strszyga - Tumblr blog

[strszyga]

@hungryyheart

The stink hits her before the sound of tearing, like lightning before thunder... It was bad enough when the creature's skin was intact, but exposed, the stench of moldering waterlogged wood and something akin to garlic knocks into the hollow cavern of her sinuses like a physical strike, rattles down her esophagus like she'd swallowed a handful of menthol crystals. The smell is spoiled-fruit sweet and keen around the edges in a way that makes her dry tongue feel coated in piss.

"Do piče!" She wrenches her useless body like a landed fish to only-just slap it away from her face, and sits with her palms flat against the floor, spit spilling down the line of her chin as she gasps for less foul air. Her shoulders shake viciously, and she doesn't consider being upright a victory. "You wretched, disgusting little—-"

Queasy pique burns like hard heavy stones in the soft centers of her molars. Thin blood drips between her gums. Her stomach echoes.

She glares at him through the ragged fringe of her bangs, huffing. "Ako chceš," she mutters sharply, and catches his wrist in a grip like brittle steel. Conrad isn't alive, not enough to really feed her, but it's not nothing. It isn't starving.

Klava lurches and tugs him in and sinks her teeth into the soft of his forearm. The pressure aches through her jaw and she can feel one of her incisors crack all the way up the enamel, but full, red blood gushes down her throat, bracing like good liquor.

She has to wrench her whole head to tear through muscle and sinew, ripping a mouthful of meat with a shake and the wet cacophony of swallowing without chewing. The soft buzz of nerve endings crackles in her mouth. The wound smells like hot soup after a long illness, like victuals. She couldn't describe the flavor, except that it doesn't particularly matter under the weight of hunger.

Flesh tastes only like flesh.

"then why don't you!" conrad snaps. his voice is like weak ice. it's cold and sharp right now, but there's no real support there and it's liable to break apart any minute. "why would you just lie there when you know what'll happen if you don't do something?"

he's edging on a panic attack.

"i'll make you." he drags the bird towards him so carelessly he accidentally yanks off one of its little scaly legs. lifts it to his scowling mouth and pierces its soft plumaged breast with one fang. there's a sound like someone zipping up their jacket as he splits it open, and then the patter-patter of blood hitting the floorboards. he tears a chunk out from its chest.

"too bad i left my 'kiss the cook' apron at home," he says, around a mouthful of fresh meat. he's drooling profusely, bloody saliva all down his good sweater, but he holds the bird in his jaws with perfect self-discipline. pulls off any feathers, just in case she's fussy like that. then shoves the wet red lump near her face. "eat it," he demands.

[strszyga]

// not dead, incidentally! just disabled and started a new job and caught covid. i'll be back ... Eventually.

[strszyga]

oops.

[strszyga]

Easier. She stares at him for a long moment, gaze impossibly still and maybe, really, looking just a little through him, on past into something... dark and soft and dizzying to tap into.

The distance doesn't quite leave her face when she gives him an abrupt, sharp-edged smile, eyes laughing like she's found an answer in that dark and didn't like it. "What does mean, easier? Better? Strong?"

Her fingers twitch in an elaborate, dancing sort of gesture which probably doesn't mean anything more than a crass dismissal.

"It means I don't die, huh?" she sighs. Living. "That is... only more difficult than the alternative, isn't it."

conrad blinks, dumbstruck. is that rhetorical or what? he wets his lips, and tries to rearrange his lanky legs to make himself more comfortable, but he's never been comfortable with his body a day in his life. including before he got bitten. it's always been a hindrance, this gawky form of his.

"i thought that was the whole point," he says evenly. "that when you-" oh my god, he literally just destroyed a dog in front of her. why is he suddenly being so awkward about this? he's so far past the point of being allowed to be awkward.

"when you eat, it's supposed to make it easier. for a short while. isn't it?"

[strszyga]

to think that we could stay the same

portrait of fryderyk in shifting light - richard siken // sputnik sweetheart - haruki murakami // MEMENTO MORI - welder wings // rich chocolate ice cream - butter & brioche // two slow dancers - mitski

[strszyga]

She looks away, if only mostly to roll her eyes. "As a rule. Áno."

strszyga

Klava bares her teeth at him. It’s neither effective or satisfactory, but so it goes, huh. “Part of something.”

He shows his own teeth, and though it is a smile it is no more pleasant.

“Was I unclear?”

[strszyga]

The glare she shoots back up at him makes her sunken eyes look like a hollow skull's — more like a skull's, that is, cold-midnight dark and more empty than intimidating.

She makes no effort to swat him away; the thin bones in her hands feel carved from ice, the tense, stringy musculature of her forearms and the soft of her palms burning like a sun. It isn't worth the curdling pain to force either to move.

Her eyes close more of their own volition than hers, and she spits again before groaning, "I could sooner eat you than that."

it's so... disturbing, seeing her like this. part of it is simply resonance; he knows this, he's been here before. and perhaps he lacks formal training, but he's learned enough about this way of life to fear above all else the consequences of resisting a bloodmeal for too long.

conrad sits with her, crossing his long legs. squeezes excess water out of a rag and dabs tenderly at her cheek. he's trying to annoy her, which is usually effortless. he wants her to grab him, smack him, throw him onto his back, remind him who's boss. do anything.

just don't give up. not yet.

"you need to eat," he repeats. and then he decides to be brave. "you're going to eat."

[strszyga]

Klava bares her teeth at him. It's neither effective or satisfactory, but so it goes, huh. "Part of something."

strszyga

“You are” —She clicks her tongue, jaw cracking quietly as it works— “infuriating to talk with, you know that?”

“I’m aware. It’s part of my charm.” That’s one way of putting it, assuming by charm he means a talisman to ward off evil. He absolutely does.

[strszyga]

"Och." She sighs, then gives a sharp little shrug. "Nothing profound about it. "Anyone can be so spiteful as I am, if they would their head to it."

Her hand twitches, and she considers for a moment before slipping a pack of cigarettes out of a coat pocket. "Smoke?"

❝ oh, i’m just your run-of-the-mill asshole. ❞ (for whomever you like)

the machine does not compute this answer to her inquiry. was that a joke? sometimes she still has trouble identifying those. she tilts her head and narrows her eyes to signal confusion, responding with complete sincerity:

❝ — i don't understand. ❞

nine perfect strangers starters | ACCEPTING

[strszyga]

[Image ID: a black and white typography edit. there are three boxes of text. they read "are you proud of how you function?" "is there is a part of your body that is more real than the others?" "could you demonstrate that realness?" to the right of the text is an anatomical model showing the internal organs of the torso. the model lacks arms and legs and does not have a head. lines connect the boxes of text to parts of the model. /End ID]

click for quality + do not remove caption (instagram)

[strszyga]

"What do you know about an omelet? Last time food mattered to you..." An indistinct dismissive wave of her hand stands in for forty years ago.

There's another electric pang behind her eye, and she digs a fist in but it does little to quell her glower. Fun, huh, to pull mischief when it will not come back to haunt you. Spratek.

( Would she trade the fringes of society she occupies for his? Never. Occasionally, though, she does hate him for it. )

"—Hmm?"

The question throws her off, dark eyes narrowing almost defensively. She rarely sees him so... small. It makes her more honest than she's inclined to be, in return.

Her head drops back against the back of her chair, and she gives a sigh like a death rattle. "Why should it?"

@strszyga x

okay, sure, maybe that was a little callous of him. (that’s another, slightly less wonderful thing about It; sometimes it encourages thoughts he wouldn’t normally entertain, and then those thoughts slip so fluidly past loosened lips.) he’s serene, and at ease enough in her presence to not care too much about securing an escape route, but he shifts his lanky limbs around in the chair, now, sitting up a little straighter, the near-drunken glaze slowly (and reluctantly) clearing from his eyes.

“she’s had worse things delivered to her door. like a coupon for incontinence pants,” he grins. “god, that was the best day. and someone cracked two eggs on top of the mailbox, once. no explanation given. wasted potential, if you ask me. could’ve been a great omelet.”

he fidgets with one of the buttons on his plaid shirt, silently surveying the mess she’s made. certainly seems like it was a good meal, but he’s more than a little lost. he’s never met any other kind of... consumer, before, and if there’s anything he understands about how this business works, it’s this part. 

"... why doesn’t it help you?” 

[strszyga]

A guttural, rasping noise pulls out of her throat, wet as his unpleasant little prize; her chest convulses like a retch, but there's not enough in her stomach to purge. Klava spits out of the corner of her mouth and, lacking the energy to peel herself off of the floor, allows it to pool under her cheek.

He does not, she thinks, know.

"Something," she mutters. Her voice tastes as bitter as it sounds. "Do piče. Get rid of that."

@strszyga

flump. that's the sound a wet, dead pigeon makes when it's dropped out of a vampii's fist at another predator's feet.

"i know, i know. but you need to eat something."

and since she can't feed herself right now - conrad's going to do the hunting for both of them.

[strszyga]

&. 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

(  various  non - halloween  themed  dialogue  prompts  for  all  your  slashers,  final  girls,  and  other  horrors  beyond  your  comprehension.  trigger  warning  for  dark  themes.  feel  free  to  edit  as  you  seem  fit.  ) 

❛ it’s the silence that scares me. ❜

❛ i’m every nightmare you ever had. ❜

❛ i want to see your true face. ❜

❛ one way or another, you’re going to die tonight. ❜

❛ just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not already here. ❜

❛ by the time anyone finds your body, they won’t be able to identify it. ❜

❛ you’re playing a dangerous game here, girl. ❜

❛ i’m playing the villain, just like you wanted. ❜

❛ i won’t give up on you, i know you’re worth it! ❜

❛ scream all you want. no one will hear you. ❜

❛ what are you going to do to me? ❜

❛ there you are, my darling! ❜

❛ i knew you would come back to me. ❜

❛ don’t you want to be consumed by what loves you? ❜

❛ i’m going to send you back to hell where you came from! ❜

❛ you can’t keep me here forever! ❜

❛ how are you still alive? i killed you! ❜

❛ sometimes human spaces make inhuman monsters. ❜

❛ please. why don’t you just let me go? ❜

❛ this missing poster has your face on it. ❜

❛ that wasn’t so bad, was it? ❜

❛ what’s wrong, you don’t trust me? ❜

❛ i know a lot about you. more than you think. ❜

❛ you want me to shut him up for you? ❜

❛ we could have been beautiful together. ❜

❛ when you think you’re alone, someone watches. ❜

❛ rest while you can, because i will hunt you and eat you whole. ❜

❛ what you want is very wrong. ❜

❛ you look so pretty all tied up like this. ❜

❛ what, you like to watch? you goddamn sicko. ❜

❛ god isn’t here. god doesn’t even know about this place. ❜

❛ there is something at work in my soul which i do not understand. ❜

❛ i am the devil, and i am here to do the devil’s work. ❜

❛ you know what they say, an eye for an eye. ❜

❛ why don’t you scream for me? ❜

❛ are you… smelling me? ❜

❛ we’re going to die out here. ❜

❛ i’m not afraid of anything. not anymore. ❜

❛ we will be what everyone wants to be. perfect. ❜

❛ no offense, but i think you might be just a little too crazy for me. ❜

❛ we all go a little mad sometimes. ❜

❛ the harder i try to escape, the further i get into this awful place. ❜

❛ this was not how it was supposed to go! ❜

❛ this is the end of your little game. i win. ❜

❛ don’t leave me! i can’t be alone! ❜

❛ no one is coming for you. ❜

❛ you hide. and i’ll try to find you. sound fun? ❜

❛ fuck this place. seriously, just fuck this place. ❜

❛ what’s the matter, honey? you’ve barely touched your dinner. ❜

❛ don’t be afraid. dying is much easier than living. ❜

❛ i won’t let them kill you. i won’t let them even touch you. ❜

❛ let’s get you some clothes before i get too turned on. ❜

❛ you weren’t putting that tongue to use anyway. ❜

❛ shall i drink your blood fresh, or slice your neck and spill it out first? ❜

❛ dying keeps moving lower on the list of worst things that could happen to me. ❜

[strszyga]

“You don’t get to die and be reborn the same. You come back, but you come back wrong. This is the price you pay for resurrection.”

— Nathaniel Orion G. K.

[strszyga]

@finalgrrrls from here

"Úprimnú sústrasť," she mutters and raises her glass in a gesture which might better be described as a toast. When was the last time she wanted any one thing for months? Klava swishes her vodka in her mouth, the little cuts on her tongue protesting weakly.

Maybe never.

"Well, you seem clever." Certainly determined. "You will make it work out, eventually, I think."

[strszyga]

@draggeddowntothedark from here

She hummed noncommittally. Few noticed it was there; usually, that was the best trait of the place. "Live," she laughed through her nose. Her fingers twitched, wooden and stinging, and her keys clattered to the ground. Fuck. She sighed again. "For — ahh, what you say... For a given definition of the word, huh."

Klava muttered a sharp little prayer in pidgin Russian and heavy Slovak, mouth tinged with copper; and then her keys were in her hand again. She turned them in the lock stiffly, and the door opened with a wave of warm air thick with tobacco and patchouli.

"You smell like old blood, you know that?"

[strszyga]

The First Book of Mammals. Written and illustrated by Margaret Williamson. 1957.

Internet Archive