, at least he knew it was the truth.

Remus smooths out the paper again. He’s been sitting here for the better part of an hour, the thoughts too loud for him to possibly rest. It’s dark in the room, the only sound the gentle exhales of everyone sleeping.

He’s spent enough sleepless nights to know the patterns of slumber; James’ soft whistles, Peter’s quiet snores and the dead-silent exhales of Sirius.

He wonders why Sirius was so quiet when asleep, compared to the noise surrounding him when he was awake.

Remus let out a quiet breath. He grasps the paper in trembling hands, trying not to rattle the page.

Pros and Cons of telling Sirius.

A small chuckle escaped his lips as his eyes flickering across the sheet. The column on the right stretched down to the bottom of the page, outlined in brutal slashes of ink.

Cons.

There were many, of course. Unreciprocated feelings, the thought of tearing their friendship apart. Just that was enough to make him catch his breath, the fear of spending the next 3 years without Sirius. The agony of losing what they had, the casualness, the soft touches and hidden jokes and transformations under the full moon.

He wouldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk it.

Remus grits his teeth, tossing the paper on top of the covers. What would he say, anyways? Hey Sirius, I’ve had a not-so-secret crush on you for 4 years.

The words sounded stupid, even in his head. He could even imagine Sirius’ face, the shock, the way his mouth would open slightly and how his eyes would harden. The cool marble mask settling over his features, the walls shutting down around him.

Viciously, Remus turns, yanking the covers tighter over him. Fuck, he thinks.

It sometimes worried him, how well he knew Sirius. How he could read his thoughts just be looking at his face, could see when he was about to laugh or cry or scream. 4 years was simultaneously forever and a flash, the time stretching and condensing like putty.

Without meaning to, Remus thinks of that morning, two days ago. The sunrise burning over the hills, illuminating the two of them, golden sunlight over Sirius’ face. Remus. Remus, I need to tell you something.

What? Remus had been about to say, before the door open and James had come down and Sirius’ face closed off.

He wonders what it was, what he was going to say. Remus. I need to tell you something.

Viciously, Remus bites his lip, hard enough to draw blood. He’ll never love you, he thinks. How could he?

There’s the metallic tang of iron in his mouth, bitter and salty and Remus feels like he’s about to choke. He’s had blood in his mouth many times before, his and Sirius’ and James’, had spat it out and swallowed it after too many full moons. He bites his lip harder, feeling his teeth pierce his skin. He won’t ever love you.

Remus swallows. But what if he does?

He can still hear them, the gentle sound of breathing, like waves on the shore of some distant beach. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine that they are coming from behind him, from someone wrapped next to him, legs entwined and fingers crossed.

He can almost imagine it’s Sirius.

Remus falls asleep to the sound of inhales and exhales, and Sirius’ eyes spinning like mirrors and glass.

The sunlight wakes him up.

He can’t bear to open his eyes - he can see the redness of light through his eyelids, dancing spots of colour like thousands of burning stars. His head pounds, just slightly, and Remus yawns.

He opens his eyes.

At first it hurts, all the shining light. Remus frowns. It was much later then he usually slept, the sun fully shining in the sky, illuminating everything with a brutal clarity. He squints, turning his head so that the mess of curls fell out of his eyes, turning to roll out of bed.

He almost collided into Sirius, who was standing next to him, hair mused and eyes unreadable.

God, he looked beautiful, all clean lines and edges, like some statue that had been carved out of marble and gold. He let himself stare, for just a moment, heart pounding in his chest before looking down. “What?” he says.

Sirius doesn’t say anything, just holds out his hand.

There’s a piece of paper in it; Remus can see the darkness of ink bleeding through the page. It seems impossibly dark against the paleness of the paper, almost like a stain.

“What is it?” he says again, his voice hoarse. He’s still half asleep, the world spinning slightly; he rakes his fingers through his hair, hoping the pain would force the earth into order.

Slowly, Sirius turns the page, those long, graceful fingers sliding the paper open. He turns it, so that Remus can see the words.

All the breath whooshes out of him, calmness replaced with terror. It’s like someone shoved a bucket of snow down his throat; Remus can feel the coldness moving into his lungs. He chokes, coughing; Sirius’ face is unreadable. “Si…”

“Did you write this?”

His handwriting stands out in front of him, all jagged, ugly spikes. He can see the lines where he had pressed down too hard with the pen, can see all the crinkles and rips in the page. “Damn it, Sirius, I…”

“Did you,” Sirius says, his voice steady, “Write this list?”

Remus closes his eyes - there was no point denying it now, not when his own writing stood out like an ugly brand. “What do you think?”

Sirius lets out a breath; Remus can hear the paper crinkle behind the darkness of his eyelids. “Why?”

“What do you think?” Remus repeats. He stands, snatching the paper from Sirius’ hand, tossing it onto the bed. “I get it, okay? I get it - you don’t like me in that way. Fine, whatever. But I can’t...I don’t…”

He swallows hard, Sirius eyes searing into his brain. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you...for you to find out…”

Sirius meets his gaze. “If you could change it,” he whispers. “If you could...you know. Not. Would you?”

“Would I what?” Remus mutters. “Change the fact that...that I love you?”

There. The words were said, thrown out into the open space between them. He bites his lip, the cut from last night breaking open again. “I wish I could. God, I wish I was...was normal, I guess. I wish I didn’t...didn’t love you like this, when all you want is for me to not.”

Sirius is silent as Remus gestures wildly towards the paper. “Look. I’m sorry. I should have told you. I just...It was in my head and I couldn’t stop it - “

“What if I don’t want you to stop it?”

Remus freezes; it’s as if the snow in his lungs had spread, running down his body. He opens, then closes his mouth a few times. “What?”

Sirius swallows hard, then picks up the paper. “What if,” he says slowly, his voice low, “What if I don’t want you to stop it. Loving me, I mean. What if...what if I feel what you feel?”

Slowly, Remus turns, facing Sirius for the first time. There’s something trickling down inside his chest, some dark bit slowly starting to melt. “You…”

Sirius kisses him.

He remembers the first time he saw Sirius, on the train to Hogwarts. The terror at leaving his parents, the cuts in his back still bleeding from the full moon. The weight that lingered over him, like the ocean above, something hard and heavy and too much for him to carry. He remembers the curiosity he felt when he first saw Sirius, the relief that he was able to shed his burden for just a few, precious moments.

That was this kiss.

It was starlight and moonlight and paper and ink. It was fireworks, thousands of them in Remus’ chest, the rapid pounding of his heart matching Sirius’. It was them; Remus’ hands wound tight around Sirius’ neck, pulling them closer, closer, until the only thing between them was air and stardust.

And he hasn’t felt this light in a long, long time but right now he feels like he can fly. He feels like he can soar, Sirius’ fingers around his waist, feels like he can spiral into the sun and clouds.

So he kisses Sirius, hard, with 4 years of longing, and Remus closes his eyes as he lets the paper fall to the ground between them.

292 notes · View notes