ruindgod

[ruindgod]

HIATUS!

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girl he is a creature of the night

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[ruindgod]

Ada Limón, Bright Dead Things; “The Good Fight”

[Text ID: How do you love? Like a fist. Like a knife. ]

[ruindgod]

rosaceae kleitorís n°27 . limité à 3 exemplaires numérotés - © Frédéric Saint-Prix/Toi Même - 2017

toi-meme.tumblr.com

[ruindgod]

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️ (affectionate)

[ruindgod]

✦         "yeah but the hospital don't have you." & rabbit winks. he staggers into the apartment, unapologetic for his blood or the mess that he drags in with him. ( & terribly, he is always dragging something with him. ) a sharp inhale at the burst of pain in his abdomen, he grits his teeth sharp against the pain. it spikes through his body with a muttered goddamnfuckerfuckingshit — until he eases himself on the couch, trying to avoid the mess. strange thing, rabbit. he won't listen to anyone, lets their threats spill off his back like water but when it came to shion — he tried. oh, he tried. his laugh is laced red with pain but he smiles anyway. has to. shion seemed to exist in and out of his life, a brief glimpse right on the periphery. he misses him. "aw, does this make this a date? food, wine, getting fucking stabbed — i think this is about how i imagined going out. pretty good anyway. the view is nice."

         the view: shion, kit in hand looking at him like he might rip him open. shion, kit in hand looking at him. shion. shion. shion.

          the stillness isn't the problem.  dead are easy to work with because they don't bleed fresh,  aren't warm to the touch,  don't make him hungry.     "     a hospital has the people and supplies to take care of that.     "     shion should close the door in rabbit's face,  but he steps back and to the side,  letting him enter and very furtively not looking down at the wound.  his jaw aches,  that piercing,  throbbing pain in his teeth that won't go away.  he closes the door behind him,  ignoring the streak of blood left against the frame.     "     get filth on my couch and you're paying for the reupholstering.     "     the threat is mostly empty,  voice trailing off as he leaves rabbit on his own so that shion can dig around for his first aid kit.  the kit's mostly untouched;  he can heal well enough on his own given time and appropriate food.  he returns,  hands washed and a bottle of cheap liquor in one hand and the kit in another.     "     this isn't for the pain.     "     he holds up the bottle.     "     just fun,  if you want it.  last supper if you end up dying.  which would suck to clean up,  so i prefer that you didn't.     "

[ruindgod]

        OPEN TO : all fantasy muses!          MUSE : siemon weiss ( snow white. ). 20s.  they / them. the witch in the wood.         PLOT : once the crown prince, siemon fled the palace after learning of their stepmother's plot many years ago & now lives as the witch in the woods, helping the local villages who seek them for their herbal knowledge, poisons and magical potions. your muse could be seeking the bounty on their head, someone who knew them as the prince, or from the local village, seeking their help. quests, adventures, and general fantasy shenanigans are gladly welcomed!

✦         siemon places the bundle of yarrow into the basket and then stops, hand poised over the soft steams as their eyes cloud over with warning. movement. overhead, a hawk's cry cuts through the day — piercing and sharp. a tangled web of impressions set itself against their mind. the wind against wing, the dizzying spread of color and movement, the twitch of prey — and movement. siemon recognizes the shifting gait, human. & that meant that they could not speak to it. bear or moose, they could slip into their minds and warn them away but humans were a matter entirely.

        oh, how irritating. they were moving through woods. they needed to stop them before they wandered into the darker parts where maps were useless with the shifting roads & fairies with their tricks at play.

        the cloud leaves their eyesight and they straighten, turning and translating the map of the hawk's mind to their knowledge of these dark woods. ( dark and dangerous but siemon has been here long enough to learn its ways, tracing its paths like roots, like veins. soon enough, home felt less like stone walls and more like the loam. ) hand resting on the bone handle of the wicked half moon of a sickle they keep at their belt. with wild black hair and a heavy coat on their shoulders, the youthfulness of their face is a strange thing. "stop there." their voice is not loud but it is commanding. near a glimpse of who they once were although the only court that they keep these days is between the trees and the herbs, the animals with their silent knowledge. "not another step until you state your business. you should know better than to wander these woods without a guide."

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✦         "the hell you mean, you can't tell me specifics? classified? does it look like we're in a place that has ever heard of the word classified? give me a break." christ, where the hell did this guy come from? and how big must that bump on his head be considering the only thing that would make sense out of the nonsense he's talking about would be a concussion. even dean wasn't this bad on his worst days — and his brother could piss off god if he really dug in his heels. ( needless to say, sam could feel the flare of his temper. fuckyoufuckyoufuckyo — and so goes the monologue. )

        & then he says the most insane thing he's ever heard: experimenting with humans. sam fully takes his eyes off the door, off the spirit behind it, and stares at him. full on disbelief with his mouth falling open. "experimenting with humans? what do you do mean? who the hell is — no, this is a ghost. a spirit, — yanno? like boo?" he's heard of revenant but those were based in ritual and usually only in the most desperate cases of loss and grief. you had to have something broken in order to want to summon the dead back.

        none of that has to do with experimentation. scientists were the farthest thing from the kind of folks that ran with sam.

        the door creaks and sam cannot be wasting his time with this guy. a cold realization to discover that you're on your own in a hunt — especially when sam always had someone to rely on. his brother might annoy the piss out of god but he would always have sam's back. & now — god, help me. help me, help me, help. a prayer muttered, pleaded, spat. & the thing behind the door grins.

        a black mouthed smile, gore-slicked and gleaming with its death. the undead? wait. undead — not spirit. you can't stop a ghost with a good shot because he knew one thing — that fucking gun did not have a lick of salt in it. "stop — stop! you're only going to piss it off!"

         — B A N G!

this must be a prank. or he somehow found his way into an asylum, and the person in front of him holding a shotgun is a lunatic. leon finds it impossible not to scowl, his grasp firm around his own gun, halfway raised to face whoever it is that is about to unlock the door. "by that logic, unicorns and fairies are real." he scoffs, although it's impossible to brush away the feeling that something is wrong. his instincts scream at him, and he doesn't like the tone sam is using with him. it's the same one he uses when people scream that zombies are not real. the parallels are- disturbing. leon doesn't know what to do with it.

the sudden point of blame towards him also doesn't sit right with him, the scowl reappears on his features and he fights the urge to leave. then again, it's clear that something is chasing them, and sam seems more knowledgeable about this whole thing. as absurd as it sounds. as insane as it feels... for now, until they can leave, leon decides to take that leap of faith. at least, when it comes to being honest. "i did not do anything. i arrived here this morning." foul play. vengeful spirits. unfinished business. while he wouldn't explain it with ghosts, it does strike a chord regarding how far he has been in this investigation. "i can't... tell you the specifics. it's classified." d.s.o does not work with civilians. everything is strictly on a need-to-know basis. what leon will share is this — "i suspect that... someone has been experimenting with humans." it's difficult to put into words. his tone is grave, and his eyes keep flitting back and forth, from sam to the door. it has to be a zombie, right? "i have killed the undead before. leave it to me." he raises his gun, ready to blow the brains out of this poor bastard. aim for the head, leon. this isn't your first rodeo.

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✦         "but where is your ... your castle?" her voice is a thin ribbon, exhaustion flushed her cheeks. her hair fell loose around her shoulders, the white of her dress that she had painstakingly sewn her family's treasures into is stained with the mud and leaves, ripped through by the brambles of the woods. ( still, she glittered. her mother's pearls for the bodice, her father's well-watched gold within the hem, the dowry she had to pay. ) for all of that, she still carried starlight in the blue of her eyes. perhaps he will pluck those out first, add them to his collection. "we've been wandering for hours, dear christophe. my feet are sore. we ... we must be coming upon it soon?"

         hours. he could laugh. oh, it has been days since the sweet girl wandered from the safety of her home, running rose-red into his arms. her father had been wise, burying an iron rod beneath the threshold to keep creatures like him out. but oh, he whispered his words in the ears of the flowers that she picked, he spoke of a heart that broke when she left, of a castle without a bride, of a love that could only begin with her name. it was so easy, he plucked those dreams she held in those starry eyes and danced them to light until he only had to say come, come with me & she ran, the lark singing bright in her heart. her parents will have wept themselves cold by now, fearing the worse for their sweet, trusting daughter.

         but how could she know that? time stretched itself soft here, languishing between the eves. the skies overhead were an unmoving twilight, the breaking stars just beginning to crest perpetually on the horizon. he held onto her hand, guiding her through the thick bramble of the woods. the edges of the wood were bright and green and for the most part, they belonged to man. but when the skies darkened to shades of fairy laughter and violet wine, however, the brambles would sharpen their thorns and point deeper in. maps would lose their meanings as the paths would shift. the further into the woods you wandered, the sharper the teeth on the creatures that watched you with greed in their eyes.

         christophe does not turn around. the illusion that she loved, the prince with that bleeding heart and doleful eyes, has winked away. even him, born out of the poison of the belladonna blossom that threaded its dark roots deep in this place, even his magic had to yield to the strangeness of this place. ( it is a common misconception that the fae came with the realm — no. it is much older and far more wicked than ever they could be. ) "it's only a bit more, my love. only a bit more! i know you're tired but we're nearly there."

         "but ... we've never come across a town or-or even a road! a path! i don't know where i am anymore and i-i'm frightened, christophe!"

         he stops. the woods are quiet, the dripping velvet of the evening drenches everything and hushes it. his face caught in that shadow and she can only see the barest hint of his profile, the edge of his smile. "you do trust me, my love, don't you? you know that i would never bring you to harm. i have risked life and my heart to find you. don't you trust me?"

         it is such a small thought but it is so clear in her mind: have his teeth always been so sharp?

         "come, my darling. they are waiting for us."

         the realm catches on the magic of that word and it blooms a rot inside of her. she squeezes his hand, the stars in his eyes dimming as she smiles, comforted. come, he says. & she will go. oh, she will go wherever it is that he led her. it could be the ocean to drown her, the woods to kill her, the castle to love her and she will go. the magic of that word fastens on her wishes, on her desires, on her dreams and it ushers her into the woods.

         "yes, my love."

         & then, oh so sweetly, she could hear the music.

[ruindgod]

“I am a prisoner of a fairy-tale. My own softness chokes me.”

— Anna de Noailles, tr. by Jethro Bithell, from Poems; “In The Garden,”

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Via Maison Lemarié

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wearing a big shirt when i write my fairytale muses that says "when i say fae, i mean like more like the fair folk ): not modern interpretations ): no wings. ): they only have sharp teeth ): and want your firstborn ): "

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✦         dolly opened her mouth to say something but mae quickly crossed over it with that hard edge to her voice. fear was something cold, something that wavers in the spine and spreads like a ghost, formless and uncentered. ( everywhere, everywhere, the fear is everywhere. ) she doesn't read fear on mae — or at least, not directly —  but almost something like defeat. dolly didn't have the answers she was looking for, dolly couldn't help her.

         & maybe it's for that reason that she unfurls the wads of cash and places them down in a neat little stack before picking up the five of cups and folding the cash around it. she slides it across the table to mae. to do so, it unraveled her deck. card by card, she will have to break it down and give them away to other witches. every witch had a broken deck, their collected pieces of shattered fortunes and mismatched cards. this would be her first one. dolly never had a reason to break one before but something within startled her as she looked at mae. & with that startling, came calmness.

         dolly could not remember the last time she felt such sureness.

         "you'll need the money. we'll need to get gas and i'm not a very good driver! i-i mean, i can drive ... i'm just not that good at it." the incense stick burned itself to ash and the last remnant of the smoke twisted around itself and dissolved into the air. "i know of one, a crossroads demon. they're not too far from here and they ... may have some answers. it'll be start! i want to help you, mae. something ... tells me i have to. and if they can't ... there's a good psychic on that side of time who might be able to give us a direction."

         she taps the cash with the card. "it's enchanted now. and i'm giving it to you. the card will glow when we get close to our answers."

─── ⋆ MAE DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO VERBALIZE IT. It felt like being stuck in a conversation in a foreign language, trying to grasp at a language she didn't have access to. Something she felt so sure about but couldn't prove. Mae couldn't see through this fog but she knew it was more definitive than blind faith.

She hung onto every one of Dolly's words until it felt like the witch led her to a ledge. Her spirits dropped when Dolly mentioned demons a second time. "Talk to the demon?" That type of goalpost would've sounded suicidal to some. Given her circumstances, she was alive, healthy, able to start over, many would've loved to be in her position. Except she wasn't like everybody else. Having her memories erased meant that she was nobody.

"Sure." The concession hardened her voice. "I'll dig around. There's got to be a crossroad demon who knows something." Confidence was not with her as she said this but she steeled herself anyway. If she didn't, the pressure of what she wanted to accomplish might actually crush her.

Mae slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out wads of cash. It was the last bit she had before she found find some odd gigs to pick up. "This is everything I have. I might be a little short but I'll be back with the rest. Ash knows where to find me so I'm not running any time soon." Would that be enough to evoke trust? Someone with no identity or history, now entangled with demons, trying to ask for an IOU. She wouldn't trust herself either.

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✦         yours answers. your needs. all for you. roman heard these words and the way that she said them almost — scared him. his eyes were so full of faith that he sometimes worried that rest of the world has dimmed around her. ( but she was as confident in shadow as she was in daylight. he shouldn't worry over her. he kept glancing over his shoulder just to be sure that she is there. ) as though the wholeness of him was the last thing to put into place. & even worse: he doesn't change it. he knew that without her, none of this would ever have been possible. so long as she kept her attention on him, she won't look anywhere else.

         & roman hated that he needed that. hated even more that he'll never stop her.

         she took his face into her hands and he could only place his hands over hers. a small smile pulled at the edge of his mouth. exhaustion still creased through his face. the lines all sat heavy with those nights of no sleep, of anxiety, of worry. about her, about his death, about the world that churned on and seemed to flatten everything in its path. he had no idea how to exist in that world without her. "celebrate ..." it had been a very long time since roman had anything to celebrate. "i know, we'll go somewhere and get actual food. spend all of archimedes's money and then sleep for a week." 

         they just had to get through tonight. "i believe you." he repeated. & he did. between belief and fear, roman looked upon her and there she always was, looking back at him. "if i sleep for a bit until we go, will you sleep with me?"

─── ⋆ THEY NEVER FULLY DISCUSSED THEIR EMOTIONS. The topic was never broached, but the truth trembles and aches under every touch. Her wounds highlight all the perilous and vulnerable situations she'd endure for his goals. They were a pathetic ask to him to see her among the rest like passages in florescent ink on a page. "I got your back. We're going to get those answers you've been looking for." To hear that he believed her came as a euphoric wash—sunlight pouring over her. Vael grinned at him reaffirming the plan again, knowing that she had a direct hand in their progress.

Vael didn't need to understand her past the way Roman did. Everything about her was already typed up and constrained between the margins of some 8.5 by 11 pages. Her criminal record always followed her but not in these moments where she could feel at home. In the silence of a shared breath, she stopped being what the rest of the world saw her as and sat in her own skin with comfort and pride. She wished the same future for Roman and if he needed to find out the truth about his death, she'd make it happen.

"Tonight is as good as any other day." Read: there was no more room left for preparing or planning. Either they acted or they didn't. At this point, they had enough information to start getting cold feet if they sat with it for too long. Vael pulled back and cupped his face in her hands. Her thumbs touched the smile lines formed from his laughter. "Also, I don't know if I'd call it good unless you're into amateur videos. What'll be good is how we'll celebrate after we get those records you need."

[ruindgod]

Sorry I’m late I was touching soft moss on a stone wall