castor wright / d1 / (fin)

gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. Graphics 3,094 POSTS Pronouns: he/him last seen Apr 26, 2024 16:35:54 GMT -5	castor wright / d1 / (fin) Oct 14, 2019 14:55:03 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Oct 14, 2019 14:55:03 GMT -5 {castor wright} district one seventeen a sky full of song. jackal's.
	Last Edit: Oct 15, 2019 4:46:33 GMT -5 by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. 堕落天使

gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.
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castor wright / d1 / (fin) Oct 15, 2019 2:08:19 GMT -5

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Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Oct 15, 2019 2:08:19 GMT -5

“Hey,” he said, half-asleep, “what were you before you met me?”

“I was drowning.”

A pause.

“And what are you now?” he whispered, half-sinking.

I thought for a second. “Water.”

— ocean vuong, on earth we're briefly gorgeous.

Last Edit: Oct 15, 2019 2:09:07 GMT -5 by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.

堕落天使

gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.
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castor wright / d1 / (fin) Oct 15, 2019 2:28:42 GMT -5

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Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Oct 15, 2019 2:28:42 GMT -5

this was a tale about a songbird dressed as a hawk.

it happened in a sudden, out of a great blue, with a fever: greed robbed his gambling father dry and their marble castles became reduced to dirt-cladded tenements.

it happened like a fall from grace— unexpectedly.

in the morning, castor had no worries and at dusk, he was knee-deep in them: unpaid bills, the mountain of loans, their smeared reputation.

it happened in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it-way he couldn’t comprehend fully, an cruel trick of lady fate herself.

when the ground rose up to meet icarus’ thrilled bones, he wondered if his bliss left him first, or the sorrow devoured him raw. he wondered if he even felt his freedom wither, like a sprig of lavender in a cold winter, in his hands. he wondered if it hurt—the fall—bruised him lilac and magenta until he was more a spiraling galaxy than a boy liberated.

it hurt for castor. it made him feel as though his world was torn asunder, because it was, and then reassembled again, with all the shards in the wrong places, to a twisted mosaic. he never slept that first night but curled with his knees drawn up to the chest, as if bracing for the impact that had already stuck, that he hadn’t foreseen.

he felt as a torn mosaic would: grotesque and monstrous and misshapen, a hideous breakage, jagged edges.

when dawn’s light appeared, he was simply that: shards.

money waged wars in men. it made a war out of castor wright, a blood-soaked one at that. months later, his father fell ill, stricken with loss, and his mother died in her sleep. castor envied the peacefulness she had in her last hours, eyes softly closed shut, a smile plastered across her greying lips. it was more than anyone of them could wish for; it was a blessing. she welcomed the soil and its coldness, with open arms.

castor wished he could do the same but all he’d ever known was living, unabashedly, brazenly, as a creature that had been born drunk on life would.

so, he clung onto its last teeth.

so, he took to the back-alleys and made himself the cruel, ruthless prince of them, with his tousled hair crowned with blood, his slender fingers (a pianist’s gift) dripping red, knuckles aglow with the same galaxy-like bruises icarus must have had.

there, he earned his talons; there, the songbird sacrificed the melodies it had to become a hawk.

slender fingers – a pianist’s gift – painted red, knuckles aglow with the same galaxy-bruises icarus must have had. there, he earned his talons; there, the songbird sacrificed the melodies it had to become a hawk.

broken bones were traded for a week’s dinners, swollen welts on his arms for amenities and other trivial things. blood for glory, blood for riches. he had to break to be put together once more, slowly. he had to be chased by death’s dark-furred hounds every night to live. it ought to exhaust him soon—but not now.

the day they had to sell the piano for cash, castor cried. he cried and wailed, and then his wails were-wolfed into howls, primal and guttural, the laments of a wounded animal. he cried until his bones became weary, and he fell asleep against the timber legs of his bed, face matted with dry tears. in his dreams, he played—fingertips dancing over polished ivories, the air cherry-sweet with lullabies and hymns and every wild melody in between. in these dreams, he was himself once more.

then, the morning dawned upon him.

then, the darkness came and steel knuckles thudded upon his form, balled fists of men and boys that were there for the same purpose as him: to live.

the only moments of sweetness he’d get, were those stolen hours spent on some deserted house’s rooftop with jackal, their hands twined in the shape of an armistice. the war couldn’t touch castor here, when he was curled up against the sun-haired boy’s arms, all sinews and bones. jackal le roux was the clear skies in his napalm-clouded world. he was the sun that warmed, but never seared. he was light.

but, jackal was a le roux—and castor understood what that meant, the legacies the boy shouldered—and castor was castor, unruly and ragged, with a past that was merely cinders behind him. he was debri strewn across space, adrift in between comets, the wreckage, the shards. he was the broken pieces jackal le roux could not put back together, only hold in his arms as the night closed in around them. he was a name that men spat out with blood. he was the red that would ruin jackal’s gold.

a songbird stirred him from his sleep and, quietly, not wanting to alert jackal, he parted from the boy that one night. do not make him bleed, castor warned himself as he leapt down from the silver-bright roof.

Last Edit: Oct 15, 2019 4:50:20 GMT -5 by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.

堕落天使

gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. Graphics 3,094 POSTS Pronouns: he/him last seen Apr 26, 2024 16:35:54 GMT -5	castor wright / d1 / (fin) Oct 15, 2019 4:41:34 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Oct 15, 2019 4:41:34 GMT -5 fin! pretty sure shrimp wants dibs.
	堕落天使

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castor wright / d1 / (fin) Oct 15, 2019 6:36:25 GMT -5

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Post by shrimp on Oct 15, 2019 6:36:25 GMT -5

To paraphrase lance :

👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀 good shit go౦ԁ sHit👌 thats ✔ some good👌👌shit right👌👌there👌👌👌 right✔there ✔✔if i do ƽaү so my self 💯 i say so 💯 thats what im talking about right there right there (chorus: ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ) mMMMMᎷМ💯 👌👌 👌НO0ОଠOOOOOОଠଠOoooᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒ👌 👌👌 👌 💯 👌 👀 👀 👀 👌👌Good shit

Accepted!!