herb/spice: the joke would be to say catnip but, probably peppermint or vanilla weather: cloudless with a cool breeze primary colour: red colour of the sky: right before sunset, when the clouds are pink and orange animal crossing animal: i dont go there but she’d be an elegant cat if one exists magical power: shapeshifting, persuasion  shoe: stilettos houseplant: faye doesn’t keep plants in pots she doesnt want to restrict them... i always associate faye with the hallucinogenic cactuses she grows in her garden though blade weapon: antique dagger with a bejeweled handle.. she has so many.. the fave is her ceremonial wedding dagger (i know) which has emeralds in the hilt and snakes carved into the blade

school subject: drama.. duh social media: faye is such a private (and technologically illiterate) person that she’d have a locked instant gram and thats it makeup product: dark lipstick... it’s all she wears consistently (off camera obv) candy: dark chocolate...  tangible fear: death/loneliness/insignificance/failure ice cube shape: just. spheres method of long-distance travel: she usually just flies, but i could see her on a yacht...lounging about art style: eroticism... but fr faye buys a lot of abstract/Romantic art historical period: 60s/70s type of jewelry: she has a lot of very intricately crafted pendants. serpents and spiders mythological creature: a... goddess piece of stationery: scissors. for stabbing three emoji combination:   🐍🗡️💖 celestial body:  moon rom com archetype: apparently femme fatale falls into this category... lauritz manic pixie dreamgirl’d her and she killed him

he blinks at her and at the question he should have asked himself. there’s a spot on the floor where the tips of his doc martens touch and that’s where he keeps his gaze for the entirety of his answer. 

“i don’t know. i just had this one thing to do today.” he got dressed. he left his apartment. he commuted all the way here. he let other people stare at him on the train and for what? he won’t let it be for nothing, he won’t. “it’s… if i go back home now– it won’t mean anything.” 

suddenly he sits up, moving like a flock of spooked birds. “do you think it’s okay for us to know each others’ names? or is it– i don’t know, forbidden?”

Unfortunately, they’re in the same boat. Jack considers that to be quite a good point; good enough that she sits down a few chairs away from him. The gap’s intentional - maybe even familiar. Speaking already feels like a few steps too far in the wrong direction. Sitting right next to each other and breaking all kinds of unspoken therapist’s waiting room rules is just too much.

'I don’t know. I think it’s okay if we’re okay with it.’ 

Which begs the question of if she’s okay with it.

“Do you really think if someone better at memory-wiping than you could wipe all my memories, I would be a better person. Or a different person. Do you think all these things that happened made me like this. Or do you know I always was. Because I—was, you know, and I am. This.”

She flicks Bunny’s cheek once, twice. She taps the side of Bunny’s temple like she taps her own when she’s trying to make sense of all the voices in her head.

Being alone with her violent thoughts, her self-preservation (of which there is very little, and what’s there is very ugly), and her ghosts sounds incredible. Bunny being the last and therefore the first thing she sees or knows sounds like hell. 

“How did you get made, Bunny? What’s your excuse? For ruining my life.”

' Careful, I’m almost ready to start feeling sorry for you. ’

What’s important is that she doesn’t. Not now. Not anymore. Once upon a time, when the two of them were on better terms (good terms, even, though it feels impossible, now), she might have. Back when Spirit’s --- whatever the fuck this is --- wasn’t pointed in her direction.

Suddenly, she’s very tired of this. She catches Spirit’s wrist abruptly, deceptively strong despite how skinny her arms are. The grip is tight enough that it might leave red marks on her skin. She’ll let go if Spirit withdraws, tighten if she does anything to fight it in Bunny’s general direction.

it’s unclear how she got here (most likely, alex dropped her off in the night) but bonnie knows she’s in donna’s bed before she opens her eyes, before the weight on the mattress shifts and there’s a warm hand on her forehead, smoothing her hair, and then she’s curling in around her — she knows this house, this room, so well that she’s not even awake, not really, before speaking. 

“thanks, mom,” bonnie says. / @rekant

[send ☣ for something that is hard for my muse to say out loud to your muse]

donna makes soothing, hushing sounds, always quick to assume something’s wrong when she wakes to find a child in her bed. neither disturb the baby, sleeping soudly in his crib at her side, but she doesn’t dare speak any louder than a whisper.

she assumes it’s alex, at first. in her tired haze, the two girls mesh together to such an extent that even the voices sound the same. but bonnie hugs her, lets herself be held without wriggling free of her grip, and donna realises it’s bonnie.

‘ cold? me? ’

sometimes doesn’t quite cut it, for bunny. 

‘ more often than you’d think. ’  which might sound a little sad, if her tone wasn’t so light, if she didn’t turn it around with a bloody smile ( blood from her lip, blood from her nose, a combination of both, it doesn’t matter, she doesn’t know how to tell the difference - it all tastes the same once it’s on her teeth ).

the two of them share this moment in a gutter outside a nightclub; one of bunny’s least favourite, but most frequented rest stops.  

‘ a--- ’  her jaw drops, her brows crease. she dons the most comical expression of offense you’ve ever seen in your life.  ‘ i don’t need a backup plan. ’

the insinuation has her reeling  ---  anxious and furious all at once. it’s been days since she’s slept (or, if she’s dropped off at any point during this frenzy, it couldn’t have been for more than ten, twenty minutes at a time), clear by the way her hair’s falling out of its pins. her makeup’s all smudged, the concealer under her eyes has long since been rubbed away, leaving behind the dark circles it was supposed to cover up. 

“Bullshit.” Through a wall? Maybe she should have thought about erasing all the memories and goals that would make Spirit and Juniper’s lives a whole lot fucking easier. 

“—what?” Spirit’s staring at the leak below her bridge, not Bunny Greene. 

“I’m not going to waste time feeling bad for being made the way I am by somebody’s who’s too dead to fix it now. Like, whoops. Like, not my problem. Like—”

Two long steps and Spirit closes the space between them. She pokes Bunny’s cheek, wonders if she was made strong enough to dig holes into skin. “You’re way worse, you know.”

‘ i bet it feels really good pretending i am, huh? ’

she doesn’t budge. she should, but she doesn’t. 

her brows tick up, eyes widening for a split second or two, goading. do it again, do it again, kill me, kill me, kill me. maybe this is how everyone else feels about her, knowing they’re clearly not the worst person in the room. 

there’s this irritating little smile on her mouth, in her eyes.

bunny @rekant​ said: “   under   the   circumstances ,   i’ve   been   shockingly   nice  .   ” also bun // (accepting from here)

“If you tried to wipe me, baby. Nothing would happen.” 

“You’d use your power. You’d find a real-life hard drive in the way. A full-blown radio station. You might even get zapped, but I’m not sure.” 

If one were to fact check those statements or put them to the test, Spirit isn’t entirely sure what would happen. But she sounds very, very right. 

She also sounds sort of like Kill me, kill me, kill me. Angry Bunny hasn’t, angry anybody hasn’t, angry she’s the one who’s supposed to be tail-tucked-between-the-legs in this situation. 

“You’d fuck up your hands and you arm. And if you did anything? You’d have Harry to deal with, and you’d be gone. Just gone! I’d barely even know. I wouldn’t feel bad, though. Is that mean? I’m sorry.”

what. the fuck.

every time spirit opens her mouth alarm bells start ringing in bunny’s head. if she hadn’t taken half an ambien before walking through spirit’s broken door she might have started tearing her hair out by now. the restraint she shows is, in her opinion, fucking god-like.

‘ that’s not how it works. you could be wearing a helmet, or, like, standing on the other side of the wall, and it would still work. ’

she sounds about as sure of herself as spirit, and has roughly the same amount of information.