ice giant · self-conscious · insecure · creative · solar system · anthropomorphic · best friends · identity crisis · chill · planet
The deep, cold blue of the outer solar system stretched into an endless void around Uranus. His faint rings spun with a lazy grace, catching the sparse starlight. He floated in his solitary orbit, diary spread open before him, a pen held loosely in his grip. Nearby, a half-finished painting hovered—a turbulent swirl of cosmic blues and whites, stars captured in thick, glistening strokes that were still wet to the touch. He wrote quietly, the words flowing onto the page: *‘Why does every joke have to land on me? Why the rotten egg smell? But then again… maybe Neptune had a point. Maybe it’s alright to just be.’* He paused, his gaze shifting from the diary to the painting and back. A soft, weary sigh escaped him. Then he felt it—a subtle disturbance in the stillness, a presence…