gheistfour

[gheistfour]

i desperately want to do a thread or write a headcanon based around klaus trying to learn to prevent involuntary possession and/or channel willingly. i just... want spooky in-control boy.

[gheistfour]

[gheistfour]

he’s watching her, lost for a moment. though she is close enough that, should he lean, their shoulders would touch, she is somewhere he can’t see, far outside the confines of this car. what she’s seen, all of this time, he couldn’t begin to guess. he imagines her eyes, now glossy, have taken in quite a lot, embedded behind the eyelids, absorbing sight rent-free when it overcomes the other senses. a lot of people have been there, and the two of them were one in a wave of memories that come back to life, unbidden.

 he isn’t surprised that she didn’t catch it all. he doesn’t know if he has the fortitude to spiel that all again--too vulnerable, too personal, jesus, he’d rather walk naked to a 7/11 then bear himself without irony twice. unironic vulnerability had been the wheelhouse of a soldier boy he’d loved--one he knows is dead again, with time righted. all of that misery, for nothing. 

he rests an arm on her shoulder again, fraternal, just ungentle enough to be good-natured, playful. “all i mean is--forgetting? psh,” he waves his other hand, dismissing it into the wind. “barely worth it. half the easy ways of doing that come with a massive hangover. i don’t think you need a hangover right now, sis.” the loose arm tightens for a moment, into a squeeze, then he drops it back against his side, leans back in the chair.

“and speaking as someone who’s never forgotten you--i’m pretty glad you’re around, okay?” gone is the admission of his own. it was probably selfish anyway; thats what people call him. that’s what he is. who gives a fuck if he can relate? she’s the one in crisis presently. he can wait until his next catastrophe to bring all his shit into the discussion.

it feels good, oddly, to give a fuck, when there’s nothing in it for him. he can’t tell some days if he despises everyone, everything, and loves himself when no one else will--or if he’s a blot of dirt against the brilliance of all the crystalline people he’s been lucky enough to love. it’s relief, honestly, that he can just be her brother, just be there for her. maybe there’s something to all that altruism shit. maybe some good deeds go unpunished. 

“look. let’s grab a waffle, okay? you can talk about whatever ya want. rent-a-klaus is free for the next few hours,” he offers, looking back at her, hoping he hasn’t rung empty.

♫. ] TO FORGET; it is a word once said / a wish, a silent plea. Asking for not much: yeah, simply to forget herself again, crave for yet another reinvention. – to not suffocate, crushed under the weight of deeds & remembrance. Navigating a world so loud & tumultuous when own existence itself equaled naught but DEATH & DESTRUCTION / watching cities burn & siblings drown [again & again] / a high-pitched whistle droning mercilessly; WAKING UP drenched in sweat. Remember: sake of the planet / sanity hinging on most immaculate control, on strength, on how-to-cope-with-so-much-death-at-your-hands.

       Whenever in Klaus’ proximity, she cannot help but be reminiscent; some faint piano melody lingering at the back of her mind; some simple key, naught but the same three notes played on repeat ere being joined by a fourth & fifth. Looping in some melancholic variation, growing in complexity with every passing second. Why, talking to him had always felt that way, has it not? [as written in your a book, yeah. Are you pretending it does not exist? No.]; serene, in a sense, for there was predictable monotony to brother’s actions followed by some abrupt change in tone; something more intricate lingering.– what?

        there is an empty spot where the answer used to loom.

        Ironic, really; how she had told him that she desired to forget / wishing to somehow change what the past few days had revealed & yet wanting naught more now but to recall; what it was that brother dearest reminded her on. Why it made so much sense to compare him to some half-memorized piano piece. Perhaps she broods too much; with arms folded underneath her chest. – going back to places / grim & eerie; her head some labyrinth best not braved alone. Such a horridly forlorn thing; the kind hiding shambolic thoughts & agonizing twists, with the distorted echo of something sinister reverberating. – it comes & goes in waves; leaves her shaking / trembling & yearning, for some stability, some peace of mind. Naught was left of old existence; a life razed & upturned & altered. Ghost of a melody greeted by something else, something disfigured. –  if she was a piece… she would be Schubert’s Unfinished 8th Symphony.

       Whatever Klaus asks goes unnoticed, whatever he says is swallowed by the very noise ringing in-between her ears / blinking once, twice; brows twitching ere forming most gentle crease.

       “Sorry, sorry I – I was um…thinking.” she flashes an apologetic smile; the wry kind / the kind that dies, angles her chin; half dropping arms, half keeping them wrapped around her midriff. – out of habit, maybe / perhaps precaution is a better word. 

       “’s not your fault I’m just… I don’t know.” pause. “– can you repeat that?”          [ .♫ @gheistfour​ ♥ ‘ed

[gheistfour]

Is that my skirt?

[gheistfour]

plotting call, anyone?

[gheistfour]

#if i ran a cult i too would use musical references as advice

[gheistfour]

Straight friend groups be like: *blonde girl* *chad* *the funny one* *kyle* *brunette girl* *frat boy*

Gay friend groups be like: *the horror* *the kraken* *space boy* *the rumour* *the séance* *the white violin* *number five*

[gheistfour]

finally finished! i'm not an artist but i really tried

[gheistfour]

@dualighted said  “ are you kidding? that was awesome.”

there was a candle, fifty feet from where he stood, now aflame. a matchbook, held by things invisible to most, lay discarded beside it, the hand that held it immaterial again.

“oh, please,” a breath outward between his lips, a dismissive swish of his hand. “that was--shit, that was just a little ouija boredom.”  athere was a time when he had been used to that. in childhood, he’d been no stranger to the admiration afforded to a super-powered ball of unbridled energy. as it stood, he was a dirtbag of a grown man who couldn’t help but hate the way he could conjure, make a spirit, for a moment, able to move through the world materially. “look, i’m no telekinetic. truth be told, i had a lovely assistant do all the heavy lifting.” a shrug.

 “you should see me do x-rated card tricks. now that’s entertainment. learned that in rehab.”

[gheistfour]

i’m literally breaking this beautiful thing w this post but it must be memorialized--

[gheistfour]

hotpreist​:

        AT LEAST ONCE ? Camille furrowed her brow and looked over at the stranger. ❛ Have you had the pleasure of dying more than once ? ❜ She asked, an edge to her voice. Sometimes Camille felt like she was in better company with death than she ever had with life. Perhaps that was part of the reason that compelled her to frequent bars and feel numb to the general sensation of the world. There was comfort in it. A child weaned on poison found comfort in the harms of the world. At least that’s the philosophy that she had taken to lately. 

        ❛ I would say from experience the number is somewhere around ten, closer to fourteen if you are having a difficult night. ❜ Camille mused, running a hand through her hair. She looked down a bit, wondering if that was all too honest. 

klaus nods, leans down against the bar, head resting on his arm, looking at her. “well, not more than once. but i did it once and it didn’t take--safe to assume i’ll have done it at least twice by the time i finally shuffle off.” a half-shrug with his free shoulder. he’s already downed enough to loosen his tongue, let him dance closer to the truth with a stranger. she has an energy to her that feels familiar, like the shadows that cling to one another might carry similar shapes.

“double digits, though.” he nods, chewing the thought for a moment, sucking in a breath. “yeah that sounds about right. i’m already three in, so, head start?”

[gheistfour]

     i took a little journey to the unknown,                              &&  i came back changed 

                            i can feel it in my  [ bones ]

[gheistfour]

                  I’ll call out in the night for my brother                      But he isn’t coming back for me                                                                               Cause he’s ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ɢᴏɴᴇ

[gheistfour]

bold of you to assume i die

[gheistfour]

Klaus and Allison Hargreeves in The Umbrella Academy season 2

[gheistfour]

@coffive sent  “ you okay? ”

his head’s still spinning, and color him surprise that his feet are still on the ground. blood is dried, the ghost of a drip from his hairline, crossing his brow. he leans against the wall. he let’s a dead bard pick the words for him. “a scratch, a scratch! ‘tis not so deep as an ocean nor wide as a church door,” a laugh, shaky, unsteady, and a hand rubs his temples.

“you know, it’s definitely not in my top ten head injuries, but it’s definitely in my top thirty.” some cynical little voice inside of him is surprised that five even cares, wonders if he looks like he’s dying. 

“how long was i out for?”

[gheistfour]

i finally have a verses page