(AND I TIRESIAS HAVE FORESUFFERED ALL ENACTED ON THIS SAME DIVAN OR BED; I WHO HAVE SAT BY THEBES BELOW THE WALL AND WALKED AMONG THE LOWEST OF THE DEAD.)
He's made cake. It doesn't look great - he learned how to cook rather than to bake, and besides, taste is more important, even if he is shit at judging it these days - but he tried his best to cover the mistakes up with edible glitter and such, making it even more of a hot mess. Still. He did his best. - Miles
@godworn
SHE DIDN'T expect a cake. Not because she thought he'd forget, but because with every passing year it's easier to slip and forget there's people that care about this day and don't simply acknowledge it as any other on the calendar. She can't tell if her forgetfulness is a tell-tale sign - that she's growing closer to death every day, that every turn of the year her fate is pulled up by skilled hands and examined to see if the right time for her sacrifice has come - still; a familiar yet unexpected warmth spreads inside her chest when she walks inside Miles' kitchen and sees the cake on the table. She doesn't even notice the imperfections (nor will she taste them; it'll be delicious, like every other dish he has ever cooked and she has ever tasted), her gaze completely captured by the glitter shimmering under the kitchen lamp and the intentions behind such a simple gesture.
She looks up at Miles and - and, they have such little time left together, don’t they. It’s not a rush against time, not when both of them are headed towards a fate they can’t avoid; rather, it’s a matter of knowing who will let go of the other’s hand first, leaving her or him to deal with grief and her or his future on their own. Chris knows it well. She looks at the cake and knows it might be the last one. Next April swallows might come back and there won’t be anyone sitting at this very table; or there might not be a guest running in, all wild hair and golden eyes and fires that can’t be extinguished. Inevitable; not quite sad. Simply a fact of life, as easy as breathing or knowing daisies are blooming between cracks in the concrete. And this, this means she will cherish this moment even more.
Another year, another number added to the count of her life, much longer than her face shows. A smile, brighter than any light, salvation dripping down her teeth and chin. It comes so natural to approach Miles, wrap her arms around his much bigger frame and hide her face in his chest for a while, hoping he can feel all the affection she’s giving him. Hoping he senses how thankful she is for this and every other moment.
hello coming in to remind everyone it's my babigril's bday tomorrow do what you want with that
TIS HER BIRTHDAY
hello coming in to remind everyone it's my babigril's bday tomorrow do what you want with that
“how much do you love the wasteland” back in uni i took an english literature class exclusively because half of it would focus on analyzing every part of this poem and t.s. eliot’s work, next question
Born out of desperation and fear and hope for the survival of an entire race, a creature like her couldn't escape the attention of a Fear, however weak and invisible it might have been still. She opened her eyes to stare at the world, and her core echoed with the fragment of the End that was just starting to grow and become a separate entity, although not yet strong enough to affect the world below. Chris grew up, her flame grew brighter, and the Extinction did so too, never interfering with her life but still deeply attuned to her unbeknownst to her. Perhaps the forgotten gods of her people were aware of this process, perhaps they were too blind to see it coming; what matters is, no one was there to stop what happened on the day of her sacrifice.
Father's knife missing her chest; an escape through a maze-like house she knew each corner and speck of dust of; a decision she had come to years and years prior finally becoming reality as she burned and burned and the house and the Fe survivors of an entire civilization were turned to ashes by the same martyr they had created. She was consumed by her own power and died herself, but only - only - for a moment. Before she could pass into the limbo that had been prepared for her, the Extinction held onto her and pulled her back to life, anchoring itself to her and binding her to it. A point to help itself come forward and finally be born and independent from the End. Who better than the last of an entire race to be turned into the first avatar of the terror of dying out, disappearing without leaving a sign of one's passage?
She changed, of course. She looks even more ghost-like than before (although her eyes haven't changed, no; a fire still burns bright in those golden pools), and all about her, even her own abilities, have been warped to better suit her patron. She isn't aware of what's happened and is still happening to her, but one thing she knows: she can't stop herself from retelling the story of her people, beginning to end, and the terror in her listeners' eyes flows to her and fills her in ways no meal ever could again. It's terrifying. It feels natural.
She isn't aware, but another thing she knows: she can't be alive without being a mean to an end. It's all about finding out what is keeping her from dying this time.
@hyacinthsgirl
"Nᴏ ɴᴏ no, don’t touch that one. It doesn’t like it and will scream. Loudly. For not having lungs, it is remarkably loud, actually.“ Gently, he takes her hand to pull her away from the, admittedly, very beautiful flower pulsing in various colors. He doesn’t mention that it also contains enough toxins to kill half the camp in one go, not because he feels like it would scare her or anything, merely because it’s not the point right now. Besides, that hardly matters for when it’s about it’s decorative values, right! Now, if she were to try and create a deadly poison, then it would be relevant and actually one of the better things to use, he’d definitely recommend it.
"It wouldn’t stop screaming once you picked it, either. Not exactly the most charming one to put in your hair, now is it? We can find you some others.”
SHE LETS Sydney take her hand and pull her away from the very pretty but also apparently very dangerous flowers she just knelt next to, although she can’t help but look a bit disappointed. She follows his pull, rising back to her feet and then looking at him with bright eyes full of questions. “Do you mean real screaming? Like a person would?” She’s never heard of flowers being able to do that. Father’s books never talked about such plants, but if he says so he must be right. Chris hasn’t known him for long but knows that he’d never lie to her.
She brushes a few blades of grass off her dress, then focuses back on him and nods in agreement, properly holding his hand now. “Are there any flowers that can talk but don’t scream? I’ve never heard one talk before.” Their joined hand sway gently. “I think they might have something interesting to say.”
godworn:
Hᴇ ᴛʀɪᴇs to think, and it hurts. His memories get more blurry the longer he goes on; and he wonders how much longer he’s able to actually recall much. How much longer his life still belongs to him and not the thing inside him eating through his brain, unmaking connections and tearing chunks out bit by bit. Still, his grandmother, she’s the clearest memory he still has, and absent-mindedly, his hand closes around the talisman that he’s been wearing around his neck since he was a child. Might start with that, actually.
"Spent a lot o’ time in her garden. All my childhood, practically.“ He hums, closes his eyes. Tries to recall her home in the romanian mountainside, packed to the brim in the careful untidiness that spoke of a life spent in there, but not dirty. Thinks of the herbs and flowers dried in the kitchen and swaying in the wind outside. Thinks of the swing between the ash trees near the back. Thinks of her, trying to summon her face before she got sick, and failing.
"She’s been a witch, I think. Not in th’ sense your magic works, an’ not in th’ sense modern folks call themselves. Old magic, jus’ — different from yours. Got me this when I’s a child — it’s not a protection charm, ‘cause I’d dread t’ know what else would’ve happened t’ me if that was under protection — ’s guidance. T’ always find my way. She’d lots o’ stories 'bout how t’ world was more that people acknowledge. I think she did her best t’ keep us safe, but — Well. Only so much t’ be done, right?”
AS MILES talks Chris shuffles closer to him, till their arms are pressing against each other softly, as if trying to exchange warmth in a city that’s growing colder with every minute they spend outside. She doesn’t feel cold, though; not anymore. She’s rather looking for comfort, a sense of familiarity, of I know this because I’ve been here before; I know this because it stayed the same even when the world quivered and changed. Her only hope is that Miles feels the same, and not out of selfishness; just, if she can offer this one silver lining to him she will.
A smile curves her lips. “I wish I could’ve met her.” Not a single drop of envy travels inside her resurrected veins. She’s glad he had such an important figure in his life, and that is all. As her voice trails off and only the buzzing remains (and a shrivel of hunger running restlessly inside her chest; she doesn’t want to acknowledge its presence, not now at least), she thinks back to her own grandparents. Blurry faces in dim-lit rooms. Eyes that never saw her for longer than a moment or two. Attempts to keep her safe only to keep everyone else alive. Families are such an maze-like web.
“I don’t think I ever really knew my grandparents. Well, they were alive for a good part of my life, but they were more like a presence rather than real people. They-” Her eyes glimmer in violence and anticipation. The Archivist feeds on words, eats up fears, sinks his teeth in nightmares; the first of the Extinction is a story that can’t stop telling itself, letters and sentences pouring out of her body to drown any listener. She opens her mouth to go on, but a hand rises to cover it. (Not here. Not to him. If there are any gods still listening, not to this one.) When she dares speak again, words are pulled out of her slowly. “Our bond was much different than that. If it was one at all.”
@hyacinthsgirl | sc.
"Oʜ, sᴏʀʀʏ, he gets — extremely excited at people sometimes, he’s very friendly but he does not understand how big he is — get back here, you giant idiot.“
She’s very much using all her strength to hold the massive dog back by the collar, something that Arl Howl seems less than happy about, fully intent on properly greeting the stranger, so now she’s having a stand-off with her own dog.
(Nothing new, here.)
“Promise, he just wants pets and hopes you have food.”
THE BOOK she was reading is now lying next to her, leather cover to the sky and pages pressed against the grass, but she barely glances down at it. All her focus is currently on the big dog that found her worthy of his excitement and keeps pressing himself against her, despite his size and the fact that she’s sitting down and thus being at eye level with him. Her hands won’t stop petting him, even if he keeps moving around and makes it a little hard to give him the affection he so desperately wants.
“Don’t worry, he didn’t disturb me.” Which is true. Even if she was clearly lost in her book, she didn’t mind the sudden interruption; if anything, she seems as genuinely happy as him. “I don’t have any treats for you, though. I’m sorry,” she apologizes to the dog before looking up at his owner, eyes looking even brighter in the sunlight. “What’s his name?”
stokcd:
Hᴇ sʜʀᴜɢs, non-committal but not really avoiding her question. It’s more… he clicks his tongue as he thinks, and as much as he’d rather speak about nice things such as that, nobody ever comes here just to be social. That’s simply a fact. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone that didn’t look for something, or hid something, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the fact she looks like she’s half dead already has something do with it.
Something always happened. It’s just how it is in this place.
“Well, I’m just guessing you’re looking for something other than him, ‘cause I honestly don’t know when or if he’ll be around next, he doesn’t exactly tell me his entire schedule, so I’m just assuming you being here? Not just because you want to talk about Sy.”
HER GAZE pierces through him, sharp like a blade and open like a book - a sign that she doesn’t have anything to hide and won’t argue with his assumptions. Why should she, after all? She never hid her fate and her identity back when she knew all the whats and the whys, and now that she’s constantly feeling lost at sea she has even less reasons to be cryptic. No I don’t know what you’re talking about, but no you’re right either; any of those sentences don’t fit inside her mouth.
“A friend suggested me this place could help me find... well, not help. Answers, mostly. I’ve already been here a couple of times, but I don’t think I have really understood what’s happening to me just yet.” She smiles. It’s not sad, it’s not filled with self-pity, it’s still shiny and blinding and so heartbreaking that it could move anyone to tears. How can she keep smiling like this despite everything. “But I guess it’s nothing new for you, is it?”
Tʜᴀᴛ’s ᴍᴏsᴛ certainly a new one. Not the whole ‘both being unable to look at her and away from her at the very same time’ deal, that she is more than used to. It’s simply part of what she is. No, but under that and the fascination (less common, but not unheard of, either), there is… admiration, maybe? Interesting. Not for now, thought, but it’s filed away carefully for later use.
She smiles. It’s nearly comforting.
"A friend. You can call me Helen, it’s as good a name as any.“ She approaches, stays just two steps away, making her edges as soft as she possibly can. "You want answers, don’t you?”
I SHOULD be afraid, she thinks (and she knows she can’t feel any fear anymore). She is made of almosts, and I can’t pin her down, she realizes, standing firmly where she is. Naive and too quick to trust she might be, but she won’t immediately consider someone her friend only because they call themselves one. Perhaps Helen does want only to help - and the gods know Chris will soak all and any answers in, eating up knowledge like she ate up books what seems like centuries ago - nonetheless; careful treading. As if walking on a glass tightrope.
“I do.” No reason to deny the truth. It’s not a secret, and even if it were the glimmer of anticipation in her eyes would immediately reveal it. “Do you know?”
i wake up in a little less than six hours and I can't sleep to save my life, send help
“ you just remind me of someone, that’s all. ” he regards her with his chin resting lightly in his palm, gaze somewhere over her shoulder to spare her the discomfort of nausea. it is the scent hanging around her, he thinks. flowers. yet while oliver’s are sickly in their dying sweetness, hers are strangely demure. stale. as if some echo. “ i’m sorry if it was forward. ”
@hyacinthsgirl / sc.
SHE OFFERS a smile in return, gaze wandering over his scar before settling back to his eyes. "Not forward at all." How weird. She could swear the room feels wider and wider with every passing moment - and at that thought her guts twist in anticipation as if before the fatal step leading to an endless fall. If it's meant to terrify her, it barely succeeds. "I hope it's not a bad kind of reminder?"
‘ i only had myself to blame for the company i was keeping. ’ ( tma au ! )
THE OH HELLOS’ ‘ THROUGH THE DEEP, DARK VALLEY ’ STARTERS || @pavlikovskij
SHE TAKES a sip from her drink, listening intently and taking a better look at him. She's trying to focus on his features and body language, both fascinated and curios to see whatever information about him she can possibly infer thanks to one more glance, yet her eyes keep being drawn to his hair and the cobwebs nestled there. It's an instinct she can barely repress - the need to stretch a hand out and brush them off till she felt dust and figments coating her fingertips as if she'd just stuck them under an old wardrobe in an abandoned house. She isn't entirely sure he'd like it, though - and at the same time she's fairly certain that she could keep trying to clean his hair up for hours and hours and the amount of cobwebs would never change. So, she'll just have to keep looking at them.
He doesn't feel familiar, at least not in the exact sense of the word. A kinship of sorts, even if Chris can tell all too well they aren't exactly the same. She's still roaming in the dark looking for better and more precise answers, but knowing there's others like her out here (although not quite; although what she sees in his eyes is so different from what she sees in hers when she comes across her reflection) is some sort of starting point.
"What kind of company?" she eventually asks, fingers curled around her cup. Every gesture she makes speaks of inevitability, tragic ends that have to be feared and met, and the desperation that comes with them. "Was it that what made you-" She trails off for a moment, not really knowing what to say next. What is he, anyway. What is she, after all. "Like this?"
THE OH HELLOS’ ‘ THROUGH THE DEEP, DARK VALLEY ’ STARTERS
feel free to change pronouns/etc!
THE VALLEY
‘ i was born in the valley of the dead and the wicked. ’ ‘ i was born in the shadow of the crimes of my father. ’ ‘ blood was my inheritance. ’ ‘ i did not ask for this. ’ ‘ will you lead me? ’ ‘ i was young when i heard you call my name in the silence — like a fire in the dark, like a sword upon my heart. ’ ‘ we were fleeing for our lives. ’
LIKE THE DAWN
‘ i was sleeping in the garden when i saw you first. ’ ‘ he put me deep, deep under so that he could work. ’ ‘ like the dawn, you broke the dark and my whole earth shook. ’ ‘ you were the brightest shade of sun i had ever seen. ’ ‘ your skin is gilded with the gold of the richest king. ’ ‘ like the dawn, you woke the world inside of me. ’ ‘ you were the brightest shade of sun when i saw you. ’ ‘ you will surely be the death of me. ’ ‘ how could i have known? ’
EAT YOU ALIVE
‘ i’m afraid for your soul. ’ ‘ these things that you’re after, they can’t be controlled. ’ ‘ the beast that you’re after will eat you alive and spit out your bones. ’ ‘ there’s nothing but pain on the edge of a knife. ’ ‘ there is no courage in flirting with fear to prove you’re alive. ’ ‘ death, she is cunning and clever as hell. ’ ‘ i’ll eat you alive. ’
SECOND CHILD, RESTLESS CHILD
‘ i was born a second child with a spirit running wild, running free. ’ ‘ they saw trouble in my eyes. ’ ‘ they were quick to recognize the devil in me. ’ ‘ i was born a restless child, and i could hear the world outside calling me. ’ ‘ heaven knows how hard i tried. ’ ‘ that devil whispered lies i believed. ’ ‘ you whispered lies i believed. ’ ‘ can you hear it, hanging on the wind? ’ ‘ can you feel it underneath your skin? ’ ‘ you’ve got to go on. ’ ‘ you’ve got to go on further than you’ve ever gone. ’ ‘ you’ve got to run far from all you’ve ever known. ’
WISHING WELL
‘ i cut my hair and changed my name. ’ ‘ i only had myself to blame for the company i was keeping. ’ ‘ curse my restless wandering feet. ’ ‘ all the love you gave to me wasn’t enough to keep me. ’ ‘ i stole from my father all i thought i could sell. ’ ‘ that devil’s got a hold on me now. ’
IN MEMORIAM
‘ well, it’s a long way out to reach the sea. ’ ‘ i’m sure i’ll find you waiting there for me, and by the time i blink, i’ll see your wild arms swinging just to meet me in the middle of the road. and you’ll hold me like you’ll never let me go. ’ ‘ hold me like you’ll never let me go. ’ ‘ i could hold you close, but you are far too beautiful to love me. ’ ‘ it’s a long climb. ’ ‘ when you wage your wars against the one who adores you, then you’ll never know the treasure that you’re worth. ’ ‘ i’ve never been a wealthy one before. ’ ‘ i’ve got holes in my pockets burned by liars’ gold, and i think i’m far too poor for you to want me. ’ ‘ i’m far too poor for you to want me. ’ ‘ you don’t know what you have until you’re gone. ’ ‘ it’s a nasty habit, spending all you have. ’ ‘ when you’re doing all the leaving, then it’s never your love lost. ’
THE LAMENT OF EUSTACE SCRUBB
‘ forgive me. ’ ‘ we both know i’m the one to blame. ’ ‘ when i saw my demons, i knew them well and welcomed them. ’ ‘ i’ll come around someday. ’ ‘ i know that i have gone astray. ’
I WAS WRONG
‘ i was torn from the start. ’ ‘ i was young and stubborn to the bone. ’ ‘ the weight of the world was crippling. ’ ‘ i was wrong, and i’m so sorry. ’ ‘ i knew you’d never forgive me. ’
I HAVE MADE MISTAKES
‘ i have made mistakes. ’ ‘ i have made mistakes, and i continue to make them. ’ ‘ the promises i make, i continue to break them. ’ ‘ all the doubts i face, i continue to face them. ’ ‘ nothing is a waste if you learn from it. ’ ‘ the sun, it does not cause us to grow; it is the rain that will strengthen your soul — it will make you whole. ’ ‘ we have lived in fear. ’ ‘ i have lived in fear, and my fear has betrayed me. ’ ‘ i will overcome the apathy that has made me. ’ ‘ we will overcome the apathy that has made us. ’ ‘ you are not alone in the dark with your demons. ’ ‘ you have made mistakes, but you’ve learned from them. ’ ‘ oh, my heart, how can i face you now? we both know how badly i have let you down. ’ ‘ i have let you down. ’ ‘ i am afraid. ’ ‘ i am afraid of all that i’ve built fading away. ’
THE TRUTH IS A CAVE
‘ i was young and naive. ’ ‘ there’s only one road that leads me home. ’ ‘ i was bound and determined to be the child you wanted. ’ ‘ i was bound and determined to be the child they wanted. ’ ‘ the truth became i tool that i held in my hand — i wielded it, but did not understand. ’ ‘ i’m tired of giving more than you gave to me. ’ ‘ i heard you calling out to me. ’
Born out of desperation and fear and hope for the survival of an entire race, a creature like her couldn't escape the attention of a Fear, however weak and invisible it might have been still. She opened her eyes to stare at the world, and her core echoed with the fragment of the End that was just starting to grow and become a separate entity, although not yet strong enough to affect the world below. Chris grew up, her flame grew brighter, and the Extinction did so too, never interfering with her life but still deeply attuned to her unbeknownst to her. Perhaps the forgotten gods of her people were aware of this process, perhaps they were too blind to see it coming; what matters is, no one was there to stop what happened on the day of her sacrifice.
Father's knife missing her chest; an escape through a maze-like house she knew each corner and speck of dust of; a decision she had come to years and years prior finally becoming reality as she burned and burned and the house and the Fe survivors of an entire civilization were turned to ashes by the same martyr they had created. She was consumed by her own power and died herself, but only - only - for a moment. Before she could pass into the limbo that had been prepared for her, the Extinction held onto her and pulled her back to life, anchoring itself to her and binding her to it. A point to help itself come forward and finally be born and independent from the End. Who better than the last of an entire race to be turned into the first avatar of the terror of dying out, disappearing without leaving a sign of one's passage?
She changed, of course. She looks even more ghost-like than before (although her eyes haven't changed, no; a fire still burns bright in those golden pools), and all about her, even her own abilities, have been warped to better suit her patron. She isn't aware of what's happened and is still happening to her, but one thing she knows: she can't stop herself from retelling the story of her people, beginning to end, and the terror in her listeners' eyes flows to her and fills her in ways no meal ever could again. It's terrifying. It feels natural.
She isn't aware, but another thing she knows: she can't be alive without being a mean to an end. It's all about finding out what is keeping her from dying this time.
