@singofus Asked: "Hmm I Wonder Where My Dear Tali Is?" Pan Ponders In An Exaggeratedly Loud Tone, Ears

@singofus asked: "Hmm I wonder where my dear Tali is?" Pan ponders in an exaggeratedly loud tone, ears pricked for any movement or sounds of giggles. (Pan playing hide and seek with his daughter)

thalia bites her lower lip to try to stifle her giggles , small hand on the base of the tree in which she's hiding behind . her father had moved past her , and she slowly moves to cross the desire path . she's a big girl now , having passed six summers — and while she knows she is much faster , stronger , and stealthier in the water , she wants to be just as good on the rest of the island she calls home .

she creeps out from behind the tree , heart pounding as she does so , looking up ( and up , and up ) at her father's back as she begins to try to cross the path ... only to step on crispy and dried plants , succumbing to a root illness .

she gasps , and reverses course , hiding back behind the tree , smile wide on her face as she listens for his response .

mismatched  eyes  focus  on  inky  pools  of  night  ,  verdant  and  vermilion  staring  into  eternity  .  she  gazes  into  the  void  and  the  void  gazes  back  .  her  body  goes  easily  against  theirs  ,  pressing  into  that  cocoon  of  safety  ,  and  she  slings  her  own  arms  over  the  topmost  set  of  shoulders  ,  lips  curled  into  a  smile  .  

would  she  like  to  be  buried  ?  quite  the  question  indeed  .  

the  princess  nods  ,  adjusting  her  position  to  be  more  welcoming  of  a  second  ,  to  encourage  them  to  settle  down  on  top  of  her  .  ❛  i  would  be  buried  under  you  ,  ❜  she  murmurs  ,  her  words  just  for  them  to  hear  .  

it  has  been  too  long  since  they’ve  been  allowed  to  be  this  way  .  since  she  could  set  her  duties  aside  ,  no  longer  hearing  her  father’s  voice  in  her  head  ,  her  mother’s  cautious  tales  —  the  coldness  of  autumn  has  begun  to  settle  in  ,  and  just  as  her  parents  have  their  reunification  rituals  ,  she  begins  to  make  her  own  .  

cold  fingers  settle  into  their  fur  ,  her  lips  brushing  closer  to  theirs  ,  now  one  mouth  for  her  to  focus  on  .  even  now  ,  as  they  lay  ,  she  can  feel  her  previous  worries  slipping  away  ,  sinking  even  deeper  into  the  earth  ,  to  the  promised  iron  casket  .  her  mind  feels  lighter  now  ,  feels  more  complete  with  just  her  MONSTER  here  to  accompany  her  .  

❛  tell  me  what  ails  you  ,  ❜  she  asks  ,  not  wanting  this  to  be  just  about  her  .  she  trails  her  fingers  up  around  an  ear  ,  finding  the  soft  spot  of  a  temple  and  softly  massaging  the  thin  flesh  .  ❛  i  know  i  cannot  be  the  only  one  with  such  heavy  thoughts  .  ❜

just  as  it  has  been  long  for  her  ,  it  has  been  long  for  them  as  well  —  she  wants  to  know  what  PAIN  they  carry  so  she  too  can  massage  it  away  ,  bury  it  ,  drown  it  in  the  styx  and  leave  them  shining  in  the  night  where  they  belong  .    

It took until Melinoë digging in the ear between their talons for Dystonia to even realise they had already constructed a grave. They hadn't noticed themselves doing it, though their worry for her was quite intense. They wanted those worries gone quickly. She asks of them and they work to even out the edges of this new hole ,make it large enough for her to rest comfortably in.

"We will not be disturbed." Their auras were divinely off-putting when put together, but any stupid lifeform close enough to them to disturb her would visit a death deity soon enough.

Claws halt in their digging when she steps into the earth, lifting away to let her have all of the newly provided space. The air around them felt heavy with the scent of fresh soil, of its death and decay. It clung to their bone and fur as they watched her settle and spent time, even after her request, just simply gazing at her. Her beauty only grew when she was in her element like this.

The air was filled with cracks and snaps as bones shifted, broke and reformed painlessly as the god shrunk. Shrunk down and shed off excess eyes and arms. Until they had only four of each - their legs normal only so as to not take up too much space in this grave of theirs. Their eyes were still completely black, their skin a sunken grey, but their features were normal enough...perhaps their mind drifted to enjoyment of how true kisses felt on a normal face.

A hand reaches for her face, gently turning it to face theirs. Now it is their turn to rest their forehead against hers. Other arms carefully slip around her waist or beneath her shoulders. Touching her, willing her to be close. It had been too long since they had been spared time like this.

"Do you want to be buried?" They whisper, wondering if it would add to this experience or hinder.

Hans Printz - Illustration from Die Muskete magazine (1919)

mending a minor injury for the object of your desires.  the tension and unresolved yearning felt with every brush of fingers,  the hesitant eye contact as you tie the bandage around their palm,  the gentle banter and begrudging fussing.  that treacherously felt unspoken line you inch towards every time you show just how scared you were that it would be worse or could be worse next time.  that almost kiss…

she  smiles  ,  lips  curving  against  their  body  ,  as  she  is  bestowed  this  option  .  she  feels  the  earth  gored  open  beneath  them  ,  feels  the  little  deaths  of  creatures  entering  the  life  cycle  of  all  non-sentient  beings  .  to  simply  be  reborn  again  .  their  life  essences  fly  past  her  ,  ghosting  along  her  skin  ,  chilling  it  further  ,  freed  from  the  womb  of  the  earth  into  the  grave  of  the  sky  .  

❛  you  would  make  a  mortsafe  for  my  worries  ?  ❜  she  murmurs  .  ❛  prevent  them  from  coming  back  ,  if  only  to  give  me  peace  …  i  suppose  i  cannot  find  fault  in  that  .  ❜  her  words  are  teasing  –  she  presses  a  kiss  where  her  forehead  had  previously  been  ,  brave  and  in  love  all  the  same  .

looking  down  to  the  overturned  earth  ,  she  kneels  ,  bare  legs  pressing  into  the  fresh  ,    soft  piles  .    her  hands  fall  from  dys’  face  ,  pressing  into  the  earth  in  concert  with  their  claws  ,  heedless  of  the  danger  .  so  what  if  she  bleeds  ?  ichor  would  paint  their  claws  a  beautiful  shade  —  she’d  be  happy  to  be  the  sacrifice  .  

❛  build  us  a  grave  ,  ❜  she  says  softly  ,  white  hand  disappearing  beneath  darkened  soil  .  in  the  distance  ,  a  banshee  screams  ,  la  llorona  cries  ,  the  mirror  breaks  and  bloody  mary  is  free  .  ❛  i  wish  to  rest  with  you  .  and  i  wish  not  to  be  disturbed  .  ❜

she  is  fond  of  graveyards  and  cemeteries  ,  fond  of  the  calm  they  grant  the  occupant.  she  would  like  some  calm  now  .  mismatched  eyes  look  up  to  her  MONSTER  as  she  settles  into  the  hastily  dug  grave  ,  sinking  down  into  the  earth  ,  crossing  her  legs  and  folding  her  arms  behind  her  head  ,  leaning  back  as  if  she  resides  in  a  hot  spring  .  

❛  join  me  .  ❜

Their body lurches, balanced awkwardly as their form contends with its many parts to be still for the princess. To let her reach for them and explore them as sometimes she does. The eyes closest to her hand close in contentment, taking in the chill of her touch against their squirming form. They cannot help it. When so glad to see her, they can't stay static.

There is some sadness as she changes her form, but only because of Dystonia's appreciation for this form. One she crafted herself and made her own. One that generates her own fear and dread - of which they admire. But it is in her smaller form that all eyes can more clearly see the tension in her limbs. The way it causes pressure even in the air and aura around them. It gives the nightmare pride to know that they can change that. Her size continues to shrink and so they lean further and further down to accommodate her size. Shadowing her with their bulk.

More eyes close as she presses her forehead to them, the sounds of bones cracking and skin and sinew shifting. Mouths form back into one, as eyes rotate and form into slits, allowing more to appear. More to observe her and appreciate her. Hands animated from mist form around her waist, holding her.

"In an iron-laden grave, so they may disappear forever. I would dig it. Rip apart the earth." The vibrations from the voice, both a deep bass and garbled treble. Deep gashes in the earth form as their hooks rake through it, as if already building a place for her worries to slip into. All they wanted was to distract her.

they  settle  down  atop  her  ,  cradling  her  in  arms  meant  for  destruction  ,  and  she  lets  her  body  go  completely  ,  absolutely  ,  totally  limp  .  she  presses  her  thighs  against  their  waist  ,  hugging  them  to  her  with  every  limb  she  can  .  the  all-consuming  weight  presses  her  into  the  earth  ,  and  she  presses  a  soft  ,  lazy  kiss  to  their  mouth  as  they  admit  they  missed  her  .  

she  missed  them  too  ,  the  easy  banter  and  gentle  physical  affection  ,  feeling  their  teeth  against  her  flesh  .  her  hands  slide  down  the  limbs  wrapped  around  her  back  ,  hands  buried  into  the  fur  as  she  kisses  them  .  

crows  fly  overhead  ,  portending  some  kind  of  haunting  ,  and  melinoë  chuckles  into  the  kiss  .  somewhere  ,  someone’s  car  fails  ,  leaving  them  stranded  in  a  bend  in  the  road  long  after  dark  .  they  too  notice  the  crows  —  melinoë  feeds  off  their  fear  ,  the  anxiety  piquing  with  old  wives  tales  and  cautionary  stories  from  wrinkled  and  stained  hands  .

elsewhere  ,  clawed  hands  tear  through  silt  and  muck  ,  pulling  through  the  bottom  of  a  riverbed  .  pale  limbs  surface  ,  long  drenched  hair  ,  a  mouth  full  of  fangs  and  wide  dark  eyes  as  the  spirit  haunts  the  place  she  drowned  .  

melinoë  hums  ,  connecting  the  two  ,  feels  the  moment  the  spirit  jettisons  off  towards  the  road  ,  eager  to  seduce  and  feed  .  all  the  while  ,  the  murder  watches  .  

all  the  while  ,  she  tastes  her  own  MONSTER  ,  arching  her  back  a  little  ,  pressing  fully  against  them  .  she  is  painfully  aware  of  how  little  time  they  have  —  she  will  make  the  most  of  it  .  

❛  i  missed  my  princette  ,  ❜  she  mumbles  against  their  lips  ,  the  diminutive  gender  neutral  form  making  it  even  more  affectionate  and  possessive  .

This is not the first time she has requested the nightmare to be a living blanket, and so they shift over her with ease. Limbs bury into the earth to balance as others hold her still. Foreheads still pressed together, as a low purr emanates from the conglomerate of black terror. Her conglomerate.

"And so you are buried."

Then she asks of them and a sigh rattles out of them instead, causing strands of mismatched hair to gently flutter. How had they not realised how tense they were until she asked that? They try to relax, and not let themselves recall that they only have a few hours more with her.

"I missed my princess." They say, since work truly isn't in their realm of stress currently. It has just been how little they've been able to contact her. Still there are so many barriers. Though they have no intention of letting them stop this, they do wear on Dystonia.