fear/fire

🍒— my muse’s family | 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘.  william (1972-2006) ; heather (1973-2006) ; nicolas (1993- ) ; cassian (1997 - )

❝ — i’ll be back, stella,” nicolas began, stepping out his apartment to go on a midnight stroll. there was something calming about the night, when the world was blanketed in shadows, with nothing but the stars and streetlights to guide you. it was as eerie as it was enchanting, and he felt nothing but comfort out beneath the moonlight. looking up at the sky, nicolas took a deep breath and released it slowly, imagining the stresses of the day leaving him like the waves receding on the sand. he could smell the ocean from here — crisp, rich and refreshing — and he wandered towards the beach. 

One of the things that Brianna loved about coming to a new place–as she so often did–was that no two places were exactly the same. And as an outsider, she had learnt to appreciate the things that made each place so unique. She had sketchbooks filled to bursting with paintings, drawings, and sketches from various different places. Today, she had one that was three quarters empty, sitting alone on a seat as she used an old pack of oil pastels to sketch the street before her. Colours stained her hands already. She was lost in her work, not noticing someone else looking at her until their shadow fell on her page.

“Oh. Um. Hi. γεια.”

open starter !

          “god dammit,” julietta huffs, straining on her tip toes to reach the box of cinnamon toast crunch that she’s been craving all week. “fucking– oh !” she gasps loudly as her balance shifts, flailing hand knocking over not one, not two, but nearly a dozen different boxes of cereals. her eyes hurriedly search the aisle to see if anyone had witnessed the mess she’d made, groaning when she saw someone at the other end. “i..uh…it’s not what it looks like ? i swear, they just…fell.”

nicolas hummed vaguely. “yeah…” he croaked, lips pursed. “it’s been a while since i’ve seen my family.” talk about the understatement of the century. 

yarrow — have you healed from past traumas?

“has anyone? there are good days and bad days — but i don’t think anyone is completely healed from past traumatic experiences…” or maybe that’s just what he preferred to tell himself. 

vervain — do you believe in luck?

nicolas snorted out a bitter guffaw. “well, i’ve certainly had my fair share of bad luck.” brows furrowing, he continued. “but…no. sometimes life sucks.” averting his gaze, nicolas offered merely a shrug in condolence. “it’s got nothing to do with good luck, bad luck, karma, or whatever… it’s just the harsh truth of reality. i don’t find it helpful believing in things like luck. it just sets you up for disappointment.” he cleared his throat and glanced up, gaze more vulnerable than he’d like to admit. “besides, if you let yourself get caught up in the how or why, or waiting for the other shoe to drop when something unlucky happens…you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

“i’m partial to cygnus. it’s always pretty prominent in the sky in summer and fall.” he huffed out a soft laugh. “i used to like trying to spot it as a kid.”

nicolas’ lips quirked up in a hint of a smile. “edit photos, go for a walk with my dog…” crossing his arms over his chest, he shrugged. “watch netflix, i guess. i’m not very exciting, so that’s generally my daily routine.” 

“my brother,” nic answered decisively. he’d trust cassian with anything, after all they’d been through. “but um…other than him, no i guess not.” 

nicolas was silent for a long moment, gaze distant. “don’t know,” he mumbled with a sniff. “here is fine.” but in his head, the answer was clear: with my family. 

“probably hunter green.”

“beard oil. and please, don’t.” 

after hours spent in the darkroom developing photos from this afternoon, even the dim light of his apartment made him squint. as his eyes adjusted, he peered blearily at the clock. 2:37am — sounded about right. 

he’d always felt most comfortable at night, found peace in the pause of the earth and the stillness of the shadows. besides, sleep often eluded him. tapping on his laptop, he checked to see if his photos in lightroom had finished processing when something caught his attention. 

on his nightstand stood a small glass vial which contained— what was that, glitter? 

“the hell…” he muttered, walking swiftly towards the vial. the contents shimmered in the lamp light and stirred something in his chest. a longing — for something that he couldn’t put hid finger on. 

removing the cork from the top of the vial, he gently tipped some of the contents out into his palm. it wasn’t like any glitter he’d ever seen — smooth, finely milled, and almost opalescent; it shimmered like moonlight on his skin. 

a warm nostalgia washed over him — inexplicable and sudden, considering he’d never seen this…whatever it was before in his life. and yet, it was like his soul was reaching out for more of whatever this feeling was. 

pouring the contents gingerly back into the vial, he slipped the delicate glass bottle into the breast pocket of his jacket. he had the urge to be outside, taking photos under the night sky. it had been a while since he’d ventured out for a midnight photowalk, but there was no time like the present.