MOON CHILD !

time : june 14th

@forbiddcnsirvn

SEEING CYREK IN SUCH A STATE IN THE HALLWAY had left Stella incredibly unnerved. She had obviously seen him in states close to that before, but this time it hit her harder, for reasons she didn't want to look further into. The brunette could tell, though, that he needed some time to collect himself. From what she had regarded Evren was going through something she could relate to, even if that felt presumptuous when she herself wasn't a mother nor was she trying to achieve such a state when it happened. So, the brunette couldn't help but wonder if it meant she was assuming that they could relate over what had happened as she ventured into the hospital room. "Hey," she greeted, casually, as always. "You need some Jello or something? I can try to see if I can swindle them into guaranteeing you the good flavors." It was in her nature to open with something casual, even humorous, to just break the ice as she was never good with serious topics. In the beginning, Stella had held some judgement towards Evren, only out of protectiveness towards her best friend who she didn't want to see be lead on. But as their relationship grew and as she saw more of Evren, the more she grew to like her and, consequently, hold a deep respect for her. Hell, it wasn't just anyone she would trust to care for her niece. Casually making it to the bedside, her eyes dropped to the floor as she struggled to find the best words for what she wanted to say. What was there to say in that moment that could even help someone through that? She knew herself that there wasn't really anything nor would one want pity. "I never know the right shit to say in these situations, but I'm sure you already know that." Her fingers tapped on the railing of the hospital bed, trying to find the words that could possibly provide comfort. Squeezing the railing for a second, the brunette finally admitted, "Everyone kept telling me it wasn't my fault, and that really didn't help. Whether it was my fault or not it happened. And it was fucking shitty." She never spoke about it that candidly before. "So, tell me what you want me to do and I will. Whether it's kicking some nurses' asses or just getting you something to get some aggression out on."

The drip-drip of the IV filled the void of his outstretched thoughts, idling in a defunct state of despair. The sunken hollows of his heterochromatic eyes were ten times heavier to bear the weight of swollen tear ducts, tinged red naught from the glint captivated in the rays of the sun or alighting a spliff to share lazing about together in a share vehicle. His lungs burned for multiplicities of reasons different than an hour, two hours before. Once Stella had taken her leave from the room, Cyrek had managed to collect the wreckage of his dysregulation enough to backpedal to the white walls. Fresh bruises and mottled raw knuckles contrasted the sterile sheets as his fingers curled to them and meticulously kneaded as he finally approached the bedside. The punk lingered for a moment, vacant of the words to convey of their shared sorrows — ones they had bathed in times past, one tragedy after another following the first as it seemed they would never succeed in tryst for a third child. There were other conflicts in mind, too, of her — the petite fae confined to the bed and how the outcome could have been worse.

“Still trying to woo me even now, huh?”

Every particle, every iota of Evren pulsated and throbbed with a dolorous yearning craving to stifle the tempest of her raw emotions that lingered on the perilous brink of swallowing her whole. Evren was but a patchwork dam against the unyielding inundation. Heart palpitated in rhythm with the tender stroke of Cyrek’s touch, his known element operating as an analgesic for an old laceration laid bare anew. Articulate utterances floated suspended in their shared atmosphere, resembling ethereal strands of gilded fog - paradoxically exquisite and wounding. Wispy tendrils wound themselves around his own digits, yet her answering squeeze trailed lethargically behind as if immersed in desolation as dense and cloying as molasses. The words that slipped from her lips seemed to bear within them ghostly echoes that suggested abysses filled with profound grief, trapped within. Her gaze ascended to meet his heterochromatic optics – those stunning-looking glasses splotched with agony and concern reflecting her inner turmoil vividly back at her. Her roseate mouth contorted into a semblance that bore a resemblance midway between a grin and grimace - tinged heavily with melancholy yearning. Those uttered syllables seeped into her being and took root in the pit of her stomach like mighty iron anchors yanking away any remaining vestige of vitality from each cell housed inside her fatigued constitution — ‘Try again’. Such phrase echoed around devoid of substance or purpose… mirroring how life appeared this instant; but she knew Cyrek, knew he meant well and a tug of smile curved.

“I know, I’m sorry — shite feels… surreal, we were so… I was so prepared, you know? And then suddenly—”

Defeat—an admission antithetical to Evren’s usually articulate vernacular save those exceptional instances resplendent with the bountiful luxury of submerging herself into the triumphant sanctum of her spouse’s embrace. In this instance, however, capitulation was the predominant savor she experienced; utterly divested down to her very marrow, an alien fragility resonated within her ossature hitherto unknown. Her once formidable arrogance had been vitiated and reduced to insubstantial soot; a paragon amongst Miroir’s developed echelons now torn apart and rendered asunder. The extinguishment of numerous existences before—and by—her own hands notwithstanding, appeared a watercolor wash compared to the excruciating crucible of torment currently encompassing her existence.

“Gonna take a lil’ time before I can find my feet again,” she murmured, and she yearned for him even more than ever. “You won’t be going nowhere, yes?”

Yet fortune had not entirely absconded her company; gentle reminiscences that she wouldn’t have to traverse through this bitter panorama painted with thorny roses alone reached out their pacifying tendrils towards her. An oppressive vacuity enveloped all around, yet the punk’s silken words offered an anchor amidst oceanic chaos of despondency—an unfathomable absurdity that he persistently remained there. Pondering upon how profoundly such harrowing ordeals must’ve cleaved splinters in him fostered an echoing schism within perfection itself inside Evren’s psyche. This imperfection taunted incessantly like a malevolent puppeteer, its seemingly vindictive strings entwined about Evren’s consciousness attempting to orchestrate them into discordant dance steps. Yet despite it all — she strived valiantly onward maintaining as much equipoise as time would benevolently permit.

She reached out for him. For whatever fragment she could grasp of her anchor.

Her avarice for every centimeter of the sensations piercing her flesh was mesmeric, inexplicable of someone frequently inept in his third or fourth languages and resigned to the simplicity of explicitly vulgar vocabulary ( to which, one too many times, he’d been informed didn’t make him sound smart, and yearning for something else that would display his intelligence beyond measly report cards ). The lasciviousness of her remarks were dotted with unfamiliar glimpses of sensitivity, too — the demure hitch of breath underneath her unsteadied by the implication that she tethered such a devotion to something he had introduced her to, but not expected her to live by code. The peer of orbs flickering from beneath the rims of her dress skirts followed the movement of her palms dragging his up to her perky bosom. Responsively, his calloused hands enclosed around them, massaging the mounds and thumbing along her nipples, his eyes fluttering closed to fixate on the gyration of her hips inclining toward his mouth and resuming to lick around her entrance. There was something filthily reminiscent, a dirty reservation that could be attributed solely to the two of them who were imbued with the other now. Eves long since past, striding her home from the bar where she worked under a false namesake, they’d bicker and they’d argue and they’d fuck — an inflection of that greed dripping from Evren’s high-pitched shrills and covets, the unraveling of her patience to have every inch of his skin meshing against hers and indulge the wicked sensation of him sliding home and rocking her bed until the neighbors fussed. It was those nights, lying spent and speechless alongside her, the thorns around the spaces of his heart retreated and permitted for her to edge inward. At first, he’d claim she was like a disease — arsenic-laced folds that his pierced tongue now delved between and dipped in and out of her, tasting her constricting walls longing for more, enticing him as the sirens that folktales ascribed lounging around coves and jagged rocks. Attentive fingertips twisted and squeezed the hardened buds of her nipples, stroking his tongue deeper when she bucked until the whinier and raucous bounce of her ass provoked an unintentional chuckle, abruptly withdrawing one hand and smacking it stingingly against her tit. Crooked teeth nipped her cheek, sputtering, “Then stay still, you’re drivin’ me bats, do you wanna cum on my face or not?” It wouldn’t be terribly unlike him to tease, wedding night or not.

was it all in my head? was it meant to be? thought i'd love you to death, but now you're dead to me i still fucking hate you, hate you, hate you what are you doing to me? thought i'd love you to death, but now you're dead to me

i know a place downtown, babe, if you wanna go i'm gonna show you how, this italian amor is gonna love you harder than ever before you will like it we're gonna get sky-high and create a new world where somebody might die but nobody gets hurt and if it sounds good to you, baby, just say the word you will like it before i found this place, i was feeling so blue but then it turned me out, let it do it to you it's not a one-night stand if it turns into two i like it it's 5 AM, we feel so good, it's almost frightening it's 5 AM, i'm made for you, we can't deny it meet me there, where it never closes meet me there, i'll give you your roses all is fair in love HONEY, ARE U COMING?

“Your most favorite.”

They spoke and touched with teeth. Something Evren found herself considerably still growing more and more attracted to. Cyrek was a hurricane too raucous to be handled by others but she would never want him to retract his claws — biting words both impish and grated with wrath was a drug on their own. Petite torso was ensconced against the wall, an embrace close to that of an ancient storied edifice. A deluge of reminiscences engulfed her — evidence of fleeting fragmented echoes, vestiges of innumerable instances where their existences had melded amidst their stormy saga. Each convergence was an example and a silent covenant weaving their destinies into a sensuous yet familiar ballet, electrifying in its intimacy. The wall’s immutable sturdiness juxtaposed strikingly against the mercurial and nebulous tales of their lives and offered a solitary haven in the vortex of turmoil they knowingly navigated.

Alexandre was standing a few feet away from the people accumulated into one big group after the party's events, all frenzy, and murmuring stuff he had labeled as white noise and deliberately chose to ignore. He pinched a cigarette between his thumb and pointer finger that he brought to his mouth every once in a while: a long drag as his eyes scanned the scene fizzing with agitation. It was almost hysteric really; a reaction Alexandre understood as no one could’ve expected the sudden turn of events that diverted the festive party into a macabre crime scene. He even swore he had heard bones snapping and caught glimpses of boiling liquid corroding skin. Then again, it was all in Halloween’s spirit, and he wasn't feeling particularly touched. Alexandre remained stoic even when the last blue light washed away, tsking sounds ringing against his palate as he shook his head. “What a shame,” he spoke more to himself than the presence next to him. A hand slipped out of the back pocket of his jeans and pulled up the leather jacket from the sleeve he had raised at the height of his eyes to reveal a damaged silver watch. Eyes narrowed, trying to make sense of the numbers. “Y’think scaredy cat is still open?” he asked, still not making eye contact, cigarette following the movement of his lips in a continuous up-and-down bob. “I was hoping for an all-nighter, and it's barely 1 a.m.," he squinted even more, "----- probably.” Reluctant, with a sigh and an irritated raise of eyebrows, he convinced himself to stop trying to decipher the hazy numbers on his watch, the cracks made them seem more like hieroglyphs than anything else, and dropped his arms down to his side as he freed his lips from the burning stick turning to face the other. "It'd be a shame to waste the night since we're already out and about, right?" And he was slightly tipsy and not a fan of half-measures.

DESPITE IT BEING A LARGE SOCIAL EVENT, one thing Dorothy had never been incredibly adept at partaking in, the youngest Graves-Seong sibling was actually quite comfortable. The atmosphere provided a familiar feeling from all the time she spent working at the House of Judgement, which had increased in the past few weeks while she was still recovering from her injuries and unable to practice or perform at the circus. There was an undeniable elation ever-present on her face, and even the acrobat herself knew that it was due to the matching costumes her and Pesor had managed to put together. Eventually, Dorothy had made her way into the dining room to check out all of the offered refreshments, somehow losing her date along the way but believing she would eventually find them once again. The food was definitely made expertly, as she peered down at one that was made to look as a bloodied finger. "Do you know what exactly is in this? And please don't say something like....human." An apprehensive giggle left her. "I like the dedication, but I'm not really sure I'm able to eat something that looks so....real." She was already a bit caught off guard by how realistic the eyeball floating in her mocktail appeared.

Shrouded in the comfort of her sultry bunny attire, Evren drifted through the Halloween festivity like a wraith amongst the mirthful. Raven locks cascaded in stark contrast against her pallid, alabaster skin, while her eyes pierced through the gaiety with almost palpable somberness. Would have been wholly visceral had it not been also paired with a reminder of the grief which she had endured not too long ago; but here was the effort to not permit herself to entirely submerge in it. If not for herself, then at the very least, for her children and Cyrek’s sake.