https://instagram.com/p/156JGyyved/
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did you ever fall in love ?
no i only fall into problems
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“I don’t talk much because there’s this voice in my head constantly telling me I’m not good enough to speak.”
—
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Rebecca Tamás, from Poems; “Witch,” originally published c. 2019
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you know what truly disgusts me… being able to feel my own heartbeat. it’s bad. don’t need to actively know what’s going on in there. don’t need to feel that. it’s not any of my business
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just a heads up if i ever act dumb i’m joking. i’m 100% smart and know literally everything
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synthmama.
There’s no response. The Grandchester mansion stands, forlorn and empty and silent as the grave. It’s only after Ren begins to bang on the door however, that the door parts open with a creaky sigh to the front foyer. Quinn isn’t seen, but on the upper level the shadow of a small girl skips past, giggling softly before disappearing down the hallway.
the urge to leave is overwhelming enough that she catches herself hesitating on the threshold, fingers on the door jamb like a vice, seriously contemplating just fucking walking off into the distance never to be seen again. she doesn’t often go against her instincts — it’s rare they lead her astray — and if it was anyone else but quinn she might have listened to them. but quinn is important, in one way or another she hasn’t entirely determined yet, and that’s what seals the deal on her decision as she takes off up the staircase after the shadow.
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for sunday let’s talk about how ren emotionally distances herself from everyone and everything because she falls somewhere far on the g.reyromantic scale and the relationships she’s found herself in in the past have never worked out because she’s never as invested or as ‘in love’ as the other party needs her to be. and that’s totally fair, people deserve to be loved the way they want to be loved, she holds no grudges against any of them (except andrew, andrew was an asshole) and hopes they find what they’re looking for with someone else.
her relationships now are few and far between, regardless of verse. it’s hard to maintain anything that’s more than a brief, meaningless hookup when you’re on the run and it’s so very rare to find someone who’s already fallen into those spaces. at this point she’s just kind of tossed the whole concept of another person in her life to the wayside. there’s no point to dedicating herself to someone who she’ll inevitably have to leave behind, and at the end of the day the things she needs out of a relationship are so different to what other people need that it’s not even worth trying.
she likes to think she’s fine on her own and ultimately she really is, but then i’m out here writing her, all about the emotionally complicated disasters that come with trying to make a ship with her work. that moment when someone who’s resigned themselves to being alone realizes someone else has snuck in under the radar and made themselves important to them???? THAT’S SOME GOOD SHIT RIGHT THERE.
those ships where people circle each other for months or years and never actually admit that it’s developing into more and despite sharing a bed still refuse to acknowledge that it’s anything they need to talk about but then the other person gets hurt or disappears and it all flashes up at once that hey maybe they’re actually?? important????? yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh.
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You could wander forever, maybe even walk off the very edge of the Earth…
The great northern plains of Eastern Montana.
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unforgive.
𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 @starhaunt
as their foreheads lay pressed together in a moment of silence, a hand moves to find its home upon her wrist, anchoring them together another moment longer. it isn’t very often that they can find the time for moments like this. ever since the helicopter crash, he has been waging a war against eden’s gate, running around hope county frantically, without much room left for breathing. graham closes his eyes, shielding himself form the inevitable, suffocating the feeling of dread that will return to his chest. he is rarely afforded moments like this, rarely allowed to taste the warmth of this closeness, even long before these last few months. his body is no longer his own ; the beast resting beneath his ribcage makes it known, that he is but a tool in the grand scheme of things.
“ i am the end of this. ” he corrects, cryptic as ever. none of this will come to its climax without him, that much is certain, but her choice of wording suggests that his choices make a difference, that his presence makes a significant difference for the better. perhaps it is the opposite, that he was happening to hope county, to eden’s gate, to the world. not the other way around.
his shoulders lay low, defeated by the weight of what his words suggest. when did he become so instrumental, so important to this story? it seems like another lifetime that his significance in the overarching plot was meaningless, that he would die as he lived, a simple criminal lusting after the riches of others. graham’s hand falls away from her wrist, landing against the cushion of the beaten down sofa, and his eyes lift to meet hers. “ you should sleep. before we have to go. ”
it’s hard to look at him. he’s always been something else, an anomaly she’s never understood how to place, all the way back to that first job, the first meeting, where everyone else was so fucking easy to read and he’d met her gaze like he knew he was a challenge. she’s not sure he even understood it at the time. maybe he does now, maybe he has all along. maybe that’s the point.
but he’s someone else now. she searches his eyes, dark in the dim light of the room, already knowing there won’t be any new answers to questions she won’t put into words. she doesn’t know she could if she tried. her thumb traces his hairline down the side of his face, through the heavy scruff of his beard, and down the curve of his throat until her fingers spread whisper-light over his sternum.
“we’ll figure this out.” she says it for the sake of saying something, anything. it’s an empty platitude that won’t make either of them feel better but it’s more than that, too. she just barely presses her fingers harder against him, an anchor tied to the promise she’s making. it’s not hope and it’s not certainty and it’s not some misplaced optimism that’s somehow found a home on her tongue. it just is, as if speaking it creates a point in the world to tie themselves to — a broken buoy in a dark stormy ocean.
she touches his jaw again, presses dry, chapped lips against his temple to seal the words in, and retreats back to the makeshift bed on the floor. his blood is still drying on the dirty blankets but the ache doesn’t care and the bone-deep exhaustion won’t let her, anyway. she sinks into the mess, eyes on him, sharp despite herself. “eat something. rest. you don’t have to sleep but take a break, at least.” if she leaves space for him when she drags one of the blankets over herself, curling into that musty nest, she doesn’t say so, but she leaves the option open for him. it’s just habit, now; it’s just how it is.
everything comes down to him.
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teleidoscopic.
“Well – you know – not intentionally. It might not even be a tracker at all!” She hadn’t considered that possibility, but in fairness, technology has never been her forte. A finger crooks against her mouth in thought in what almost looks like a parody of Le Penseur. She can totally answer this question. “Oh, you know… The usual.”
The bartender stares at her blankly, waiting. Hands press on the surface of the counter, before she leans in, hoping that Ren is unable to hear the order. “A shirley temple with extra cherries, please.”
it’s not often she’s surprised by anything these days. maybe it’s the one-two of the bartender’s long pause and the uncertainty that sets in before khaliya speaks again but ren catches herself blinking at the bar top, genuinely unsure of what had just happened. she’s kind enough to let it sit (she’s really not, it’s for khaliya’s benefit more than anything) until the bartender has nodded at the both of them sagely and taken his leave and she gives it another full second before she dares look over at her again.
“you...okay?”
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desolades.
Rules. Like there was anything she could do, like rules could shape the woods into something that made sense to her, like it could be tamed, domesticated. The word annoyed him like a personal insult. This tiny, tiny thing, insignificant and mortal, calling onto rules like a tin shield she carried into battle, like they could save her.
“There are no rules in chaos,” the words came out of his mouth but he did not speak them. He tried to locate the source of his anger but he could not find it within the confines of his human shape. He dived in deeper, followed the thread of that emotion until it sunk in the darkness, a hollow at his centre, and then he could not find himself. He wasn’t there, or if he was he couldn’t reach him, far too deep inside, being pushed even further, the dimensions of his self sinking into infinity, sinking inside a hole in the forest. Lost.
“You can’t expect things will go the way you plan them,“ his voice was hollow, like an echo, like he was the echo. An echo of a man already dead. Not a ghost, but the hum that came back, bouncing in the darkness, in the empty hallways of his brain. He still held on to it, scrambled to pull it all back in, all the threads of himself, the fragments washed by the rushing waters. “The terrain, you’re not trained for it.”
spite rose and crested and washed itself away in the seconds it took to study him. though she wore the impassive well, beneath the surface she wasn’t sure what to make of him. the look in his eye was familiar, something traumatized that maybe didn’t yet understand how much; she wasn’t going to read too deeply into it, it wasn’t her place to make those judgements. not yet.
she cleared her throat as she sat back, letting the rush of the wind through the trees take over the conversation. there was something here, though she wasn’t sure what, exactly. something burned here, something old and forgotten, and she played over the options in her mind, strumming invisible fingers across the strands that branched out, trying to pick out the one that might lead her where she needed to go. it didn’t help. there were no answers. just the look on his face like he had every reason not to trust her and hey, wasn’t that handy?
he was right.
“lucky for you,” she finally said in a voice that meant he wasn’t lucky at all, “you don’t know my training.” and that worked in reverse, too, she supposed. she didn’t know anything about him. that was the point of this, wasn’t it? she leaned in a little and her brow just barely furrowed, more curious than concerned. it was all an act, it didn’t really matter. “you need to know the rules before you know which ones are being broken.”
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blcckbrd.
Corvo rarely slept, but when he did, the dreams were restless.
It was as though a pit had opened up underneath him and grabbed him, shoving him downwards into a gaping maw in which he couldn’t escape. Some nights all he dreamed of was the cold-the aching, primal cold that shot him straight to the marrow in his proverbial, mental bones. Others, he could not feel his legs as the inky darkness shot up in tendrils and wrapped around him, encasing him into nothing as everything HUMMED in such a loud tone.
Yet, this time, he felt something nearby. Abyssal blue like that of the bottom of the sea overtook him and he found himself dragged through it like he was trying to wade through tar. At first, it was brief-the faintest, hissing whisper of a cry, of a call. It wasn’t that black-eyed eldritch boy that had toppled him down into this hellscape before, no…it was something new.
Something the long since maddened Emperor might find intriguing.
So, he pushed. His Mark glowed like an angler fishes lantern as he attempted to swipe through the abyss, feeling its inky blackness pushing away from him like he was walking through the thick smoke of a burning forest.
‘who are you?’
Again. He heard it again. His Mark BURNED. Oh, it itched, and he instinctively tried to rip it apart but found that it was too far branded into his very bones.
‘who are you?’
When he tried to reply, it was as though the darkness itself had filled his lungs, but he managed to speak. It reverberated around him, making him ache, but he wanted to find it. He had to find it.
“The Black.
Who…who are you?”
the black,
the black,
the black.
a thousand and one voices answered her first thousand questions, echoing in slow-building layers, encasing her in a self-made cocoon she couldn’t see or hear or feel. she breathed with lungs that didn’t exist, that had never existed, and yet she felt the air rush in and fill all the spaces within her, expanding outward into whatever lay outside of her. she was everything and she was nothing all at once, a being of consciousness, and then a body in a bed, and then a beam of energy that might have been light at some point but had forgotten how to be, branching out into nothing.
she stretched, limbless and all limbs, searching. the black echoed where echoes didn’t exist and that was curious, wasn’t it? something real and ephemeral and altogether unknown in a non-space of nothing. she breathed again, expanded larger, and felt the sudden twist of interest somewhere both far away and immediately close.
an answer, but this time she knew the question. she was the question, but she was the answer, too, and for a long thousand years she considered how she could be both at once before circling back again to the black and whatever it might be.
“a question.” was that the answer? or a proposal. maybe that, too, was one and the same. she felt herself spiraling, spinning vast around this point of contact, and everything seemed to rush altogether at once as her focus sharpened in on it. on him. whatever he was.
a new weight hung itself around her neck. a new question, a new thread: something else to fall her way into.
“what is the black?”
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ycsman.
fingers twitch, itching at the bare inked skin of his forearms - it takes everything he has not to bite, though it’s obvious that he wants to with the way his jaw flexes and gaze darts to the side ( he wants so desperately to lash out ). ‘ you say that like i’m weak - like i’m a victim. ’ a breathed laugh and finally the youngest seed brother finds the other with his eyes, hands settling upon his hips - the way he saunters closer is too relaxed, too confident to match the heavy feel of the room. ‘ no, this is my purpose, everything up until now was simply a test of my faith - i’m going to save people. ’ pearly whites snag his lower lip, john smiles, almost ecstatic.
‘ YOU INCLUDED. ’
it’s a curious thing, watching the machinations of a person’s mind as it works. over the years she’s gotten good at picking up on the tiniest details, the microexpressions that last a fraction of a second, there and then gone as if they were never there. he either plays his part really well or it’s genuine and she’s not sure which is more curious — or which one is ultimately the saddest.
“that’s what they’re telling you, huh?” she’s allowed him a few seconds to feel good about himself, to relish in that wash of personal validation. her chin lifts, borderline imperious, and something knowing flashes in the darks of her eyes, something that says she’s not buying into any of his shit. a click of the tongue, a sigh that reeks of disappointment — like she’d expected more out of it all than he actually has to offer. “you’re a fucking adult, aren’t you? most of us grow out of our delusions.”
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hey y’all im gonna need you to go take a peek at the fucking gorgeous doc @unforgive did up for me so i can continue to fake at being a real rp blog (and go commission her while you’re at it for some QUALITY WORK)
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teleidoscopic.
“Hey! Nice digs!” She has a feeling the place isn’t actually Ren’s, but knows enough by now not to ask questions. Sandals lightly clacking against the soles of her feet, Khaliya makes her way inside before kicking them off at the door; shifting the tote on her shoulder precariously. Treading new waters, as it stands, was never meant to become so literal. But – she gets the importance.
“So! Are you gonna show me around your cas– castle?” It’s casa, isn’t it? “Err – fancy place that totally belongs to you?”
“hey. this is for your benefit.” the place is, anyway. it’s a beautiful little house, more secluded than most, with back doors that open out directly onto a mostly-private beach. the sky beyond is grey and heavy with potential rain, and the house is cooler because of it, granted relief from the usual afternoon sun. she hasn’t paid for the place, of course, but as far as they owners know someone’s paid to rent it out and that’s what really matters, right?
the mock-chastising look on her face folds by inches and she shrugs, leading khaliya through to the open kitchen. “figured i may as well get a place with actual beds. my treat.”
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