DREW SAID NO BROKEN LINES, SO I SAID LETβS BREAK EVERYTHING ELSE. WHY NOT? LETβS PULL DOWN THE BRONZE STATUES OF CAUSALITY, LETβS SMASH THE STORE WINDOWS OF PLOT AND PLAUSIBILITY, LETβS RIOT IN THE STREETS OF CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT AND MIX OUR METAPHORS. [β¦] WORLD WITHOUT END.
a private writing blog for a variety of canon & original characters. dreamt by eve! relies on personal interpretation and headcanons, a vague recollection of the canon material, and a willingness to adapt tto any universe.
guidelines + characters, prompts.
best way to get a starter is to send a prompt or two. force-shipping through memes is totally okay with me.
if you don't know which muse you want to interact with first, ishtar usually is the safest bet you can make.
my memory isn't always great so if you see me messing up canon, please look away.
i tag triggering stuff with 'trigger /', if it's really bad i use 'dead dove do not eat /' as well. however be aware that mature and explicit themes will appear. i obviously don't condone any of it
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it is late and the stars have yet to shine bright on sins past; in the silence, karzaen finds her shoulders to drop even lower, while her eyes remain on the horizon-- she told others she would keep watch, an excuse as to avoid sleep altogether. but leitha has yet to let sleep claim them, and karzaen wants to ask: "if your goddess demanded something," her voice is soft, like a gentle breeze on a summer's morning, "and it was an awful, despicable thing... but you knew it to be necessary. would you do it?" she assumes shadowheart's trials to be a decent hideout for her own responsibilities.
"calling me a miracle-maker while offering a miracle."β β β β β β βshe scoffs, but there's no substance to it, there rarely is anymore.β β β β β β in every day that goes by they drift further and further from who they once were, from who her sister once knew β β β β β β(would kimberly hate her now or be proud of the blood spilled in her name).β β β β β βbut the other is right β β β β β βββ β β β β β they are looking for ashlyn, they are trying to get payment up front for the pain she caused. β β β β β βall she's doing is what she's learned. β β β β β βshe turns her head slowly, dark circles under her eyes hollow both physically and in the gaze behind her eyes.β β β β β β"what miracle are you offering, hm? β β β β β βwhat kind of person are you to think you could make a difference?"
the little witch looks exhausted; ceri wonders what that feels like. she doesn't remember. now there is electricity running from one end of her body to the other; she's always on-- and when respite comes, it comes in waves of quiet. there is no going forward when sleep claims the body: she lets it. she'd rather sleep a thousand years than be awake (a truth that used to be a lie) "a person no more," she tells her, slowly, unblinking and unflinching, "can't you tell?" if not for the scars then perhaps the eyes: the emptiness that stares back. "i'll help you, i'll hide you. i know a place where your kind of miracles cannot fail." papa left her that much. "and once you're done slaughtering your way to a new life⦠i want death." a sigh, the hint of a sweet smile, "clean and precise and never-ending."
mak isn't sure why she is retracing those steps; dusara's adventures through a town that had never been theirs, but that they molded into something mak couldn't exist in without recognizing their handprints everywhere. it sucks. going into the bar and remembering doing it, but not having been the one to do it, sucks. unsure of the procedure, she takes a few steps and ends up sitting on a barstool, fingers tapping against the wooden surface, waiting for someone to pay attention to her.
"time's likeβ¦" he is thinking about it as the words spill out of his mouth, leftover smoke heady around them as he passes her the blunt, "do you know what time's like?" he suddenly asks, worried, the thought a fluttering balloon disappearing past the low-hanging ceiling of the shitty appartment they're occupying. he isn't sure how he got here, but lately location worries him less than the ticking clock, "like this." he points at the joint, and the simmering end, and the ashes that fall. he appears to have made his point, because he burrows once more into the comfortable chair.
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magdalene is like a toddler that can't keep its sticky little hands off things ( and, if emily isn't fast enough, its sticky little mouth either ). telling her not to touch that seems to have the adverse effect, so the best emily can do is to let her be without inspiring more mischief by giving her boundaries to cross. and to get her to clean up her own mess, after, which is easier said than done.
magda gets close to the cauldron and then just... puts her hand on it. emliy watches, not ceasing to stubbornly hack away in her mortar, the ( probably cooked before dried ? ) bones of supposedly a deer or antelope crunching but not breaking under her pestle. magda really should not be this bad at living her second time around. did the replugging of her brain make her forget that hot things burn? she probably doesn't feel it, on account of being dead, but a little bit of self-preservation would be nice. it took a lot of effort to get her here, after all.
it's hard to care about minor things like that, though. it's too frustrating. all of this, the magic and the reanimation and the dark bidding, it's supposed to takes its time, but emily would like results now.
β what do you know, β she mutters morosely. crunch crunch crunch go the allegedly-not-bones. β i just need to grind it a little more. come over here, β she puts the stone bowl down and beckons. β how strong do you think you are, you know, compared to before? β
it's a pesky situation, this pretending to be human⦠but there is some fun to be found, anyway, even if most of it resides in annoying the fuck out of emily. if you want to know how to do it (and believe her, you want to!) then all you have to do is follow a few very specific steps:
do the first thing that passes through your feeble little mind. magda likes that step because it's easy and requires no thinking. you get hit by a thought and lets it lead you forward, even if it means putting your fingers places they shouldn't go.
make sure emily is there to see it.
bonus points if whatever you thought of doing makes a mess.
use emily's annoyance to confuse her enough so that she ends up saying yes to your plotting. ( this step only works for tricksters, though. sorry)
"well, i know about bones. i'm full of them." she says it with a cheeky grin. consider it step 1.5: do the most with your face. it could be as effective as direct action!
sighing at being asked to do something (not fun), magda pushes the body she inhabits to move closer. there's a sound, then, her pelvis closing up and opening back again with a blood-curdling groan of bones grinding against bones. not too different from whatever emily's doing, actually. "i think i'm like. very weak." she hopes she looks truthful. she doesn't want to do anything. "like, deadly weak. can't carry a pen without feeling tired type of weak." she nods, then, like it's the final diagnosis. nothing to see here!
IT'S SAFE LIKE AN AMBULANCE IS SAFE ... (A PRIVATE, MUTUALS ONLY, 21+ WRITING BLOG. [TRIGGER HEAVY CONTENT.] INSPIRATIONS INCLUDE: ETHEL CAIN'S PREACHER'S DAUGHTER ALBUM, S1E20 OF SUPERNATURAL (DEAD MAN'S BLOOD), SOUTHERN GOTHIC HORROR. READ CARRD BEFORE INTERACTING.) ... YOU BEING INSIDE MEANS YOU'RE ALREADY HURT.
he sits outside of the prison, knees tucked against his chest, while he stares at the day disappearing behind a cloudy horizon. he didn't want to see his father, but now that he has, he doesn't know where else to go; home seems like a place located three years prior. the estate once stood proud, and so did his father. (what does it say, that both are currently husks of what they used to be?)
dante doesn't hear the approaching figure, nor does he register the air growing stale with silence. it's only when he tries to move, his legs extending in front of him, that he registers the presence. he scoffs, both because of the surprise and the uniform he has no trouble recognizing.
as politely as he can, with greeted teeth, he asks: "what do you need, governor?"
"you do not have to talk if you don't want to," she says, and it sounds reasonable in her mouth, like there is absolutely nothing wrong with staring at her in silence in a muted room with cameras on each corner, "but they might prove more⦠cooperative, if you were to share your current state of mind." she does not shrug. her face barely moves with the kindness that is supposed to transpire from her words. still, a corner of her lips lifts, "you are getting a new beginning, ms. gray. we could talk about that."
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"oh, there's! there's a mistake!" the gnome presses their hands against the spawn's shoulder, effectively pushing his fangs away from the flesh they were buried into (her neck), just a few moments prior. remy, against all odds (as it is often the case) starts giggling madly. "you thought! i was a snack!! oh my." giggling even louder, she stops the sound from echoing by pressing a hand against her closed mouth, all mirth kept ricocheting against her teeth.
"witch," she spits, "miracle-maker," she murmurs. it's a song, it's a prayer, the girl's hands gripping the edge of the table as if to prevent herself from reaching forward, for the twin. "they are looking for you, you know. everywhere." she sinks in her seat, sighing, her body a mismatched jigsaw puzzle, full of thin white scars. absentmindedly, her thumb swipes across the one that connects her other thumb to the hand. "everywhere but here. we can help each other." she smiles, sweetly. it looks off. it falls flat. a discordant little note in a rather worrying symphony. "don't you want to be helped?"
well well well we're in a bit of a funk. like this post and you'll get a starter from one of my original characters. if you're a multi-muse, feel free to request which muse you want it for, but i'll choose who i'll write it from.
henrike's sets of morals is pretty fucked up, but i think the closest equivalent would be a land ethic. meaning, she has a pretty biocentric way of thinking about the world & does not place men above everything else. she does think she has a place above mankind, due to her powers & the facility with which she can read and understand people. men have lost their magic, in some way, and that is why she doesn't place herself in the same category as them. however, in general, she thinks all lives are valuable because they present something unique. animals & nature must be protected at all costs because they belong to the biotic community & are valuable by themselves, but the fact that we have an interdependent relationship with them makes them even more necessary. also, to her, animals & plants are more perfect than the random human individual because they don't dysfunction. (she sees mental ilnesses as a dysfunction of the self, which led to her obsession with medicine/psychology, and her choice to become a psychiatrist/therapist)
humans are great creatures but, to be honest, she only values them because each is a unique specimen, with the ability to become exceptional (with compound v). so. while value is inherent to all creatures within nature, the value of humans is tampered by their capacity to dysfunction, making supes inherently greater than humans for her, because. while they are just as mentally ill, they have great powers transcending the normal order of nature, making them meta-natural beings. and that leads us back to henrike thinking of herself as above mankind & her problem with morality : when you see yourself as superior than everyone else, you refuse to abide by the same rules, & ultimately you lose sight of morality altogether. why would it apply to you ? so it is not that henrike does not care about doing morally wrong acts, it is simply that her morality does not align with the same system simple human beings follow.
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@favoriteache | henrike said: no need to be embarrassed.
"I'm not."
If she is, which she is not, it isn't her fault.
When Cate tries to access Henrike Bane's thoughts, to predict what psycho-emotional ploy Henrike might utilize next, she feels as if she's swimming through jello - or even mud. Yet there's something calming to it - a tranquility from not knowing what the fuck is going on. Ignorance has never been bliss for Cate because ignorance has always been impossible. This is refreshing.
"Can we just, like, have a conversation? Girl to girl. Woman to woman, if you want."
the doctor blinks affably, as if to say: of course not. though, and that is said with the way she writes a note in the silence, do you not feel it? right there, sliding against your bones, viscous and improper.
"i thought that is what we were having, miss dunlap." she does not shrug, and whatever facial expression sits on her face remains a blank canvas for her words to color.
she writes something else, then looks up. she waits a moment, letting some time for cate to begin the conversation she so clearly prefers to henrike's questions. when it does not come, the doctor smiles.
sometimes magda likes to put her finger on things, just to see how soft they are. it's usually fine; wood isn't silky but the sturdiness makes it satisfying. magda found out that if you press hard enough, it cracks. (familiar pursuit! she thinks of tricks and deals and breaking minds. then she sighs, happily) if you press hard enough, you leave a bit of you: fingerprint made out of shards & empty space. magda likes it. she likes it more than whatever it is emily is doing, with a seething cauldron and a weird looking blue liquid simmering in it.
although her enjoyment of the expriment, she has been informed, is not important to the potion-making, she still thinks it's too boring an activity. (emily said it the way she says everything else, which means magda isn't very inclined to believe her. or to listen, in general) "you know it won't do whatever you want it to do, right?" she sneers, but magdalene (the girl whose face she stole) looks cute and it's full of baby fat still, so the effect's all wrong. "we could make a deal. i'd get you real bones, and not⦠whatever travesty you found at the market." approaching a finger to the cauldron, she presses against the burning metal until the whole room smells like burnt flesh. then, and only then, does she take it back, watching as the wound licks itself clean. fun!
