[fearstouch-a]

         THIS BLOG IS NOW AN ARCHIVE. you can find me at the blogs listed below.

              @statementend          /         @fearstouch          /          @dearestghost​

         mag.nus arc.hives multi     /   umbre.lla aca.demy oc     /     multi fandom multi

[fearstouch-a]

this blog is now officially an archive.

[fearstouch-a]

skyaches​     /     dark one

Over two thousand years in this world had taught him much , not least of all loneliness. The distance time has put between him and the rest of the world is not something many understood.  There were few other immortals he knew , though he was certainly the most ancient of them all. None would know the way his own immortality weighs more heavily than if he were bearing the world upon his shoulders. None could fathom how pure darkness sits at his center and corrodes like so much metal. Sometimes Zoso thinks his heart is as dead and gone as he should have been millennia ago.

But then sometimes he remembers its existence. He hadn’t questioned when she took her tea to the sitting room instead of the kitchen. The Dark One had simply taken his cup and followed her lead. They settled quite easily into the couch , side by side , and remained in silence. He takes no notice of the familiar aching that is tugging at her being. Perhaps she is good at hiding it and he is not meant to see or perhaps he is numb ( though probably a mixture of both ). Either way , the sensation is missed until Eirwen ghosts her hand over his and the feeling catches like an ember to a dry pine forest.

When you hold a funeral for what is dead , you bury it in the ground with other dead things. In moments like this , it feels as though he’s buried his heart next to her root vegetables in the garden where she tends to all its living things with care. He’s used to fading , has been fading for a very long time. But his fingers reach and curl around hers , like claws wrapping around slender bits of ivory , and he feels more solid than he has in quite a long time.

                  there is a garden beyond these walls. wild and lush and somehow brought to heel under the hand of the ever patient gardener. the self assigned caretaker of this land. to each their own task to fill these empty years. they are both imprisoned, him by a curse, and her by a blessing. both with their breastbones pressed to the sharpened sword of fate, waiting for someone to say when. for the bell to ring out and say that they are done. both have made choices, for better, for worse. they remain. they could sit here for hours, days, weeks without taking a single breath between them. without moving a mere inch. she might feel contentment in that but the feeling is so far gone she isn’t sure if she remembers what that feels like. if it’s anything like sitting on this couch she can’t remember recieving and having her hand held by the only person who it seems who might feel it. the era that seemed endless dying faster than they are. it might be a century away, or it might never come, but she can feel it. in the earth and in the air. the signs that say they are meant to no longer be here. the less than gentle encouragements to move on by a land that no longer desires them, but eirwen has long since accepted that desire is fleeting. valued by the young, and those who still view time as a coherent string to be followed and not as a vast uncaring ocean. she does not need to be desired.

                    ❛  FIFTEEN YEARS IS A LONG TIME ,  DARK ONE.   ❜     except that isn’t not long at all. not for them. it is a single grain of sand suspended in the hourglass. they are the sand that has embedded itself into the cracks in the glass, unmoving and yet trapped by it all the same. she does not say more than that, nor does she draw her hand away. lets the words ring out, and be carried away on the summer wind. she treats him much the same way as the ivy on the walls outside, invasive and corrosive and beautiful all the same, tending to them with care despite their destructive habits, building things for them to grow upon, knowing in the end they will destroy everything that they touch. nothing is meant to last, not the way that they have. how many kings has she seen fall ? how many names erased from history that the dark one beside her personally erased all trace of ? she does not ask, for she does not know the names of those whose blood have watered her soil.

[fearstouch-a]

                    @skyaches​​​      /     because fey puts up with way too much from me.

                    it opens like a wound. the loneliness that comes with safety, with living on past the natural expiration, as all things do within this bounds of this sanctuary, a self imposed prison. fifteen years is the blink of an eye, unless you’re waiting for something.   (  for someone.  )    the ache that is not soothed by the fleeting conversation of dull eyed strangers who still believe their quests for glory will end differently for their hearts are true and their missions just. she doesn’t bother to correct them any longer, only grins and bears it until they carry on. she buries what they leave behind in the garden if she’s feeling kind, leaves if for the crows and the stream if she isn’t, and she feels less so these days. more restless.

                    but not with his presence. there is something soothing in the silence as they sit, not far from each other. no table between them, but they do not face each other, taking their tea on the couch. there is no excuse for the shift in ritual, no reason, no spoken language to prompt it beyond their usual exchange    (    can she call it usual when it has been 15 years since they last saw each other ?    )    in which she offers him tea. but there is an ache, a quiet unspoken thing that curls in her gut and swells. it gorges itself on this silence. on the warm air that passes through the open window and lingers. on the way her hand moves of its own accord to traverse the empty space to gently rest over his, even as she does not turn to him. she does not speak, does not even spare a glance, merely focuses on the wall ahead of her as she quietly drinks her tea and waits for this presence to fade. it has to fade. 

[fearstouch-a]

boyancient​     /     five hargreeves.

What did he expect her reaction to be? He didn’t stop to think about it. Shock, probably. Anger. Grief. Something that burst through the even surface and broke the haze of perceived apathy. Something red and liquid hot and searing. Did he expect to see through the mask now that he knew what caused it? No. This was just the beginning. Knowing and knowing weren’t the same thing.

And Em wasn’t like him. He was the one who felt loudly and relentlessly. His anger and his grief in display one way or the other, a burst of fire and blood and rage and destruction. Impossible to ignore. Impossible to miss. They both cared — too much — and both hid it well. When she fell to her knees, he followed her to the ground more sedately and cautiously. Watched. Reached out with a hand that he placed over her covered shoulder. And then she spoke.

It was probably the wrong time to laugh. But he did — the concern for his well-being caught him off guard for being so misplaced. ❛ I’m perfectly fine,❜ he said with a wry grin. ❛They’re not — the Priest, your mom, the people in that church — they’re all dead. I killed them. For what they did to you.❜ A deep breath. Clenched teeth. The silence hung heavy. He tried to catch her eye before he spoke again. ❛I’m sorry,❜ he said again. Not for what he did — he’d kill them all again if he could, and again, and again, and again. But. ❛I know it doesn’t help. I can’t undo what they did to you. This is just vengeance … but I couldn’t do nothing.❜ The thought itself was impossible to swallow. Doing nothing was worse than making a mistake. ❛Someone had to make them pay.❜

❛… Are you okay?❜ He asked then, pushing the anger back enough to focus on the present.

                    i killed them for what they did to you. the guilt is oceanic. immense and endless and crushing as she tries to grapple with the reality of the situation. she wants to tell him that he shouldn’t have done that, that this no gift it’s a curse and she can feel them still. a phantom hand gripping her by the throat tighter and tighter---------- she can’t breathe.  (  drowning all over again.  )

                   ❛  I’M FiNE.  ❜     she says it quietly, but there is no conviction behind it. she can’t even manage the act of pretending to be fine, an act she has never allowed to crumble so thoroughly, the light in her eyes dim and distant. a candle in a far off window.     ❛  i’m fine.  i’m fine, i’m fine, i’m----------  ❜

                    repeating it doesn’t bring it into fact, and the foundation of her normalcy is cracking apart. her breathing keeps catching as she tries to fight down the intense groundswell of panic. when the monsters in the closet, under the bed, in the water are dead, what then ? are they merely gone or are their ghosts left untethered to run rampant. the phantom hand multiplies. she can feel them everywhere.

                    emilie is anything but fine, and it’s showing where the mask is fracturing and falling apart as she breaks down on the floor of her home. PATHETIC. she can hear the echoes of her mother’s voice in ear. SINNER. father thomas in chorus. WORTHLESS. paritioners and punishers alike and she tries to pull further into herself, to shield from the horrors of the past, that bleed into the present.

                    ❛  …i’m....  ❜     she can barely catch her breath as her hands curl into fists, the nails carving crescent moons into her palms as she tries to hold steady. she wants to say she’s fine, to tell five not to worry. to say thank you. to say fuck you. to say that the trauma is meaningless. that the suffering is long since over.     ❛ ...i’m not okay.  ❜

[fearstouch-a]

let  me  psychoanalyze  you but  also  be  nice  .

  you  push  everyone  away.  it's not that you don't appreciate help, it just feels so wrong. you still have a hard time saying 'i love you' back. but you don't ever have to. tell people you love them by remembering little things they tell you. paying for their lunch the next time you go out. telling them you saw a movie and it reminded you of them. sometimes it's hard to remember that just because you've felt unloved before, it doesn't mean you're unloved now. I love you :-)

tagged by: @skyaches

[fearstouch-a]

boyancient​     /     five  hargreeves.

❛ I haven’t, ❜ he said, shook his head, numb still and too focused to think about Klaus of all people and what he might’ve gotten himself into now — later. One fucked up family member at a time. And this was important, this mattered more. He had to be the one to tell her. To tell her that he knew, and what he did with that knowledge, and — and —

He slipped past her and into the house, shaking his head slowly. Worried. She was worried about him. It wasn’t surprising, wasn’t she always the one who worried and fretted and cared? Too much, and before he found it annoying and an imposition but now he knew better. At least he hoped he did. He turned to look at her directly. Paused for a moment. ❛ I’m sorry, ❜ he said. ❛ I didn’t mean to worry you. I should’ve called to let you know I was fine. ❜ They were always on his case about it, about calling and letting them know if he was alive or fucking dead, and their worry never registered as something real. Hardly real enough for him to step out of his comfort zone and let anyone know he was alive before he went off grid. ❛ I can’t promise you I’ll call next time, but I promise you I’ll try. ❜

❛ I was in Arkaley, ❜ he said. ❛ I tracked it down after you and Diego came back. I wanted to know what happened. ❜ Curiosity or paranoia? Maybe both. Which one eclipsed the other, he didn’t know. ❛ I’ll admit I got a lot more than I bargained for. ❜ An understatement, but now that he knew he didn’t wish he stayed ignorant. He wished he knew before. Earlier. He wished it never happened.

❛ I know what they did to you, ❜ he said. He walked up to her as he spoke, steps slow and tired, but his voice held back a simmering fire and rage. Not at her. Not now, not ever again. ❛ I know what you survived in there. What they said and did and why. I talked to the Priest and your mom. ❜ He gestured for her to lift her hand palm up, and pulled out a chain with a cross and ring looped through it. He dangled the chain between them. An offering. A confession? ❛ I really hope you weren’t emotionally attached to any of them, because they’re all dead now. ❜

                              when five apologizes, it’s a warning bell. whatever has happened, it can’t be good. she suddenly wants him to look anywhere else. she wants to be anywhere but here, away from that gaze, somewhere she can’t hear what’s going to come out of his mouth but she is frozen. not a single external cue to allow him to see the internal shift, she’s gotten quite good at this over time but she doesn’t know how long she can hold onto this. it’s not as if she can walk away and it’s hard to focus on what exactly he says next, like she’s listening through a haze of static until---------- i was in arkaley.

                    the instinct to apologize is first, burning on the tongue and freezing in the blood like her veins had been filled with liquid nitrogen. she cannot look away as her mouth opens but no sound comes out. she is paralyzed, terrified of that which must be coming. the inevitability that the anger will come, that now he surely must see the monster lurks deep within her,  the same way the parish had always been able to. a necessary evil to eliminate the threat. she wants to tell him ( beg him, really ) to make it quick. painless is probably too much to ask.

                     i know what you survived in there.     she can feel the pounding of her heart in every inch of her skin, the deafening quiet between beats that feels shorter and shorter still, her voice still a hostage held between her teeth. the mouth of a beast. the sickening swell of deadly fear that refuses to be quelled as he approaches, and the palm that is raised is trembling, she can’t help it until he produces the cross and the ring and she can’t remember how to breathe. they’re all dead and she doesn’t know how to feel. how to move. she blinks, and she is in motion, falling as her legs give way beneath her, like a puppet whose string was cut.

                   she doesn’t feel the the impact when she hits the ground, seated and staring ahead, her thoughts a thousand miles away as she tries to process the maelstorm of emotion ripping through her even as she seems distant and placid. her eyes shut for a moment, and a sharp inhale precedes her finally managing to speak, tone distant and monotone.     ❛  ...ARE YOU OKAY ?  ❜

[howling-suggestions]

If i was going to end up alone, it would have been better to be alone from the beginning. Now i just hurt.

[loumargi]

Maria Magdalena in Meditazione - Jusepe de Ribera, 1623.

[amouthfulloflove]

I look for hope in the dirt under fingernails, in the blood of a bitten tongue.

I Walk Through, E. Kristin Anderson (via amouthfulloflove)

[crumbargento]

Sarah Bolger in

‘A Good Woman Is Hard To Find’ - Abner Pastoll - 2020 - UK/Belgium

[fearstouch-a]

ou.at tag drop.

V. MERCY AS A WEAPON ¸ AS A WOUND          ✂︎ ━━  all wounds stop bleeding if you can only suffer the wait ¸

[fearstouch-a]

@skyaches​

          the soil at times feels as if it’s been permanently embedded beneath her fingernails, the long toils of a carefully cultivated garden. the scent of fresh herbs permeates the air, lingers like a long held perfume. this is the safe warm place, not that many would expect such from eden. their snide remarks aren’t meant to be heard, but they come back all the same. so do the rumors. it’s why she leaves the rifle propped up against the garden gate and mace in her work belt. her sleeves are rolled high as she works the earth, looking up only briefly from the task at hand. visitors aren’t common, but not entirely unheard of.     ❛  are you here for medicine, or to cause trouble ? this land is a safe haven, and i won’t have anyone coming here to create problems.  ❜

[fearstouch-a]

@skyaches​

                    she almost hadn’t made it. the light of dawn only just illuminating the field, she’s lucky klaus knew the location this foolishness was taking place in, and luckier still she managed to pry it out of him despite the sheer impropriety of a lady attending such a ghastly affair. she had to put an end to it, though she hadn’t meant to ride directly into the gunfire. at least no one had been hurt, aside from what’s likely to be mild soreness from the fall. she’ll need to bribe one of the maids to clean the dress and cloak of the mild mess made to ensure mr. hargreeves remains in the dark ( or lord forbid, another of her siblings learn of this unfortunate situation. )

                    ❛  I UNDERSTAND THAT YOU BELIEVE YOU ARE DEFENDING MY HONOUR----------  ❜          it’s a struggle to keep her voice level as she hasn’t completely caught her breath from the exhilarating ride, but she manages passably so. standing as tall as she can manage to seem more firm in her stance. a young woman in a field with men holding dueling pistols, a scandal in the making should anyone know of it, though it is not the scandal she fears in the present moment.     ❛  ----------but i require a word with his grace, the duke, before you set about trying to kill each other in my name.  ❜

                  she looks to him, briefly, and her resolve trembles only slightly. this is not for her honour alone, and it steadies her spine.     ❛  if only you will oblige me, your grace.  ❜

[fearstouch-a]

bridgerton au tag feat. @skyaches

V. THE ALL CONSUMING ACT          ✂︎ ━━  what is it about intimacy that makes it so very disturbing ?

[fearstouch-a]

                                  you lived,                you died,                you lived again.

  emilie  breck.  psychometric  umbrella  academy  original  character.  canonized  by  jab.                                         ( formerly psychometrictm & appolyonic )

     you   stumble   into   prophecy   as   you   search   for   meaning   in   your   suffering.                                         sometimes      suffering      is      simply      without     cause.

                                                                              ( terrifying ,  isn’t   it ? )

          ( credits. )

[holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe]

What is it about intimacy that makes it so very disturbing?

Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit, Jeanette Winterson (via decreation)