swan lake.

you are poetry: you are ( full ) of cloudy subtleties. words burst in your e s s e n c e and you carry their ( dust ) in your ethereal eyes.

[littleswans-blog]

                  ❛ LISTEN... ❜

                  a tinge of irritation cuts sharply in a soft voice that was once for prayers & kindness. the world is no longer kind; aster isn’t learning from the VICIOUS world to be hard, to be mean. the softness is much too easy to tear---RIP INTO SHREDS. for delphine, for aisling, for garth, for cameron? aster is soft, kind, and loving. for delphine, for aisling, for garth, for cameron?  aster is distrusting, cautious, and secretive. there is TOO MUCH to lose.

                 ❛ you have to the count of five to start explaining yourself. ❜

[heartcountry]

Scientists, somewhere, are still looking for stillness. They don’t know the silence of your ghosts. This is the love they were trying to tell us about. At night I listen to my dead heart and name it after a dead country. The birds in my blood stop mid-flight. When I think of you, a war ends. You tell me about the time your world went quiet. How you howled at love like a moon. You warn me of your dark, and I stay. I stay, and I swallow your shadows whole.

yz, the perfect shade of morning.

[aestheticaspirations]

[netflixdefenders]

[littleswans-blog]

( garthcallaghans ---

@littleswans​.

Unsurprisingly, he had been wandering aimlessly when the events had occurred – shaking the very ground beneath him and making him think something along the lines of what the hell was going on. At least this served as a somewhat normal happening that occurred globally; if it was anything like an earthquake. It happened so quickly, he could not be entirely sure. Once he stopped thinking the floor was about to rip open, Garth continued on his travels of attempting to loot houses and find supplies. All the while trying not to bump into any of those raiders. He could handle them effortlessly, but for once he was just trying to survive and not fight. To settle down for one night and not be interrupted would be a nice break in this hectic life.

The house he had chosen to search seemed a bit out of the way of the rest of them, making him think that he would have some more luck there. As he entered, it represented entirely what an empty house should be like; should feel like. Only it wasn’t. It wasn’t empty, and the figure standing with their back to him proved that. A female – could be absolutely anyone. Survivor or raider; a newcomer for all he knew. He had long stopped imagining the color of that hair, so the familiarity didn’t really hit him until they turned around.

Then it was like the air had been freed from his lungs, his expression morphing into one of almost grief as he took in the figure standing right in front of him. No. It was impossible. The Irishman wasn’t prepared for this; never thought he would have to prepare himself for this moment. “Aster?” If he had ever looked so unsure, it was at that moment. All the walls he had tried so hard to maintain broke down violently and collapsed on top of one another, revealing him as a naked and little boy. “I… thought you were dead.”

                   HOW TO BELONG---something aster was learning, was practicing with an admirable diligence. how to belong to something other than an ( aching ) lonesome. how to belong to something meaningful & sustaining. aster crossed the flowery name off a register of displaced persons when a home was found: SADDLE RIDGE. the small camp was a home with a rag-tag family of strange personalities and aster? aster missed the quirks and charms of those personalities in the wake of a fresh terror. separated from logan during a hunt, the saddle ridge camp would see little of aster---YOU HAVE TO FIND LOGAN, YOU HAVE TO FIND LOGAN... until something or someone came to soothe the panic & worry.

                   knuckles blanched with a tight grip around the old USMC KABAR as the expedition failed. desperate & thorough runs of the hunting route were vain: no sight of logan. the fourth run set the feeling of dejection heavy on tired shoulders---IT WAS TIME TO REST. rest until the hopelessness faded & approach the issue with a new energy. the seclusion of the house could be peaceful... or the emptiness would provide ample space for terrible thoughts to keep aster company. the last time aster looked for someone with such dedication and desperation?  those terrible thoughts were the only company that couldn’t be shaken. the last time aster cared about someone with such reckless abandon? those terrible thoughts were all she had left of him.

                   TERRIBLE THOUGHTS ... not unlike the ones behind cloudy eyes when the familiar lilts break through a tense silence. nothing ( everything ) about the curious lilts was comforting and welcomed---not after aster spent months UNRAVELING to the sound of accents unlike the unique irish. no, NOT ANYMORE.  ❛ and i thought you’d left... looks like the both of us were wrong, ❜ the words strained with discomfort as aster tried to look at anything but garth.

[littleswans-blog]

( thread: loganhartley. )

     It’s a tiring life — the one that Logan Hartley lives. When it isn’t filled to the brim with his usual antics, an unwelcomed feeling of LONELINESS and disappointment sets in. His days are filled with boredom, the job of being a hunter the one thing that keeps him from drowning in a sea of nothingness. He’s barely staying afloat, but he’s ALIVE ( which is more than he could say for the lifeless bodies walking around out there ).

     “Fellow comrade,” His tone matches the voice of the other — he just says something to acknowledge that she knows he’s there. “Not trying to sneak up on you. Just bored. Whatcha doin’?” He questions, a natural knack for curiosity and meddling poking through the holes of his personality. 

                   STEEL CONTRASTS AGAINST IVORY as aster settles a knife between the pages of the young adult novel. the book shuts with the knife snug against the spine while it is tucked away for safe-keeping. why bother? the book draws little interest... there is no reason to be so precious with its condition. why bother with such PERFECTIONISM? old habits die hard, really. old habits make aster feel like aster kuhn---the girl that dances on london stages with grace & divinity. not this girl---not this girl, the one washing B L O O D off shaking hands.

                   aster sighs, shrugs, and stares at the book with a look of distant disapproval. ❛ if you were looking for something entertaining? keep looking --- ❜ the words are accompanied by a shake of the head and little raises of the brows, ❛ all i’ve got is a TERRIBLE modernization of lysistrata and about an hour’s worth of criticism for kody keplinger. ❜

[littleswans-blog]

                   RITUALISTIC---the way aster keeps shaky hands clean is almost ritualistic. the hands are immaculate; soft and unblemished, nails free of dirt and above all? BLOOD--- ( there is no blood on your hands, dove, there is no blood on your hands. ) the nails brush along the pages of a book with inane patterns as aster reads with little intrigue; the book isn’t particularly captivating despite its inspiration drawn from lysistrata, but it is stolen from the personal library of a teenaged girl... aster isn’t expecting the lord of the ring or obscure russian literature.

                   ❛ HEY... i can hear you, ❜ the statement is bored---nothing accusatory, nothing fearful. an engraved knife rests between the pages of the book as aster looks away to seek out the newfound companion.

[apostolate-blog]

The Top 5 cutest girls in Cheyenne?

     ❝  Oh good Lord, you guys never stop with this shit. I’d dedicated my life to not noticing attractiveness. I suppose to humor you, I’ll name just Cameron and Aster, for sentimental reasons.  ❞

( @littleswans & @camcuflage )

[lasylphidedubolchoi]