𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙛𝙞𝙩 / 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙩

❝ i mean, i don’t want to impose… but i’m bleeding profusely. ❞

                               VOID GAZE FLICKERS DOWNWARD, toward injury, he watches carefully with a desire to squeal.   “ oh, oh how . . . terrible. ”    the prophet moves closer, but those eyes burn wholes in blooming crimson, it takes a long moment before he steps aside to let the stranger in.   “ absolutely terrible... ”   he murmurs, head tilts, interest shining in smiling expression, the word feels slick on his tongue, greasy, slimy. terrible.  it is a blaspheme and he should know better.     “ do . . . do you need help ? ”    he would like to help, not for the reason he should perhaps, but help is help, isn’t it ? blood drying on skin, oh isn’t it lovely ?  

( * @drkestsky​︱accepting prompt ! ) :  ❝ The angles cut me when I try to think. ❞ from Cecil! <3

                              𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬. kevin shifts, studying his double with no small amount of interest. legally, cecil shouldn’t know about the angels, their hagiarchy is by nightvale’s standards, forbidden knowledge.   “ they cut you ? ”   head tilts, smile twitching further across face. the host wonders if it could be part of their reeducation, from what he’s heard nightvale is persistent with what they know and what they know they should not know.  kevin finds another parallel in their lives, an intertwine that he is sure neither new existed, though it is a delightful thought. how thoroughly connected doubles are.

                                  𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄, 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐒. hands behind her back, wrists locked and fingers weaving, always weaving. “some things are more beautiful for their fragility,” annabelle offers gently. she can feel the strings, as always, cutting into her skin, their tugging sweet and insistent.

𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃. “more than most people think,” she admits with a surprising candor. “my favorite author believed that the root of free will is ignorance. isn’t that interesting? i suppose that means that the more we see, the less control we have.” it’s an issue that’s always fascinated her –CONTROL. annabelle extends a hand, a tiny spider scurrying back up her sleeve. “annabelle cane. a pleasure.”

                                 𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙳𝙴𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝙵𝚁𝙴𝙴 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 ? kevin doesn’t often muse on it, to be fair, it does not concern him. his will is well weaved with creature beneath the earth, beneath his skin. it shines and beams and it is bright and all devouring. beauty in fragility. he thinks of his own fragile body, putting himself between the station and strex. he thinks of japanese pottery, gold mending breakage to make it better. 

( * @weavher​︱accepting prompt ! ) : ❝ The human mind is amazingly adept at ignoring things that don’t make sense, that it doesn’t want to see. ❞

                              𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐄    it’s funny, to consider what he had to sacrifice to give him sight, void eyes shift. the smiling god lingers, curious of new . . . friend ( what is a stranger but a friend you haven’t met yet ? )    “ oh how sad. ”   blaspheme leaves upturned lips before he can stop it, burns on his tongue, cold and unrelenting, painful : a reminder to be happy. to smile, as if he could stop. not even if he wanted to !  “ with our fragile little minds ! we can only perceive so much before they just . .. stop working ! ”   

  ONE OF THE BRIGHTEST STARS IN HOLLYWOOD’S SKY has come to bless all those eager, smiling young folks with just a whisper of wisdom - only, he’s not on record; and this isn’t an interview. Don Lockwood, heartthrob, heart-breaker, triple threat is back on the market for a good-time ( not a long time ); MEET THE GREATEST ACTOR IN THE WORLD! Care for an autograph? Care for a smile? He’s got that down pat for miles and miles - white acrylic teeth shining in neat little rows and a pound of spotlight safe make-up caked to his skin. LOOK OUT, HOLLYWOOD. Times are changing; Talkies are the up and up and there’s no need for silver screen silent shows; no want for the radio hour spook shows and dramas. Outmoded, irrelevant; a modern day extinction ( I THINK I’M LIVING THROUGH IT ! ) playing out in real time before 4MM film cameras and HD restorations. You just don’t make the cut, doll.    “Not new, but often necessary. What an eye for detail you’ve got!” Nothing phases him; save for the press, save for a pack of rabid fans. He stands tall on the theoretical red carpet; pressed and squeaky clean in his polyester suit and the set seems to bend to accommodate him. LARGER THAN LIFE! Nothing but a shadow on film, isn’t that right? AND WHAT CAN I DO TO YOU? I’M ONLY A SHADOW. The corners of his mouth twitch; tug, twiiiiiiist. SPOTLIGHT, PLEASE! Some mist from far away mountains, the backdrop of a nondescript room in a nondescript place: and here we are.    What’s in a name? His steps echo to the beat of a tap-dance; a slow trajectory of roving cameras and boom mics and it all seems so much larger than it actually is – say, wasn’t this room just a little narrow? A little shorter? WHAT’S IN A NAME? Marilyn, Bowie, Elvis - it’s not a name, it’s a brand, it’s a logo. Utterly, uniquely, perfectly theirs. The camera jumps, the film cuts; he’s up close and personal in the blink of an eye; still smiling, but never genial. All those bargain bin novels and C-Roll backlot films got something right: NAMES HAVE POWER; no name, and you wind up in the back rooms of Godhood where even Gods forget. His fingers twitch against his pant leg; skitter against the seam - somewhere, a Hollywood contract player gets dumped, regulated to   “What’s your lofty mission in life that lets you sneer at my profession?” 

                               STAGE LIGHTS ARE BLINDING, or perhaps would be, if his form were restricted by the idea of eyes being responsible for sight. those void eyes flicker to study smile, teeth are a sight to behold and he does behold, the prophet wonders for a long moment if the number might change depending on the face they wear. what an interesting ability, to change the number of teeth held within the confines of your maw. how would it feel, to devour with teeth that are not your own. could the word used be borrowed ? 

                              THE RAPID PULL OF MUSCLES, a flinch, it’s a natural reaction ! he’s just full of so much joy his body can hardly contain it !  visitors in his little other-world community make him so happy ! even if they are false gods, the prophet will welcome him with open arms. the God stirs beneath his skin, it is not a Jealous God. watch twisted smile twitch at allegation, not falter, of course, his smile is perfectly planted, it has taken root in his jaw, it hardly aches anymore !   “ sneer ? oh, i would never ! we’re one in the same ! ”   entertainers. what are gods but entertainment ? stories told, crafted to fit human’s narrative of nature. their perspective is so limited, isn’t it ?

                              WHAT’S IN A NAME ?  there’s power in titles, how they are said, letters. certainly more than one, though he isn’t one to judge if that isn’t true. he recalls speaking to someone who’s name was the same sound a bird made while falling, shot by hunters. it was a lovely name. . .    “ i was merely borrowing it, parts of it.”   only to to prove a point. to one particularly disobedient mayor when she refused to do as the media kevin, said. he’d only borrowed the name, having every intent of giving it back.