#inkstains

What is my breath worth? A morning dead on arrival, Useless blood

A tongue born in silence, tricked into carrying  Each language 

The melody like water on the lips, then  A struggle for air; Promises only sprout into more seeds 

“Peace”

Inkstains #10 (2004)

Veronica Hebard

Tangled in Gold

Ship: Rey/Nohi Description: As the war against Valmore intensifies, the Wayfarers learn of a financier who is pouring money into the villain's campaign. To cripple their foe, the organization sends three of their spies into a masquerade with a mission: find and eliminate the target, by any means necessary. As Rey, Nohi and Vhedalis navigate the perils of remaining undercover, hidden truths come to light. (This one is my favorite) Rated: E for Explicit

Remedial Lessons

Ship: Rey/Metris Rey has a problem: her unrequited feelings for Nohi has become borderline crippling. The Wayfarer's trainer Metris has taken notice, and with a (similar) dilemma of his own, he has a proposition for her.Or: "In which canon goes straight out the window and these two are FWB to Cope™️" Rated: E for Explicit

Taking a Knife

Hyperaware

the library is not empty. he is holding my hand. i cannot feel it. my eyesight is growing worse; it is blurry, the books blending into each other, the fire flickering strong but vague. i open a book. the pages are creamy, crisp, empty.

“we have to write our own stories here,” he says. i do not like it. i want them to appear fully-formed in my mind, copy-pasted from my favorite novels. it is a tale as old as time: i must write my own stories. i know, i know, i know.

i climb a rickety ladder. we write our own stories. i pick an apple off the bookshelf. i am tired of apple picking, i am tired of growing blind, tired of being awake. if i don’t focus hard enough, i fall through my blanket and sheets and mattress and floor, clip through the ceiling until i hit marble in the hall below.

she is knitting in the corner. “better hold on, dear,” she says, eyes twinkling over her needles. i do not have the energy to be angry with her. she is trying, too. she and all her wrinkles and her many years. we are all just children.

Why do you run?

You let your mind and your feet

do all these miles a minute

And for what?

Not forgiving someone

Or worse ,

Not forgiving your self in

Whatever sense has happened?

Even if it was minutes, moments ago

You stop to think -

Am I running to or from

Or because?

Am I not a home in and of my self

All because of something that

Time will soon let everyone forget

And forgive, in time?

So yeah, why do you run?