#salvezza verse

garetwrites:

"Shh, mi sento la stessa, Mamma. ” The younger Ivashkov placed a kiss on his mother’s forehead. If he could only take back his disobedience when they’ve caused all that havoc in Mexico, he would. It was undeniable that it will be one of the most unforgettable experiences he’s had, and he would certainly applaud his sister’s manner of handling the situation with pride, but it ached him to see that his mother was hurt by what they’ve done — even though she wouldn’t speak of it. She never does, anyway.

"I’m really sorry for all the troubles we’ve caused, perdonami… I’ll make it up to you. How about I make sure Clara stays away from the kitchen tonight, and I make us an awesome dinner?”

Sydney couldn't help but give a small smile at her son's words, placing her hand on his cheek. It wasn't much disappointment that she felt. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, when she'd decided to become a mother to her children she'd always known there was a careless streak they'd have inherited, on some level, from both their parents. But she'd always assumed the careless streak was one that ran strong in her daughter - and definitely not something that would put them in danger. Despite the lies and the sneaking around, her children were both responsible enough to keep themselves alive. What had happened had been entirely out of their hands and that is what terrified her. That after all these years, her enemies were still out there and they'd found yet another weakness to exploit.

"Oh, mio bambino, you don't have to make up for anything. Just promise - promise me - that next time you both decide to have some fun, it'll be an honest one. You're both adults. Your father and I may hate to see you grow up, but you both are adults. We just want you to be able to tell us what you're doing so that we know what to do if you need us to step in. You don't have to compensate for anything," she said, and then smiled a bit more. "Although the idea of an awesome dinner sounds very tempting."

garetwrites:

"That’s my line.” Adrian carefully grazed her cheek with his fingertips, then placed a soft kiss on her lips. Thankfully, Clara was contented to sleep in Rowena’s room for the night, and so he finally had a chance for an intimate moment with his wife. Wife. Yes.For years, it had been a long shot — planned out using implausible escape plans, hindered side by side with painful struggles and technically war of societies, filled with chase and hiding, twisted minds and marred hearts —- and funny how the kid came in before this wonderful union — but it’s alright. He sighed blissfully. “All is well now.” He grinned, his eyes still wide, wondering how on earth could his body contain such humongous amount of happiness. “How about we commence this time-constrained operation called our honeymoon?”

"Well, what's yours is mine now," she cheekily replied, leaning her head back on the pillow to take a better look at him. Her senses were live with everything around her, and the happiness bursting inside her chest. She could notice everything around them - the smell of the lake water, the fluttering of the curtains above them, the mustiness in the air. If she didn't know any better, it was almost as if she was pregnant with their little dhampir again. But that was not the case - and she couldn't have asked for a better reason to be this hypersensitive. "Operation?" she chuckled. "You make it sound like a mission. What are you planning to accomplish, Mr. Ivashkov?"

garetwrites:

"As an expert of having voices in one’s head, I’m telling you now, they are not real. I’m the crazy one, remember?” He said lightly, even though it ached him to see her like this. She didn’t need to know about his casual conversations with Tatiana, but he couldn’t think of another way to gear her back to reality.”However, I am here, and I am real. So I wanted you to focus on my voice instead, do you understand me, Sage?”

"It's not about the voices," she mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut and slapping her palms over her ears. Her head lowered, burying itself between the knees she'd pulled up to her chest. "It's their words. Their lessons. I can't stop listening even if I stop hearing. They won't leave me alone. They'll never leave me alone. Don't you get it?" she demanded, grabbing the collar of his shirt, hands shaking and eyes wide, almost delirious. "We can't run from them. We're three thousand miles away and they're still inside my head."

garetwrites:

"I already told you, Sage. I still enjoy your company. You do whatever the fuck I want, take great pleasure when you resist and fail… honestly, keep it up, that’s freaking hot.” Blood smothered lips spoke huskily against her ear, “You should be delighted that I’m keeping you alive.” Then he moved a fraction away and feigned a pout while gently stroking her tattooed cheek. “If you leave me, I’ll be lonely. You don’t want me to be lonely, do you?”

It took every ounce of her strength to not quiver like a leaf in the wind, her head tilting a fraction away from his. She refused to give into it - the tantalizing feeling of him so close to her that felt so wrong and right at the same time. "I don't -" she started and stumbled on her words. Clearing her throat, she repeated herself. "I don't care if you're lonely or not. It's not compassion that is keeping me here. It's compulsion. If I could leave, I would. But I can't."

straniul

“Coffee?” Adrian asks, tapping Sydney on the shoulder. She’s so busy staring at the clouds outside the window that she jumps when he touches her. The air hostess simply suppresses the urge to roll her eyes and announces that she’ll be around in case they need anything else.

“Someone’s jumpy,” Adrian says, the moment she’s gone to attend to other passengers.

“Just a little jittery,” Sydney admits. “Haven’t flown in a while.”

“And since when does flying intimidate you?”

She sighs and looks down. Her fingers are clasped tightly in her lap and her knuckles almost look white.

“Hey,” Adrian asks again, this time a hint of worry in his voice. He reaches over to unhook her hands and hold one of them. “What’s on your mind?”

Sydney doesn’t say anything. Instead, she turns to look at the seat between them. Clara is fast asleep - finally - secured in the child seat. Her blonde-brown curls are a mess, tiny hairs fluttering with every little breath. Sydney automatically tucks back her hair, off her face, and watches their daughter fidget for a minute before she goes back to laying still.

“You’re worried about her? Don’t worry - I told you. My mom loves her even though she won’t admit it in words. And Dad…well…Daddy Dearest doesn’t know what he’s in for with this little tornado coming his way.”

“It’s not that,” Sydney finally says, looking up to meet his worried eyes. “I can’t help but think that the last time we went to America…well.”

She doesn’t say the words but they both think it. The last trip to America, two years ago, when Clara was born. A beautiful day that turned into a nightmarish ordeal because it came around much earlier than expected. 

“The last time we went to America, we came back with her. And if that’s not the best thing to happen to us, then I don’t know what is,” Adrian says after a minute, reaching over to gently poke Clara’s nose without waking her up. 

“You know that’s not what -”

“I know exactly what you mean, Sage. Stop worrying that over thinking head of yours. It’s going to be fun. We’re going to Coachella. Do you know how long I’ve waited to take you to a music festival?”

“Technically, Rowena and Marcus are taking us -”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to. Either way, you need a good introduction to music.”

“Hey!” Sydney whispers, “I have fine taste in music.”

“You need better taste in music. And this will be amazing.”

“What music festival stories are you not telling me, Mr. Steele?” Sydney asks, faking a frown. In reality, she’s already feeling a little bit lighter inside at the prospect of a proper family vacation. Technically, they came back from their honeymoon not too long ago but a trip with the entire family excites her. She rarely had those as a child, unless there was work experience involved.

“Oh, you have no idea. This one time, I woke up with a coconut hat, lying on a pool floater, at the edge of a pond.”

straniul

[scars cw]

♎ your muse tracing one of my muse’s scars

Her heart is racing, but he’s got his arms wrapped around her and there’s soft music playing in the background. The lyrics overwhelm her senses, echoing in her ears and reminding her of his voice.

Be still and know, that I’m with you. Be still and know, that I am here.

She lets out a breath through her lips and his arms tighten, a kiss pressed to her temple. She leans back into his chest, the hot water shifting slightly along with them. He’d suggested bubble bath solution, just to take her mind off the fact that they were in a tub. But she’d vehemently refused. The idea of feeling water but not seeing it, terrified her. She needed to keep eye contact with it at all times.

His chin is resting on her shoulder, his one hand lazily rubbing circles over her knee with a loofah. She can feel his other finger absentmindedly running over her shoulder, her collar and she flinches when she feels it brush across one of the many raised bumps there. It’s as if he suddenly realizes what he’s doing, but doesn’t necessarily stop.

For a moment, she feels terribly self conscious, reminded of how they got there. The pain. The terror. The screaming.

“Sometimes,” he whispers in her ear. “I keep thinking I got there too late. That I couldn’t protect you. That I couldn’t save you, or stop you from getting hurt in the first place. And it hurts like mad. It hurts, all the time, knowing that this happened.”

She closes her eyes, leaning into his words and his touch, using it to ground herself, to stop herself from being catapulted into the past.

“But then I remember what my aunt told me this one time when I healed her and then felt bad about her getting hurt,” he continues. “She told me that even if she has a scar forever, it’s a reminder that she healed. You’re with me and I’m never letting you go again. You went through hell…and you made it out.”

That’s the last time Sydney ever feels ashamed of them; the first time she thinks of them as proof of survival. 

♏ my muse tracing a scar of your muse’s

She doesn’t realize he’s awake until he stirs and attempts to turn away from her. It’s two in the morning and they’re lying in bed, filtered moonlight making streaks through the blinds. They fall across his naked chest, the one her head rests upon, and her hand is across his ribs. Her thumb continues to rub circles over the circular scar right under them, beside his sternum, the crackles around it where his skin tore.

“Why do you do that?” he asks suddenly. She jumps, looking up. He pushes away her hand and turns over, facing his back to her.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, keeping her voice low, not removing her arm from around him.

“I know you do that a lot. Keep touching the scar. Why? Doesn’t it remind you of what I was? Of what they had to do to stop me?”

She can still picture it in her head - the door splintering, her screams, the guardians rushing in, her sobs, followed by his. 

cicerosxphilosophy

If there’s anybody who can understand, Sydney knows it’s Carly. They both sit, hand in hand, on the edge of the bed. It’s been only a day since she’s come to Italy and Sydney still has not asked how, or why she’s here. Those are answers she can ask later. What matters is she is here now, and Sydney is one more step away from being isolated.

All monsters are human.

The words are a whisper, and Sydney can’t help but wonder if Carly is not there with her right now - if she’s stuck in another night when she lost everything to someone whom she dared to trust. 

Sydney takes a deep breath when she realizes she isn’t there right now, either. She’s stuck in another night when she lost everything to someone she dared to trust, too. The only difference is that they both lost things very different but equally important to either of them.

When she closes her eyes, she doesn’t have it in her to will the images away - the blinding fury of blood, and water, and screams, and fangs, and golden lilies glinting in the artificial light. All she can do is squeeze her sister’s hand in solidarity, and whisper her own response.

cicerosxphilosophy

✪ my muse seeing the ghost of your muse

There is a moment of complete silence as Sydney stands in front of the mirror. It is not the reflection of herself that shocks her. It’s no different than what she sees everyday. It’s the slight warping of air behind her that has her freezing in fright. She whips around so fast she feels a slight pop in her neck, only to come face to face with a very similar, familiar blonde in front of her. This time, it isn’t a reflection.

“Hello, baby sis,” the reflection smiles. Not reflection, Sydney realizes. Ghost. An actual, tangible ghost. She reaches out to let her fingers brush Carly’s hair - they go through the thicker, colder air, sending goosebumps up her arm.

“Carly,” Sydney whispers, eyes wide in both terror and awe. In Carly’s eyes remain a thousand emotions - love, tenderness, amusement and accusation. The older girl’s ghost simply smiles, holding out her arms. Sydney immediately falls into them, the cold wrapping around her - but air can’t be hugged, and she falls on the ground, hugging herself tighter and tighter, pretending it’s her sister.

When she opens her eyes, she’s alone, fingers clutching her own torso. As if she’s been alone all along. The words come back die on her lips as she closes her eyes once more.

❢ my muse has lost their memory, and at the sight of your muse starts to remember things.

There is a pounding headache that throbs behind her eyebrow as she walks down the familiar hallways of the building. The name on the perfect, white picket letterbox says ‘Sage’. She knows that is her name, but surely this is not her home. If this was her home, she would remember it. It’s just an old building. The insides of it have no signs of laughter or fun or anything a family is supposed to be. Everything is too composed, to sterile, too sharp and cold. 

There are footsteps that come thundering down the stairs and she looks up as an older girl stops in the landing. She has blonde hair and brown eyes just like hers - identical. She has wide eyes, confused but happy. 

“Syd? What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be with Dad?”

None of these words seem familiar to her, and Sydney squints, taking a step back. 

“I’m sorry - I think I’m in the wrong house.”

“What?” the older girl laughs, as if Sydney is joking. “Hilarious. I was going to get some smoothies. Want to come? Tell me all about the work he asked you to do?”

“I don’t think you understand,” Sydney continues, as the girl slowly makes her way down the stairs and stands in front of her. The headache pounds harder, and Sydney rubs her fingers across the bridge of her nose.

The older girl frowns, putting a hand on Sydney’s shoulder.

“You okay?”

It’s a random flash behind her eyelids - laughter, two girls braiding their flaxen hair, one small girl and a boy, bubbles being blow and one name, one name. Carly.

“Carly?” she asks, tentatively, though in her heart she knows she’s right. “Am I home?”

“Yeah, kid,” Carly replies, still frowning, now worried. “Let’s get you upstairs. You’re home.”

{{ ooc - i am headcanoning this as Sydney being befuddled and confused after their Dad removes Marcus from their memories - and one by one, all the sisters went through the same thing and later brushed it off as lightheadedness or a migraine }}

〰 our muses are at the beach together

( mentions of robinhoodfinch , straniul and artandsass )

“Do you think I’ll stop being scared of it?” Sydney asks, her arms crossed over her body. She’s sitting under a giant umbrella, sunglasses over her eyes and a book on her stomach. In the distance, she eyes the crashing waves that send a wave of terror crawling in the pit of her stomach. In hindsight, getting married on a beach was the not the best idea for her. But she doesn’t regret it - because she’s got the people that count, she’s living in Italy for goodness sake, she’s got her daughter and she’s got Adrian. Who, as of yesterday, is now her husband. The word sounds amazing, even in her mind. Besides, it’s a beautiful place which now holds beautiful memories. She won’t let them ruin it for her.

“Not unless you face it,” Carly replies from beside her. She’s busy rubbing sunscreen on her legs, nose ring glinting in the light. “I mean, I get it. But if you seriously want to get over it, then you have to face it. Now, I’m not saying that you should take a high dive into the Pacific. But ease into it. And if you fail, then you have nothing to be ashamed of. We all understand.”

“I know, I know,” Sydney says, reaching for her mocktail and taking a deep sip. “But look at them. They seem to be having fun.“ 

Both the girls turn to look. There’s a half fallen sandcastle that the waves are barely touching. Adrian kneels beside it, a knocked over bucket next to him and a spade in his hands. Rowena stands over them, hands on her hips, light glinting off her shades. They both seem to be instructing Clara on how to properly sculpt a figurine, both artists at work. The two year old student in question squints at them, completely blank, scratching her hair. Suddenly, her eyes find something more interesting than her father and aunt and she runs off after it. Both Adrian and Rowena run after her. A wave crashes closer and Sydney sits up, heart in her throat. But the two adults scoop up the toddler, the wave dying around their ankles - all three of them burst into laughter. 

"What are you two up to?” comes a deeper voice from behind them. Carly and Sydney turn around to see Marcus, who is staring at them with his eyebrows raised.

“Well, I was going to suggest we get some gelato,” Carly says, standing up and grabbing her wallet and phone. Both the siblings turn to Sydney. She takes a minute to let the thoughts of the water leave her head before she stands up and grabs her own wallet. She looks at both of the other blondes with a sly smile.

“Last one to the ice cream stand helps clean the garage.”

It’s an inside joke - something they used to do as kids. Little races they used to have, because as much as they adored working with the cars and their Mom, they hated cleaning up afterwards.

Marcus and Carly’s eyes widen as they stare at Sydney. There is a moment of silence. Then all three of them take off, sprinting in the direction of the boardwalk, their laughter drowning out the sound of the sea.

✆ your muse's name, ringtone, and icon in the muse’s phone

Carly