heartintact

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hey……

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anyway i'll probs revamp at some point (when i'm not giffing or doing uni work or being miserable x ISNZSKSNSKZKSKKZZK)

how i feel logging back into this blog

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how i feel logging back into this blog

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@icecreame are u happy—

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don't mind me i just reblogged all my opens and now i will be logging back out

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open     :     m/f/nb     .

                           a     spectator     sport     in     the     middle     of     summer’s     heat     ,     aligned     with     pews     and     crowded     bodies     .     sermons     become     a     chance     of     absorption     –     even     if     a     quaint     figure     stays     dormant     .     a     morbid     fascination     ,     however     spoken     aloud     to     only     select     few     –     eve’s     insight     to     runnings     perhaps     fall     upon     deaf     ears     .     “     you     know     ,     ”     spoken     below     breath     ,     mellowed     out     and     slightly     hollow     .     her     approach     holds     no     substance     while     she     thinks     ,     calculates     …     admires     .     “     i’ve     always     possessed     an     insatiable     need     to     see     what     happens     inside     the     room     .     ”     mildew     breath     and     spoken     from     confession     ,     however     still     somehow     sweet     .     “     i     want     to     know     what     they     do     .     ”

[heartintact]

open     to     f/m/nb     .     /     premise     :     our     muses     are     on     an     annual     getaway     with     friends     but     have     been     ‘banished’     to     the     guest     house     for     alone     time     .     whatever     happens     next     is     up     to     us     !     paranormal     ,     supernatural     ,     slasher     ,     until     dawn     vibes     welcomed     .

                             “     yep     …     still     as     creepy     down     here     as     it     was     last     year     .     ”    stating     the     obvious     ,     but     when     soles     hit     the     unruly     terrain     of     the     mountain’s     trail     ,     her     nose     is     upturned     .     doesn’t     want     to     be     a     prude     given     the     circumstance     ⎯⎯⎯     a     fight     leading     to     the     both     of     them     walking     in     stride     to     a     guest     cabin     ⎯⎯⎯     but     unable     to     shake     it     ,     fully     .     “     i     mean     ,     i     wouldn’t     say     it’s     my     fault     she     got     so     pissy     with     me     ,     ”     just     some     people     can’t     take     a     joke     .     complaining     nevertheless     ,     despite     aforementioned     friends     left     in     the     dust     while     her     boots     crunch     against     the     snow     .     never     the     one     at     fault     ,     kiera’s     diverting     responsibility     .     but     ,     still     wouldn’t     accept     the     nature     of     arrival     ,     the     cabin     itself     …     how     the     air     hit     her     skin     like     a     perfect     winter’s     night     .     (     it     helped     that’s     what     it     was     ,     sub     zero     temperatures     and     all     )     .     she’s     bunching     her     jacket     ,     torch     shining     in     every     direction     because     the     noises     she     hears     can’t     be     normal     ,     unless     she’d     track     it     down     to     paranoia     .     too     many     animals     ,     not     enough     light     .     while     trudging     ,     femme     takes     a     look     beyond     shoulder     ,     gazing     at     other     in     the     little     path     she     could     muster     .     “     you     really     should     be     thanking     me     ⎯⎯⎯     alone     time     in     our     friend’s     run     down     guest     cabin     ?     think     that’s     the     ultimate     night     out     here     .     ”     remaining     hopeful     ,     simmering     tensions     at     ease     for     a     moment     .     “     cute     date     ,     right     ?     ”

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h-hey y'all …..

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closed    for    @blessthisrot    .

                           “    would    it    hurt    you    to    listen    ?    and    i    mean    really    listen     ⎯⎯⎯    i’m    only    happy    because    they’re    telling    me    i    should    be    .    ”

[heartintact]

closed    for    @blessthisrot    .

                           “    ⎯⎯⎯    i    just    don’t    know    what    you    want    me    to    do    here    .    i    mean    really    ,    ‘cause    my    hands    are    tied    .    ”    cue    a    shrug    ,    then    slump    of    figure    .    “    you    wouldn’t    be    the    first    t’come    round    here    and    ask    ,    or    tell    ,    me    the    same    thing    .    ”

[heartintact]

                           for    something    so    simple    ,    the    repetition    of    his    name    sounds    complicated    .    like    there’s    layers    beneath    the    single    syllable    ,    and    for    some    reason    ⎯⎯⎯    it    appears    to    be    soft    .    vicente    knows    it    shouldn’t    feel    like    that    ,    but    even    with    the    white    lie    ,    there    was    the    slither    of    truth    that    remains    ;    and    that    part    ⎯⎯⎯    the    human    one    ⎯⎯⎯    makes    him    feel    at    ease    .    he    knows    that    he    should    have    walls    up    (    they    do    build    higher    as    opposed    to    be    knocked    down    )    after    years    of    tiresome    work    ,    however    can’t    entirely    deny    the    slight    warmth    that    radiates    .    assumes    that    much    is    from    company    ,    none    the    wiser    ,    a    gaze    that    still    acts    as    an    appraisal    crossing    over    newly    named    acquaintance    .    eamon    .    “    think    callahan    could    be    down    the    road    for    all    i    know    ⎯⎯⎯    probably    didn’t    trek    far    enough    .    hit    on    the    wrong    door    ,    whatever    .    least    you’re    getting    some    energy    .    ”    he    comments    ,    the    heat    of    the    day    sticking    to    skin    like    its    rehearsal    ⎯⎯⎯    every    edge    and    crook    of    rugged    ,    worked    skin    hydrated    with    the    sheen    of    sweat    .    neither    here    or    there    ,    has    just    become    increasingly    more    noticeable    since    he    showed    up    .

“    oh    ,    i    think    that    depends    on    who    you    ask    ⎯⎯⎯    ”    speaks    truthfully    ,    because    if    vicente    was    an    honest    ,    good    ,    man    ,    he’d    answer    in    a    heartbeat    .    but    he’s    not    .    has    enough    skeletons    in    his    closet    to    fill    a    graveyard    ,    a    crossing    stranger    was    the    least    of    his    worries    .    sparing    food    and    water    also    weren’t    an    issue    ,    at    all    .    keeping    the    rogue    parts    of    himself    hidden    ,    however    ?    entirely    different    .    careful    the    way    he    treads    ,    metaphorically    and    literally    ,    knuckles    grasping    at    the    wood    of    the    door    ,    swinging    the    screen    open    .    a    silent    move    ,    invitation    ,    as    he    laughs    .    that    is    new    ,    the    sound    of    jovial    entertainment    ⎯⎯⎯    especially    in    this    part    of    town    ;    for    him    .    he    ponders    for    a    moment    ,    back    turned    as    he    walks    upward    ,    simply    expecting    the    other    male    to    follow    like    some    loyal    dog    .    however    he’s    learnt    that    nothing    ⎯⎯⎯    or    no    one    ⎯⎯⎯    is    ever    really    loyal    .    a    smile    hidden    ,    hand    spreading    the    skin    of    his    neck    while    he    cranes    ⎯⎯⎯    joints    clicking    ,    before    an    exhale    .    “    age    old    question    ,    isn’t    it    ,    ”    now    he    speaks    in    vagueness    ,    acutely    aware    of    presence    .    “    if    the    tree    fell    in    the    forest    but    no    one    was    around    to    hear    it    ⎯⎯⎯    did    it    really    make    a    sound    ?    ”    fears    no    way    of    sounding    stupid    now    :    it’s    already    left    his    mouth    .    “    either    way    ,    it    works    .    same    with    doing    right    .    ”    he    guesses    .

"vic." eamon let the name sit on his tongue a second too long — not mocking, not overfamiliar, but like he meant to remember it. like it mattered. "eamon. pleasure." he said, and meant it, if only for the crack that had opened. for the name offered, when silence might've served just as well. he leaned a little against the edge of the porch, hands still tucked into his coat like they’d grown roots there, though one foot shifted idly through the dust below — a man trying not to overstay, and failing on purpose. "you’re not wrong." he said, voice low, eyes on the crooked line of the horizon. "maybe callahan doesn’t even draw breath no more. maybe the favor died with him. wouldn't be the first thing i held onto too long." a brief smile followed, faint and tired around the edges, the kind that didn’t need anyone to smile with him.

at the offer, he blinked — startled, it seemed, as if generosity were rarer than cruelty in his world. he looked up, not at the house or the sun but at vicente, like he was trying to read something between the lines of his face. "food’d be kind." he said, but didn’t step forward yet. "truth is, you could offer me sand and i’d be grateful, long as it came from a good man’s hand." his head tilted, just a little. curious. considering. "and you strike me as that kind. quiet, maybe. but kind." it was a compliment dressed in simplicity — easy to swallow, easy to doubt. eamon didn’t press it. didn’t even seem like he needed it to land. "what d’you figure?" he asked after a beat, casual. "does doing right still count if nobody’s watching?" and though the question hung light between them, almost like a joke, something older and sadder flickered behind eamon’s smile — like he already knew the answer.

[heartintact]

                           it’s    the    thrum    of    his    chest    that    catches    him    first    ,    then    ,    it’s    his    stomach    .    alden    can’t    seem    to    focus    on    much    –    with    every    word    that’s    meant    to    help    ,    partial    observation    lets    him    think    .    critical    of    himself    before    anything    else    ,    but    perhaps    at    the    appraisal    from    the    other    .    feels    the    odd    turn    in    his    insides    ,    as    if    one    movement    would    make    him    spill    ⎯⎯⎯    collapse    at    the    hands    of    no    one    in    particular    ⎯⎯⎯    and    male    is    under    the    possession    of    his    own    feeling    .    stomach    shifts    ,    turns    ,    and    feels    uneasy    .    doesn’t    know    much    ,    but    he    knows    that    this    ⎯⎯⎯    the    promise    of    revival    ,    the    rebirth    of    past    troubles    ⎯⎯⎯    shouldn’t    feel    like    this    .    no    matter    how    much    sin    he    confessed    and    wanted    to    be    fixed    ,    something    that    sounded    so    auspicious    in    the    moment    now    sounds    like    rot    .    it    sounds    like    ruin    .    and    given    he    way    he    approaches    alden    with    such    intent    ,    it’s    nearly    making    him    retract    ⎯⎯⎯    turn    back    around    and    never    come    back    .    perhaps    he    should’ve    done    so    ,    the    way    his    gut    is    telling    him    to    .

but    he    is    not    a    man    of    wisdom    ,    let    alone    intuition    .    no    matter    how    much    his    head    tells    him    one    thing    ,    physically    ,    he    stays    .    embedded    into    the    floor    where    feet    trap    ,    his    limbs    frozen    and    a    gaze    that’s    situated    on    the    other    .    closes    in    ,    and    alden    doesn’t    stop    it    .    he    just    listens    ⎯⎯⎯    really    listens    ⎯⎯⎯    to    the    beg    ,    the    wait    ,    anything    that    could    make    him    stay    .    this    isn’t    like    a    church    ,    where    he    sits    to    confess    and    gets    bathed    clean    .    he    knows    that    .    he    knows    that    something    else    –    something    powerful    ⎯⎯⎯    resides    in    the    brace    ,    just    close    enough    for    him    to    taste    in    the    air    .    but    ,    with    all    the    good    ,    there    is    the    bad    .    doesn’t    wish    to    keep    his    hands    from    shaking    ,    a    predetermined    attribute    his    mother    once    scolded    him    for    ,    only    wishes    he    could’ve    grown    from    it    .    that’s    what    makes    him    him    ,    and    the    idea    of    that    disappearing    sounds    tense    .    makes    him    tense    .    at    what    point    does    that    become    less    of    a    promise    ,    and    more    of    a    threat    ?    he    isn’t    sure    .    “    ⎯⎯⎯    no    .    ”    singular    word    ,    short    and    abrupt    ,    as    if    he’s    been    mulling    it    over    in    his    mind    .    “    i    can’t    not    belong    to    myself    .    ”    a    pause    ,    then    eyes    upon    his    .    “    i    may    be    rotted    and    ruined    but    …    why    must    the    world    end    at    your    word    ?    ”

sol’s expression didn’t shift. he didn’t rush in to answer, didn’t startle at the question like it wounded him — no, he only looked at alden, long and slow, like the boy had handed him a key carved from his own ribs. like he’d been waiting for that ache to take shape on a tongue. "that’s the wrong question." sol said, voice barely above a whisper. he stepped forward — not sudden, not sweet — but inevitable. "it was never about worth." he let the silence sit between them a moment, heavy as wet cloth. the murmur of the swamp swelled around his words like a hymn — unseen things stirring just beneath the water, just beneath the skin. "you came to me already half-undone. that tells me everything i need to know." his voice didn’t shake. didn’t beg. only offering.

"the world bruised you and called it discipline. told you it was your fault the love never stayed." a breath. a smile. soft, slow, full of rot. "but i see you. i see through you, alden." he stepped close enough to brush their shadows together. "and i don’t want the polished version. i don’t need the repented sinner or the reformed man." he tilted his head, eyes dark and shining. "i want the truth of you. raw and ruined. i want everything the world spat out." he finally let the name fall again, reverent. "and yes, alden. i will save you." his voice dipped to something near a purr. "but you must understand — once you’ve been saved, you don’t belong to yourself anymore." another beat. something shifted in the trees. a whisper with no mouth. "you’ll belong to me." he waited, patient as prophecy. "say yes." and just under it, a glimmer of something colder. hungrier. "say it, and the world ends here."

[heartintact]

                           “    what    ,    you’ve    seen    them    ?    ”    seems    silly    to    accuse    otherwise    ,    accent    heavy    through    curiosity    ,    but    can’t    keep    brow    from    raising    at    the    perked    statement    .    it’s    always    eve’s    questions    that    get    her    into    trouble    –    wrong    time    ,    definitely    wrong    person    .    or    ,    additionally    ,    right    person    but    the    wrong    crowd    .    spoken    in    hushed    whispers    through    her    own    mind    before    towards    anyone    else    ,    the    words    naomi    speak    would    be    taunting    from    anyone    else    .    no    one    gets    her    .    they’ve    always    mistaken    her    for    some    kind    of    outlandish    passer    .    but    from    other    femme    ,    feels    like    a    genuine    conversation    –    that    ,    or    she’s    bad    at    cues    .    “    i    mean    ,    i’ve    heard    things    before    ,    but    never    watched    .    my    sister    used    to    say    it    was    all    hogwash    .    ”    that’s    never    stopped    her    though    ,    a    fascination    to    the    unknown    .    what    shouldn’t    be    spoken    of    ,    or    to    for    that    matter    .    there’s    a    moment    of    consideration    ,    standing    like    it’s    some    kind    of    demand    .    just    instead    deciding    she’s    growing    tired    of    sitting    ,    wood    aches    her    bones    for    hours    on    end    now    –    not    as    soft    as    she    once    was    .    “    chews    them    up    and    spits    them    out    ,    i    bet    .    but    ⎯⎯⎯    come    on    ,    i    can’t    sneak    in    .    ”    she    would    ,    if    it    meant    her    suspicions    were    aided    .    tended    to    .    voice    dips    then    ,    her    tone    soft    as    if    someone    were    to    hear    in    passing    .    “    unless    you    think    i    could    ?    ”

the air hangs thick as communion wine left to sour — heat curling in the rafters of the chapel like a waiting breath. naomi does not sit with the others. she leans against the doorway like she’s ready to leave. like she’s always ready to leave. her dress is old-lace and mud at the hem. her hands are ink-smudged from the last name she etched on a burial tag. "they don't do anything you ain’t seen before." she says, voice low and bitter like over-steeped tea. a half-look cast toward eve, toward that still little question curled up behind her words. "they sing. they sweat. they pretend it’s the spirit." she taps her temple. "but you know that already, don't you?" the dead have been talking all morning. and one of them mentioned her. the girl with the sugar-rot smile and the itch to know. "you wanna know what they do in the room? nah." her voice softens, just a little. almost tender. almost cruel. "you should ask what the room does to them." she holds the pause in the air, weighted, before a laugh overcomes her. "i'm just kiddin'. but, you should just sneak in one day, huh?"

[heartintact]

open     :     m/f/nb     .

                           a     spectator     sport     in     the     middle     of     summer’s     heat     ,     aligned     with     pews     and     crowded     bodies     .     sermons     become     a     chance     of     absorption     –     even     if     a     quaint     figure     stays     dormant     .     a     morbid     fascination     ,     however     spoken     aloud     to     only     select     few     –     eve’s     insight     to     runnings     perhaps     fall     upon     deaf     ears     .     “     you     know     ,     ”     spoken     below     breath     ,     mellowed     out     and     slightly     hollow     .     her     approach     holds     no     substance     while     she     thinks     ,     calculates     …     admires     .     “     i’ve     always     possessed     an     insatiable     need     to     see     what     happens     inside     the     room     .     ”     mildew     breath     and     spoken     from     confession     ,     however     still     somehow     sweet     .     “     i     want     to     know     what     they     do     .     ”

[heartintact]

                           there’s     a     familiarity     with     a     hand     outstretched     ,     even     if     alden’s     never     been     here     .     he     feels     it     in     the     way     he     speaks     ,     acts     ,     and     in     turn     ,     assures     .     there     is     everything     to     win     ⎯⎯⎯     and     perhaps     nothing     to     lose     .     in     fact     ,     he     knows     that     .     the     act     of     running     grew     tiresome     far     too     quickly     ,     and     even     with     the     little     remaining     faith     the     homme     held     ,     he’d     perhaps     place     it     all     into     the     basket     of     solomon     .     too     believable     ,     he’s     too     good     at     talking     …     but     ,     that’s     what     alden     required     .     aided     himself     in     desiring     for     now     ⎯⎯⎯     forever     ,     if     he     could     help     it     .     it’s     the     pull     in     his     chest     .     the     way     it     tightens     at     every     word     thrown     his     way     ,     and     it’ll     be     the     guilt     that     he     holds     like     a     child     .     yet     ,     all     he     can     muster     in     the     moment     of     revelation     ,     is     a     short     and     quiet     :     “     no     .     ”     he’d     never     thought     the     world     to     be     wrong     ,     but     him     .     a     reversal     of     such     acts     ,     harvesting     into     the     crevices     of     his     brain     ⎯⎯⎯     a     way     of     thinking     immediately     altered     .     for     alden     ,     raised     specifically     to     stand     at     the     demands     of     a     preacher     ,     there’s     a     curse     that     plagued     him     .     followed     him     down     to     here     .     but     now     he     stands     bare     ,     metaphorically     ,     a     chance     of     bathing     himself     clean     ⎯⎯⎯     all     he     really     had     to     do     was     trust     ⎯⎯⎯     and     the     way     his     name     sounds     so     …     correct     from     other’s     parted     lips     ,     he’d     take     the     offer     .     now     ,     and     many     times     over     .

so     next     comes     an     inhale     ,     sharp     and     deep     .     deliberate     in     the     way     it     pangs     at     his     chest     while     he     narrows     a     gaze     .     a     blank     read     on     someone     ,     and     yet     ,     there’s     something     telling     him     that     he’s     right     ;     he’s     meant     to     be     here     .     led     astray     before     ,     he     takes     no     chances     in     the     repetition     .     he     can’t     ,     for     his     own     sake     .     “     do     you     think     i’m     worthy     of     saving     ?     ”     questions     ,     as     if     confessionals     still     existed     ⎯⎯⎯     doesn’t     know     of     their     manner     now     ,     in     fact     .     it     bleeds     from     his     tongue     within     a     second     ,     not     even     a     chance     to     allow     his     brain     to     catch     up     with     what     his     mind     thinks     .     “     ⎯⎯⎯     will     you     ,     i     mean     .     save     me     .     ”

sol's smile faltered, just enough to seem real. just enough to seem human. "no." he said, voice soft, almost indulgent. "only when i want to be understood." the distance between them narrowed, not fully by feet the other gave, but by the way solomon looked at him — as if he'd read every buried ache in alden's marrow. as if this meeting had been promised, long before either of them had language for it. "you say that like it disqualifies you." he said. "like being far from saving makes you less worth the effort." a beat. the murmur of cicadas. the distant splash of something unseen in the water. "but that’s not how we work here." he said we like it meant something holy. like there were arms open behind the trees, waiting to catch whatever pieces homme couldn’t hold together himself. "you’ve been carrying the weight of being unwanted for so long." he continued, stepping closer, low voice threading itself into the silence between breaths. "you ever consider that maybe the world’s been wrong?" sol didn’t press the hand again. it stayed there, steady, as if it could wait all night. "you’re not far from saving, alden." he spoke his name like he’d always known it. "you’re standing on the edge of it."

[heartintact]

                           “     what     …     the     fuck     .     ”     a     moment     of     silence     as     she     stays     stagnant     ,     observing     the     scene     on     par     .     stomach     churns     ,     expectedly     ,     and     air     feels     as     if     it’s     restricted     ,     laboured     ⎯⎯⎯     summoned     at     the     worst     of     times     .     can’t     decipher     ,     can’t     entirely     articulate     ⎯⎯⎯     seems     easier     said     than     done     ,     but     in     a     state     of     shock     nonetheless     ;     feels     as     if     the     world     spins     ,     and     she     can’t     hop     off     to     rid     herself     of     …     whatever     this     was     .     “     no     ⎯⎯⎯     you’re     ⎯⎯⎯     are     you     fucking     insane     ?     ”     casey     asks     as     if     she     needs     confirmation     now     ,     the     unwavering     sense     of     dread     coats     her     .     but     if     she     had     to     play     a     game     ,     she     didn’t     want     it     to     be     this     one     .     his     one     .     where     jude     made     the     rules     and     apparently     ,     she’d     have     to     abide     by     them     .     “     you’re     the     sick     one     here     .     i     mean     ⎯⎯⎯     they’re     fucking     dead     !     ”     and     he’s     at     the     hand     of     it     ,     by     what     she     can     assume     .     doesn’t     need     confirmation     ,     seen     more     than     enough     .     the     scene     of     the     crime     …     complicated     in     revelation     .     yet     ,     she     remains     .     “     you     gonna     kill     me     next     ?     is     that     your master     plan     here     ?     ”

                        open      to:      f, m, nb.

                              ❝      right,      so      ―      this      the      part      where      you      turn      me      in,      or      what?      ❞      cadence      mirrors      that      of      worry,      feigning      the      timbre      just      as      well      as      his      expression.      brows      knit      together,      cheeks      flushed.      (      when      in      truth,      there      was      no      way      he'd      the      other      leave      here,      still      breathing,      if      they      had      any      intentions      of      selling      him      out.      )      nor      were      they      as      smart      as      they      thought      they      were,      catching      him      in      the      act,      per say.      this      was      all      intentional      ―      he      wanted      them      to      see,      to      question      him.      to      be      interested.      ❝      i'm      still      me,      you      know?      come      onnnn      ...      that      look      on      your      face      is      tellin'      me,      you're      not      gonna      say      shit.      in      fact,      what      else      is      there,      hm?      intrigue?      you      sicko.      ❞

[heartintact]

                           “     yeah     ,     we     are     .     ”     speaking     in     plural     when     there’s     only     one     ,     her     defence     air     tight     ⎯⎯⎯     if     she     said     it     enough     ,     maybe     she’d     believe     it     .     “     your     name     is     all     over     the     scene     …     i’m     not     an     idiot     in     stating     facts     .     i     mean     ,     i’m     not     going     down     for     it     .     i     didn’t     do     anything     .     ”     a     pause     ,     composure     regained     although     a     slip     showed     itself     .     “     and     anyway     ,     i     was     the     one     who     suggested     we     get     help     .     did     you     ,     of     all     people     ,     listen     ?     ”

“   you're   seriously   blaming   me   ,   i   know   i   was   the   one   driving   ,   idiot   ––––   but   y'all   are   the   ones   who   forced   me   into   it   because   i   was   the   least   drunk   .   we're   all   to   blame   for   what   happened   .   ”