신화

this blog is 18+ only, low activity, and will feature more ooc thoughts than ic posts. penned by fᥣorᥱᥒᥴᥱ ( she / they ), 26, a girl who runs on coke zero, unfinished poems, and very little sleep. affiliated with @/ex-huma. all graphics are my own unless credited otherwise. muse info, rules, and more are found in the links below. tracking #ikaruzs.

‟ @ex-huma, … LEE HWA-RIM   ›   𝗆𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽: “        i wouldn't know what to do on a date.        ” / always accepting !

dae looked at her like someone watching the sea make a new shape of itself— gentle, curious, a little reverent. his fingers, long and paint-flecked, drifted idle along the edge of the table they sat at, mapping invisible patterns. the café around them had long since gone quiet, the world outside wet with the sheen of recent rain, lamplight puddling like golden ghosts in the gutter. “        a date,        ” he echoed, the word tasting strange in his mouth— like fruit picked too late in the season, sweet but softened by time. he tilted his head, and a loose strand of ink-dark hair slid down his cheek. there was something almost amused in his voice, though not unkind. “    neither would i.        ” and it was true— because no one taught him how. not after the fall. not after the centuries folded themselves into his bones and he forgot how to walk beside another without leaving ash in their footprints.

“        i think once,        ” he said, voice dropping like dusk, “        someone tried to take me to a market in venice. it was winter. i remember red glass and the smell of burnt sugar. she asked me to hold her hand.        ” a beat. a blink. he exhaled, soft as a prayer. “        i ran.        ” his gaze drifted, slow and faraway, like it did sometimes— toward the places only he could see, or remember. “        dates, i think, are meant to be small things,        ” he murmured. “        shared space. moments folded like origami between two people. a stolen flower. bread torn in half. the ache of wanting to know someone without bruising them in the process.        ” he looked at her again. and this time, there was something quieter in the way he watched her. not pity. not sadness. just— understanding. recognition, like the echo of a voice across water.

‟ @ex-huma, … LEE HWA-RIM   ›   𝗆𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽: “        you're going to leave me, aren't you?        ” / always accepting !

the sea had pulled itself quiet. no wind, no gull, no human sound— only the steady hush of the tide breathing in its sleep. around them, the world had dimmed like a stage just before the lights go out, when the last breath hangs in the throat of time, waiting. dae did not answer at first. he stood with his back half-turned, the salt-slick wind brushing against the hem of his coat like a ghost that barely remembered how to be gentle. his hands were deep in his pockets, not out of cold, but to keep from trembling. not from fear — he didn’t think he feared much anymore — but from the unbearable weight of her voice. how it folded, like a petal crumpling inward. you’re going to leave me, aren’t you? the words echoed. not just in his ears, but in the marrow. in the hollow of each rib, where ancient silence had long made a home. dae closed his eyes.

if he answered honestly, the sky might break open. if he lied, she would still know. so instead, he said this— softly, with the care of someone laying down a body that never got to rest: “        i always do.        ” his voice was the sound of something once bright, dimmed now by years and myth and regret. a voice not made for the century it lived in. “        not because i want to,        ” he added, slower now, each word peeled from the bone, “        but because i’m not made to stay.        ” he turned toward her then, barely, just enough to let the light catch the sorrow clinging to his lashes. not quite tears. he didn’t cry much anymore. not really. but there was something in the way his mouth didn’t quite close all the way. something in the way he looked at her like she was a painting he knew he’d ruin if he touched it too long. “      you make me want to stay. that’s the cruelty of it.        ”

‟ @wymsical, … DELIRIUM   ›   𝗆𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽: “        sometimes people get the wrong idea about me.        ” / always accepting !

dae looked at her — delirium, in all her fractured color and kaleidoscope ache — as one might regard a star that has suddenly fallen into their hands. gently, reverently. as if she might vanish if he spoke too loud, too plain, too real. she'd come to him like a question without punctuation, and now she was sitting on the studio floor, cross-legged beside a half-finished canvas that looked suspiciously like a dream trying to remember itself. he tilted his head slightly, strands of dark hair brushing his cheekbone. he blinked slow. thought slower. “       yes,        ” he said, voice barely above the hush of memory. “        they do that. with you. with me. with anyone who doesn’t fit into their convenient tragedies.        ” his fingers, still stained with the blues and burnt ochres of the sea, traced absent-minded shapes on the edge of the easel. a sun. a spiral. a wing.

“        i think… people only understand the kind of madness they can survive. the tidy sort, the one that ends in pills or metaphors. not yours. not the kind with teeth made of stars and laughter that echoes in the places language can’t follow.        ” he didn’t smile, not quite. but the ghost of it brushed his mouth, a faint expression like the ripple of light on water. the kind of smile that had seen too much of the world and chose to love it anyway. “        i used to be a boy,        ” he said, turning his gaze toward a distant corner of the room where a painting leaned, unfinished, unspeakable. “        not a story. not a myth. just a boy who believed in his father and the sun and the sky’s promise to hold him. but then i flew. and they called that arrogance. they called that hubris. they called me a warning.        ” his voice was soft as twilight, as a lullaby you couldn’t remember learning.

‟ @junmoone, … JUNE MOONE   ›   𝗆𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽: “        i don't think you understand exactly who i am.        ” / always accepting !

dae solin never flinched when someone bared their teeth. but it was the quiet ones — the ones who trembled, who warned, who whispered a thing like prophecy into the air between them — that made him pause. she had said it like a boundary. like a premonition. he looked at her for a long time, the kind of look that made silence feel heavier. not because he pitied her, or doubted her, but because something in the way she said it made his bones ache. it was the way she sat inside her own shadow, not as its owner— but as its captive. and he knew a thing or two about being a haunted house. “        then explain it to me,        ” dae said, gently. but not like an invitation— like a plea. the sort of tone one uses when they are asking someone to live.

he didn’t move from where he stood, only folded his arms as if to brace himself for her truth. not many people warned you before the flood. she had. that counted for something. “        i’ve never been afraid of gods,        ” he murmured. “        not since i was made a warning.        ” and maybe it was foolish— to say that in the presence of something ancient and half-lit. but foolishness had always been stitched into his myth. a boy who soared on wax and dream. a boy who bled into sky. he was used to speaking softly to things that might destroy him. he’d once kissed the sun on the mouth. his eyes flicked to hers, and for a heartbeat he thought he saw her flicker. or— no. something behind her. someone. a silhouette in the periphery. a second rhythm beneath her skin.