Worm Food

No, it wasn’t dumb at all—Kyle wanted to engage in normalcy, in being human once more when he was anything but. All Abra can do is watch him with her tender gaze, a wane hand moving to flutter briefly at his chest before a kiss is pressed to his jawline.

The pigeons are hurrying in soon—drawn in by the food and Abra’s warm energy, they flock at their ankles, a small trill of laughter escaping Abra before she peers towards Kyle.

”—Oh, they’re fond of us, aren’t they?” A kiss to his lovely mouth. He’s a good boy, honestly.

————; Hand moves to flutter over his chest and a kiss it pressed to his jawline; this should help ease his nerves-- and it does a bit, but with every passing small obstacle, he grows frustrated with himself. Oh, how does Abra not grow tired of him? Surely it must be exhausting to have someone weighing you down as he did her.

And then the pigeons are flocking back in-- dawn to Abra, he assumes, and Kyle watches as they peck at the seed at their feet. It elicits a trill of laughter from the flaxen-haired female and so he's simply happy it'd worked.

A kiss to his mouth; now he's smiling, happy, and fingers lace into hers to squeeze lightly onto her digits as confirmation.

angelusadfectu

Poor thing.

She imagines relearning motor skills is difficult. Frustrating, considering he more then likely once was able to function so well. Hmmm, she may as well keep him company.

”Birds can be rather——flighty.”Was that a pun?

#ohohoh well thank you #angelusadfectu

————; He's irritated--- watches as the birds scatter and take to the skies. He'd gone a ruined it all because he can't control his hands and the way his fingers click and creak. Like trying to operate machinery he just wasn't familiar with anymore.

Her words nearly bring his eyes to roll in his skull and he scatters the rest of the bird feed in frustration with a huff on his lips. Yes, he's pouting.

“—…Kyle, dear—”

And here comes Abra—he’s certainly causing quite the ruckus, isn’t he? Abra rests a hand at his wrist, offering the taller a tender little smile.

“Don’t curse, lovely—oh, you must scatter the feed at your feet! Very lightly, you see. If you throw it, you’ll make all of the pigeons cry!”

————; She comes over and rests a hand on his wrist, offering a smile, but he's already flustered. It's frustrating--- he'd once been so human and now he can't do simple tasks.

She tells him not to curse-- she doesn't like it. He shakes his head and digs pearly teeth hard into his bottom lip. Feeding bird is dumb, right? He's dumb for trying. For trying to do something so simple-- and it doesn't really feel dumb because it's something simple he wants to do. Just wants to be normal.

A sad sigh, he shakily allows some feed to fall at his feet to the ground.

#poor lil bab #open #ahs rp #kyle spencer rp

————; One---- two---- three---------

He's supposed to be feeding pigeons but he hasn't really mastered the art of throwing bird seed and manages to scare them off.

❝ D..... amn---- it. ❞

misguuidedghosts

#visage

⌠ ✧ ⌡—; There’s a dream in her eyes—stars pressed into sweet pools of amber, a sort of dulcet tenderness that came along with this single girl. Kyle Spencer. That was his name—they had brought him back from the dead, for whatever reason. Abra never understand one’s infatuation with the living—to rot into the earth was a beautiful thing. To nourish a tree was the right thing. Kyle had that stolen from him, didn’t he? { He’s watching you. Speak up—press your fairy dust into his eyes, too. } ”…I wasn’t sure if she was feeding you—” Abra whispers this, advancing closer upon her bare feet and stopping short a mere yard from Kyle. She sets the tray upon the bed as though in supplication—prayer—offering a tribute to her own holy deity. ”—Yours. May I sit with you for some time—?”

————; Yes, he'd belonged six feet under the dirt to decompose and waste away any opportunity he'd ever worked hard for. He'd worked hard his whole life to get somewhere, but he'd been wasted away and crushed under the weight of a bus. He held just as much promise now as he did when he was in pieces in a bag.

Yes, Kyle Spencer was his name, but he doesn't feel like Kyle.

❝ ------ Fffff------ood.... ❞

It sounds much better in his head.

When he says things in his head, they're smooth and they fall off his tongue without confusion-- without a barrier. They get lost on the way out; he has to fight them now. Oh well, she'll understand, won't she? Yes, he's hungry.

Kyle nods, blinking hard at her. Why had she cared about bringing him food at all? He's grateful--- would like her company because she hasn't tried to touch him and guide him; talks to him like he's a normal person.

comingtothetree-deactivated2014

"I got one life and I’m not wasting it."

#memoria #visage

⌠ ✧ ⌡—; Little Fawn never did truly fit in, did she? Straight out of Maryland, into a casket in Mississippi—She’s a witch, can’t y—see? Lit’l bii—tchs tryin’ to pull a fast one—— She had never meant to make the flowers spring from the earth. { She had only been craving some beauty. } Even here, she’s lonely. Lonely, lost—Headmistress no longer spoke much to her, since the accident. And so, here Abra is—silver tray in grip laden with a heaping pile of crepes, pots of jam, and two cups of steaming water. Abra peers in. Perhaps it was silly—wanting to befriend the undead boy. [ If Zoe doesn’t want him—then what’s the harm?] She makes herself known in moments. Bare feet, wane gown, tangled locks of flaxen. There’s nothing too pretty or unusual about her—if anything, she’s got a funny face.

————; He's alone to the quiet and the mice in the walls-- the spiders that chew on flies and the maggots that should have still been eating away at his flesh, but had been torn away from their host when he was re-gifted a heart beat.

It's quiet until the door opens and Kyle turns; cranes his neck to see.

Little blonde witch-- hadn't met her until now.

But he knows she's a witch because she's there at all.

❝ -------....... ❞

Eyes are wide and they watch her closely as she moves in through the door with a silver tray. The smell of food hits him and his insides squirm in a way that he recognizes as hunger-- he hadn't realized he was until he'd smelled it. Oh, but what does she want with a monster?

————; He's been sitting alone for a while now-- dark eyes flitting about the room and lips pursed. His static brain is full of thoughts, but his mouth is white noise and water blocked by logs-- his teeth don't allow the words that dance on his tongue.

A whine. It's quiet, meant for himself.

Eyes flicker down to a tiny four-leaf-clover tattoo'd onto the inside of his elbow. Not his elbow.

Another whine.

Eyes roll up in their skull and look away; tuck his mind away.

#wreathsofrue #closed

#outofwords

it’s an upsetting thing to think about, when you’d rather be left a corpse than be brought back to constant fight, and agony. She’d been through much, and as some would look down on Madison over the way she acts, egotistical Self centered, and harsh. They could never begin to think of the reason she’s like this in the first place. People don’t just do things, there’s always someone there pushing and pushing until you almost fall and you do something about it. You don’t let them push you over the edge, you toughen up. She toughened up, and look what happened? Death. darkness. Forever. She see’s suffer in his pupils, and they glare back at her when she tilts her head to look at him. Suppressing the hug a bit, but she needed to see. They looked like her eyes.

He’d been abused, and offered a safe haven; and was snatched.

And Kyle, she is so sorry. She’ll have to comfort him somehow, something between them is attracting them and her goal wasn’t to startle him, but she feels like he will be okay with a peck, just one little light press against his lips to show him how truly sorry she really is. And that no one could ever understand them, and they must help each other Show love, and affection. To build up a wall. To be tough together. Their together now. She’ll inch higher on her tip-toes and draw herself close to him. She’ll reach his height barely, but her arms coil around his stiff neck and she’ll kiss him. Just like that, her lips on his. pressure on his mouth, pushing with force. then she’ll let her feet hit the floors again and she’ll stare up at him, because she doesn’t know what she’s doing, really. But that feeling, the spark in her heart making it beat, and making her bloodflow through a once lifeless body. Was something she had to have again.

————; That was exactly what had happened. Death, darkness, forever---- and endless abyss of nothingness that head led to opened eyes and cotton throats, too hard to swallow. How could he ever be expected to choose this world over nothingness? Why had they brought him back a crooked and warped man without even thinking about what it could possibly mean for him? Zoe and Madison are wicked and cruel with dark, wiccan words and tongues that slice through flesh. Oh, but it was different now, wasn't it? She'd been through hell and back as well-- she understood and therefor, she could sympathize. She pulls away from the hug enough to meet his gaze. She's the same as him.

She'll decide to press careful lips onto his-- to spread the feeling through mouths and chaste motions. Could she hear the way his muddy heart jumped and cried for sanctuary in his broken chest? It's quick and she's pull apart as fast and she put them together-- meeting his gaze in the close proximity and not uttering a single word. And then his mouth is on hers; he decides this time and he initiates-- a need to feel close and to feel like someone's there. Like he is there at all and alive because he's been questioning his ability to be anything at all lately.

Madison will care., because she knows what it’s like. She’ll care because she’s your creator and she was responsible for you. Brought back through the precipice of life and she knows that he had been too. Madison knows, when all else fails, when there’s no one on her side to understand her. The misunderstood girl, with the high ego That there will be a beautiful boy in the basement; Locked in tight iron, and that she’d be able to come to him, and tell him things he’d never speak about Because he was unable to speak much. She’d been around him enough to know that if she spilled herself to him, and broke down and let it all go. He’d either forget, or he’d comfort her. Like he was doing now, struggling to let arms wrap around her because he’s shackled up.

How dare you zoe.

Maybe he’s not far gone, maybe there’s a little bit of Kyle still left in there somewhere. She’s willing to find out, and she’s willing to give herself to him. He knows emotion, he senses her dreary, and desperation. Isn’t that why he’s throwing arms around her and being held back like a dog on a leash? Madison will scoot back as he struggled, the tight pull of chains from cement walls. She’ll hush him, and accompany herself into him again. ❝She chained you up, and that’s not right. I’ll fix it, I promise I’ll fix it Kyle. We understand each other, I know you understand me. You’re not a monster to me. That’s how she’s treating you— not anymore. I won’t let her.❞ And with that, she’ll unshackle him, with the key she retrieved from Zoe’s coat pocket. The’ll unlock, and clash with the wall. He’s free.

————; There is a mutual understanding in the silence-- in the compass of their youth gone bad and the way that life had treated them unfairly-- dealt them cards that they were not prepared for. There is an understanding in the fact that he was pieces in a body bag and she was a man's decaying doll in the attic-- an understanding that elicits a whine from Kyle's parted lips and leaves him hanging his head to bury his face into her neck. He cannot touch her with bound hands-- cannot raise them enough, but this would suffice.

Oh God, why hadn't she just left him in the bag--- ????

A dead man has no pride and no dignity; no need to explain and no need to suffer. He'd walked up to the pearly gates and signed his name-- been granted his wings and his final look back. He'd forgiven his mother and left old dreams behind; promises to himself that he'd go far and that he'd study hard-- none of it mattered. Until he was torn from bright white light and brought back down to stitches and death. Oh, but that's not right, is it? No, there is nothing after death-- just black. Everything black; but nothingness is better than pain. When Madison undoes the chains, it takes him a moment to respond, before finally wrapping arms firm around her and pulling her tight to his body. No one understood but her---- and how could they possibly?

She just wants to feel something, anything. How far will she go to get it? Just as far enough into the basement as she can go. Bare feet down cold, ligneous stairway. Bony fingers that once held onto a cigarette prior to her movement are grasping around the rail. She’ll reach the bottom, and bound herself from the bottom step. Obvious she hasn’t thought much about her actions, Zoe could find her. She’d betrayed the little witch, but if you’ve ever met Madison Montgomery Betrayal wasn’t an uncommon thing with her. Not when it came to her wants and desires. Those always came first, and the world revolved around her, and once again she’ll feel this when she craved such a thing she shouldn’t, from a certain being Or fraken being.

He’ll understand her, he has to. He’s been through detachment, and death. it’s nauseating to process how truly awful their deaths were. A slit to the throat, and explosion inside of a bus crash. Severely dismembered. These thoughts transition into lust. A feeling she had for Kyle even before he passed. She’d locked a gaze or two with him, and once putting him together creating her perfect monster. She’ll get greedy and want it to. Zoe wasn’t having him to her advantage, so why not put it to good use? She didn’t pick those parts for nothing, he was built for her. She was a selfish girl now, and Kyle was going to be hers.

Make her feel something, anything. She’ll be dressed in a black dress, rather long to her mid-ankles. She’ll get nervous, and loosen the jet black sash tied around her throat. Covering the opening in her ivory tissue. She’ll turn a corner, and another. Then she’ll see colors of emerald and magenta mix to create a low lighting on the monster boy. So beautiful, and scruffy chained up in the dark. All alone.She knows how that feels. She’ll maneuver into him and place two hands on his chest, leaning into him almost like a hug. Something she needed. Her head burying into his chest.

————; Chains clink and tug-- he is a broken man with no more secrets and no more future. Secrets he would tell if he could speak more; and maybe he could, but he doesn't bother to try. And why would he? He'd better off dead than alive, anyway----- if he can even be considered alive anymore at all. The dark swallows him up and he stands alone in the dark of the room with lights that refract and bounce off his flesh; flesh that had livened and lost the gray-- the blues and the blacks and the maggots. He's alive now, but he doesn't feel it.

And when Madison Montgomery walks in-- he knows her and he recognizes her because she's not just a movie star anymore; someone with a drugged drink and legs pried apart by boys who'd gotten torn to pieces by fire and pavement. No, now she is one in the same to him. He'd watched roaches leave her belly and the tar of her skin crack to heat again-- to bear life and to flush. She presses hands to his chest and leans in against him. Compassion---- something he hasn't felt in God-only-knows how long. Why does she care?

He wants to wrap arms around her and hold her captive to him, but the chains strain against his arms. ❝ ----...... ❞

Madison still most likely smells of rot, and decomposition. Her body had told itself it was perishing. So her hair will become thin, and grey down. Her skin will ruin, and look like it’s been carved and deteriorate the incoming of food or water in her body. For now, she was a walking corpse. Stiff, and freezing cold. Skin so pale she was reflecting light. Her body, and internal organs were powering on one at a time. She felt so sick. Her body hadn’t came into the discernment that she was a living girl again.

Apparently it wasn’t well aware of magic

Or the possibility of coming back to life.

She’d forgotten tot hank Misty, Or Zoe for finding her lifeless self detached from her left arm Because, she had something to do, and that was to be here. With Kyle, in the moment where they both grieve with one another, and he’ll rest himself into her shoulder, and she’ll sobb into his chest and stutter, and speak so sloppily because she can’t pull herself together.

❝Everything’s just b black. on the other side it’s bla ck Kyle.❞ She’s hysterical a little girl needing comfort.

————; Yes, there's the distinct smell of death-- something that had been buried and dug up-- filled with worms and roaches; maggots that nibble at her veins. Something dead. She had been dead-- hadn't she? Dead and gone, Zoe had told him so and hadn't changed a word even when he'd broken down and threw things to shatter against walls.

No, this was not a joke-- this was very real.

❝ What's black---- what's------? ❞

She's sobbing and afraid; something is so terribly wrong and it shakes him to the very core-- makes him want to empty the contents of his stomach onto the cement below their knees.

Be strong for her.

But he can't and his eyes are brimming with tears because she'd been dead----- hadn't she? She'd been gone and he'd thought he'd cried all he could for a life time, but now she's there and it's opening wounds, fresh and oozing.

❝ Shh-- baby, everything's alright. ❞

Nothing is alright.