#stardusted

It’s been a week, so much longer than what we are used to,

Yesterday felt like my graduation, 

Thinking about our young years, there was only you and me,

I will be over in ten to do the same shit again,

Illuminating my way all along,

Giving me perhaps a reason to stay,

How could have I missed,

It was her all along,

Covered in stardust, guiding me on,

To a path of light,

From the darkness I was steeped into.

i am currently writing a sequel to my good omens fic On Love and Possession! i posted a peek at the beginning just tonight :D

With words on the tip of your tongue.

I can hear them begging

To be released

As I recline beside you.

I watch as you swallow their weight

And slowly stand up.

The sun creates a halo

Around your being.

You walk away

With the weight of those words

In your stomach.

That was the last time I saw you.

April 3 2019

30. Too quick, mumbled into your scarf

“Just set me on fire,” Alya grumbles as she pulls on layer after layer, cocooning herself against the gentle snowfall waiting for her outside the bakery’s front door. “Hey, you even have those little torches for caramelization, you could totally-”

“Not do that,” Marinette finishes with a laugh as she steps in to help. She deftly buttons up the first sweater before wrestling the next sweatshirt over Alya’s head. “Isn't this overkill? I'm sweating just looking at you.”

“I'm gonna freeze two steps out,” Alya grumbles. She gathers her hat, gloves, and scarf before they get lost in the jumble of the coat rack, and hangs them all on Marinette for safekeeping. “Not all of us are born radiators.”

“I am pretty hot,” Marinette smiles cheekily. She peeks up at Alya from beneath the hat, her blue eyes sparkling as Alya shrugs on an enormous, puffy jacket.

“Well don’t be rude, share some of that heat!” Alya laughs as she sweeps her jacket wide open like wings. She’s not sure who moves first, but then Marinette is right there, strong arms wrapped around her waist, broad smile tickling her neck. Everything else whites out as the wings of her jacket fold over the both of them, enveloping Marinette in her arms.

And Alya swears, she can feel Marinette’s warmth, sinking through all her layers and into her skin. She breathes in the delicate pink, the dizzying scent of sugar and spice, the breathless laughter, and buries her face into the threadbare scarf looped around Marinette’s neck, holding her all the tighter. There’s something like home, something like heart, that Alya finds in Marinette.

It’s always hard, letting go.

“You feeling better?” Marinette chuckles as she rubs circles along her back.  

“Yes. You’re the best,” Alya mumbles into her neck. The scarf catches her words and tucks them in between strands of yarn, warming them until they press back against her cheek like a kiss.  “I love you.”

“What was that?”

Alya shakes her head. “Stay a little longer.”

“Anything for you,” Marinette hums. “Just for you.”

✦

“Is it a new mic?” Alya asks as she gently shakes the smartly wrapped gift in her hands. Marinette shakes her head. “I know. It’s a new espresso machine.”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Ok first of all, the box is way too small for that, and second, you don’t need any more help getting caffeine into your system.”

A dramatic gasp escapes Alya as she bolts up straight, excitement burning in her hazel eyes. “It’s a flamethrower.”

This time Marinette doesn’t even bother rolling her eyes, instead burying her face and sighing deeply into the enormous ladybug pillow that Alya gifted her earlier. “Just open it already!”

“Alright, alright,” Alya laughs, finally setting aside her teasing to properly open the gift. She slices through the wrapping paper with practiced cuts and waits until Marinette’s lifted her head to watch before gently lifting the lid of the box.

Alya’s breath catches in her throat as a plush, thick scarf made of sunsets greets her, deep crimsons and burnished oranges and buttery yellows captured in yarn soft enough to be spun from clouds. Streaks of midnight blue and plum purple peek through, blending together so well that deciphering where one colour ends and the other begins is impossible. The scarf loops snugly around her neck, shrouding her with its delightful warmth.

With trembling hands, Alya runs her fingers to the ends of the scarf until she finds the distinctive embroidery of Marinette’s signature. She flips it over to look at properly, and is stunned when she finds, in glittering gold thread, I love you, I love you, I love you.

“You like it, then?” Marinette asks softly. A soft blush blooms on her cheeks as Alya moves close to wind half the scarf carefully, possessively, tenderly around her neck, joining them together.

“Like it?” Alya laughs, pressing a kiss against Marinette’s pink cheek. “Love it.”