Let Light In.

( Everything dies. )

[luminarot]

EVERYTHING DIES.

an independent, private, extremely selective and sporadic / low-activity horror multi-muse featuring original characters and lore. iconless & operates on a queue. haunted by hailey (she/they, 27) since December 2023. minors and non-roleplay blogs DNI. ©

Affiliated with @mehrcedita , @princetorn , @wolfclad , @coastercrushed , @frieddiscjockey , @deadph0bic , & @hangtenn .

rules // muses // prompts // opens

[notmorbid]

the seas.

dialogue prompts from the seas: a novel by samantha hunt.

the roads only go south from here.

there's no privacy in this town.

we live here because we hate the rest of you.

we're getting out of here. let's go.

fuck the dry land. i'm a mermaid.

how come i don't know you?

love is a broken down old car by the side of the road. sometimes you have to rig a fan belt or an alternator with what you've got.

i wanted them to know you were mine, even if it wasn't true.

the older i get, the vaguer things become.

you make me feel like a pony.

sadness can be like a political cause, almost, or a religion. or a drug habit.

don't forget: the ocean is full of everything, except mercy.

nudity is more painful to me than loneliness.

you're young. you should travel. meet people. see the world.

i don't really like people, i think.

drinking helps us continue living in remote places. there's no one to tell us how swallowed we are.

have you ever thought your life was an experiment?

i'm afraid you'll disappear if i blink.

please don't be afraid of me.

what's making you so sad?

what you've done is quite serious.

you should be dead. it's a miracle.

i could almost fall asleep down here.

just don't get stuck here like i did.

isn't it after your bedtime?

don't forgive me. i wouldn't, if i were you.

will you get out of the car, please?

you're spooky.

you can see me?

you can't kill what's already dead.

you are the only warm thing to me.

only mothers can really know what being scared is like.

what are you in for?

tell me your story. i've heard all the others.

love can be like a well: steep sides, with no way out.

i don't know what to believe, just now.

i've read enough books to know that's not how it ends.

[rohgue]

it went quiet on her end, too. just for a moment. she tapped the stereo a couple times, but the voice returned to her before she could rise to rush for a change of batteries. not much of the story he was selling made sense to rogue, but the longer he went on, the more his 'total ghost' theory was starting to... click. answer as it might've been, she wouldn't call it good news.

❝ right, right, ❞ she followed along, a breathy laugh in response to his reaction — how crazy would that be, right? if he was stuck in her room for infinity? definitely not tinged with too much relief. ❝ uh — you got a name, caller? ❞ rogue added, realizing she hadn't asked. gave her more time to ponder, too, and wipe the metaphorical sweat from her brow.

because whether mutant or ghost, she couldn't figure how no one had noticed someone lingering for however long her guest had been. and without articulating why, she had reason to suspect it'd been a long time. not one of the fine-tuned kids, not cerebro? unless charles was sitting on something of a mighty long haul. wouldn't be the first time, couldn't be the last.

[luminarot]

There's a grin that won't leave the ghost's face now, good nature shining from beyond the veil; when Rogue laughs with poorly masked relief, the lights on the radio glow just a little brighter, like all that warmth and joy is overflowing. It's been so long since he laughed with someone. If Patrick could touch the ground like he used to, he'd be rocking back and forth on his heels.

(He still does, just a little, but it mostly feels like floating. )

"Oh, yeah, I've got a bunch!" he answers, perking up at the thought of being known. ( Maybe if someone else says his name, he won't feel so detached; just to make sure, he leans into the static as he lists each one on his palm. "Robin, Pat, Artie, Patch, Patty... I groove with all kinds of monikers, man. Call me whatever."

As long as she keeps calling, he won't mind; he's been so lonely watching the world move on without him.

"Patrick Robbins, if you're feeling all buttoned up. Nice to meet you, Rogue - like, for real, not just me hanging around the scene. I should've tuned into the radio way sooner; what was I trippin' on, man?" It's harder than you'd think, being a ghost.

[handspike]

@luminarot  said,  “i  don't  like  where  this  is  going.”

neither  does  she.  tensions  were  steadily  skyrocketing,  and  her  eyes  are  bleary.  there  was  smoke  in  her  eyes,  and  her  fingers  were  curled  around  his,  free  hand's  knuckles  rubbing  white  spots  into  her  vision. 

he  was  leading  the  way,  and  she  squeezed  his  hand  a  little  harder  as  she  stumbled  into  him,  because  she  couldn't  make  this  decision.  she  couldn't  see.  “it's  okay,”  it  didn't  matter  where  they  were  going,  “andrew,”  as  long  as  they  were  together.  “we  can  turn  around,”  smoke  bomb's  detonation  had  her  ears  ringing. 

“we  can  keep  going,”  it  was  so  hard  to  focus.  “just  keep  moving,”  one  squeeze  to  reassure  him,  second  squeeze  to  reassure  herself,  and  she  didn't  relent  her  hold,  “keep  going,  baby.”

[luminarot]

he couldn't see a fucking thing through all the smoke. burning eyes squinted through the haze in desperation, stubborn instinct to survive only strengthened by sadie's presence; he couldn't risk her life in the chaos, couldn't risk their future before its start, their intertwined digits a silent promise. they wouldn't be separated. he wouldn't break her trust. if she was letting him lead, then he would guide her to safety, and once they drove off into the sunset he’d tend to any wounds caused by smoke bomb’s blast.

drew steadied a hand at her shoulder when she stumbled into him. the warehouse was eerily quiet, paralyzed by choice as he tried to assess what he could not see; stay here, and they were sitting ducks, but move forward and risk stepping headfirst into the fire. wait for smoke to settle, and they'd lose any chance of escape they've got.

the moment she calls his name, the world rights itself in startling clarity. keep going, baby, she says, and so he does — pulling her into his side as her grip tightens, he reached with free hand until he found a wall. he’s spent enough time in this shithole to know vaguely where they are. across the warehouse and a stairwell away, to the left a safe room and the right hidden exit; he takes a chance on the shortest route, taking about three steps before all hell breaks loose.

“fuck,” he hisses, more annoyed than surprised when shots ring out. “here we fuckin’ go.”

no time to hesitate, he steers them forward and tugs the gun from his waistband just in case. “side door’s this way,” he murmurs, an explanation when he knows his love can’t see; she was in on every plan, she was usually the mastermind, he’d keep her on track even if she was disoriented. “stay close. i got you, baby.” they just have to make it to her car, and they’ll be home free.

“you with me?”

[luminarot]

@wolfclad // cont. from here.

Pinewood smoke absorbed the scent of warm bodies, both acrid and sweet where it burned in Cameron's lungs; here, enveloped summer's sweat, drunk on cheap beer and weeping insect repellent. Here, he danced until his feet grew tired, riling up the other counselors with his constant, laughing dare — but even in his carousing, he felt a gnawing absence. Some presence ebbed away, like instinct calling, searching the crowd for a face before consciousness realized a want for more.

Temptation was a shadow at the end of the dock, beckoning, and Cameron chased the high without second thought.

Away from the party, already grinning, he slipped down the path Farkas must've followed only a few minutes before; in some places, his scent still lingered, iron-edged and earthy like within him burned the hearth. The smoke from his cigarette already itched at Cameron's nose, growing stronger as he approached the lake — but that, too, was familiar, as pervasive as the humid air but with its own kind of tender burn. He paid it no mind as he slipped into the water, flinging his shirt just as careless back to shore.

It wasn't easy to sneak up on Farkas, being as in-tune with his senses as he was. Cameron put a lot of effort into his little prank, sticking close to the dock so he wouldn't be seen and timing his movements with the pull of dark waves — so really, he should've been more offended when Farkas didn't startle. Instead, there was just the fondness, and that brief glimpse of surprise softening a heavy brow. Cameron couldn't help but laugh when he saw it.

He knew he'd won when Farkas crouched, sensing opportunity in the ash of a stubbed cigarette; it was indulgence, it was welcoming, like the eyes that followed him with silver glint. Fondness cast his voice in a low timbre, and Cameron beamed, thinking he could probably drag the other counselor anywhere if he wanted. He'd certainly try, anyway.

Instead, he slipped briefly below the waves again, surfacing only to anchor himself to the dock; reaching nimbly for the plank beside Farkas, he let newfound strength hold him, just barely resisting the urge to grab the other man's leg and drag him into the water, too.

"Well, the water’s fine from where I’m swimming,” he quipped, just enough suggestion to almost mean something without saying anything at all. “Plenty of room for both of us if you wanna cool off.”

He didn’t shy away from the invitation, but leaned in further, raising an eyebrow as his eyes sparked an impish glint. ( And maybe he took a moment to admire all that muscle, while he was at it. )

“Race you to the bouy — unless you’re committed to the lone wolf bit.”

[luminarot]

@kindofuneven said: " how long has it been since you laughed out loud? "

From anyone else, it might've been a mockery. Lesser things have made Teddy a target before, too easy to push around when he won’t fight back and too obvious the flaws when dark clouds have molded the person he’s turning out to be — but Scott isn’t like that, and they both know it. Ever since the day they met, he’s been nothing but kind and welcoming, even when Teddy tried to keep his distance or fumbled through an awkward hour. He’s probably the only one who’s never held those strange moods against him.

He’s also probably the only person besides Teddy’s therapist who would ever ask something like that completely sincerely, which almost makes it worse because Teddy can’t lie to that face. He wants to, because he wants more than anything to just be fucking normal — but then he pictures Scott’s expression, and he falters. The blinking cursor seems to mock him, and he stays fixed to the screen, choking on all the guilt and shame of it.

He doesn’t know how to answer without sounding pathetic. He tries to think of some better way to phrase it, but the words are just out of grasp, and the longer he goes without speaking the more obvious it gets —

But how is he supposed to explain that he can hardly remember? That he’s sure he was a child when the last of his laughter dried up? ( What honest response could he give that wouldn’t set off any alarms, or make this fragile charade of sanity go crashing into the rocks? ) He doesn’t know why Scott’s even asking; Teddy’s… happy enough. He’s better than he used to be, at least, and as far as he’s concerned, that’s more than he deserves.

The others — Auggie — didn’t even get that much.

“Um.” He grimaces, eloquent, and nearly bites off his own tongue. He can’t bear to look up from his keyboard. “It’s been… a while, I guess.” Lifetimes, lifetimes ago. “Don’t really, uh — keep track of it.”

Then, the question he’s really afraid to ask: “…Why?”

[swordluck]

⚘ @luminarot // cont.

Anri watched him move – that slow and painful unspooling, a rusted-over mechanism set into reluctant motion.  The weight of him was heavy even in silence, heavier still in the way his hands curled around the railing, in the careful, stubborn deliberation of each descending step.  Something in his gait spoke of hidden hurts, of a pain so long endured it had folded itself into the marrow of his bones.  She followed at a distance, fawn-like and obedient, her steps light as if afraid to provoke the house into waking.  

For all his heaviness – for all the callus and grit that surely lined his palms – he treated the hens with tenderness.  That low whistle, nearly lost to the wind, seemed part apology, part lullaby.  A ritual performed with or without an audience, in the way Anri herself sometimes whispered to the half-wild creatures at the edge of the settlement, trying to convince herself she was one of them.  

When Wesley returned the basket to her, the eggs within had lent it new weight.  Small, warm, as alive as a heartbeat held in her hand.

She ought to have left then, back down the barely-there dirt path that had carried her here, but his words – I’m real sorry – clung to her, filling her with an ache that had nothing to do with hunger.  As if he had something to atone for by offering her all he had.  As if she, of all people, could be a vessel for absolution.

Her grip tightened on the wicker handle, fingers brushing the frayed edges of her own sleeves, too thin for the season’s shifting moods.  The wind stirred again, lifting the scent of faraway rain and something stranger and nearer beneath it. Something buried, or rotting, or waiting.  

Slowly, she set the basket down.  From within it, she lifted sprigs of rosemary, brittle and green.  Tugging free a faded ribbon looped through the neckline of her dress, she used it to bind the wiry stems.  The motion drew her collar loose – just a breath, no more – and revealed the stark columns of her collarbones, pale as porcelain.  All prey animal grace, she stepped forward and held out the little posy.

“It keeps sickness away,” she murmured.  “Spirits, too, if you believe in such things.”  A girl most ghost-like, now with a soft, wry curve of her lips, though there was no mirth in it.  “It’s not much, but… I’d like you to have it.”

Even if he refused it, the gesture soothed something unnamed in her – some taut and tender knot she carried beneath her ribs, one that felt perilously close to sorrow.

[luminarot]

With transaction complete, and no money to be pressed in scraped-up palms, Wesley expected the girl to walk away; it would have been the smart thing to do, after all, the furthest route the safest. But then again, he never was very good at convincing people to leave. ( Or maybe they just didn't want to listen; maybe they thought a short life in hell was better than enduring a long one with Wesley. )

The wicker didn't creak when small fists formed a weak grip around it, but Wesley's keen eye caught the movement anyway, watching the minute twitch of emaciated digits as the moment stretched heavy between them. Wind caught the dull ends of her hair like fields of corn left to harvest; he thought it was the same color, too, gathered around her hollowed face in illusion of abundance. He desperately wished that he could offer her more.

It came as a shock when she apparently thought of the same thing — setting her basket down just to pluck the herbs from its belly, slow and decisive like startled prey — only to lose her hesitation when she tore a ribbon free from her collar, using precious thread to tie the bundle together. He didn't even have time to protest, no chance to refuse before sharp bones and pale skin were peeking out behind cotton; only slightly, but enough to tinge his cheeks pink, guilt swaddled up with the same politeness that made him shift his steady gaze. He didn't mean to take advantage. For all the folks in town said about him, he tried his best to be a decent person.

Tension pulled the strings taut as she stepped closer, and Wesley held his breath in wait of something awful. He tried to trap her in his blank gaze, searching for hidden meaning in that tired twitch of the lips; altogether too soft for a place like this, too giving in her charity, a gentle nature foreign to he of barbed wire and rusted edges. Even her voice felt too sacred for these blighted grounds.

Who in their right mind would wish such a kind thing on Wesley Crane? Who would tend to thing so disheveled and dirty? He almost feared to touch the small bundle so as not to see it wilt; it wouldn't be the first time Wesley had ruined a nice thing.

The chickens squabbled behind him as he blinked, strutting their little bodies around the gate as if they could plot some new way to escape — or at least, they hoped to find another route to Wesley, because the damn fool things were just smart enough to know they wouldn't make it far without him. He knew if he opened up the fencing, they'd all fall in line at his feet. ( And it was nice, he admitted, to be needed every now and then; even better to be wanted, if only by the hens he looked after. It'd been a long time since anyone tried to keep him similarly safe. He can't remember the last time anyone offered him anything. )

"...Are you sure?" he asked, all quiet hesitation and uncertainty. He stared at the sprigs but didn't reach, ever a statue built to crumble in an overgrown lawn; soon to be forgotten, gravel toppled in the yard, nothing left to be said for the wreckage in the mud. There would be no tokens left in his memory. He only hoped Jacob and his mom had the sense to escape at the end of it.

"That's real nice of you, but I don't want it to go to waste."

His heart was a clenched fist wreaking havoc against his ribcage, beating and beating until the ache made it hard to breathe; when she looked at him, he felt fragile, broken and starved as the sharp curve of her cheek. He didn't even know her name. He hoped she wouldn't be desperate enough to return and let him learn it.

"Won't you need protection from such things?"

[brutalwillds]

HE APPRECIATES THE CONCERN, HE REALLY DOES. But it feels like all he does these days is deal with other people's pity and worry and concern. Like he's walking a tightrope between too happy or too sad, that always varies person to person. (And nothing about his situation is normal so it's not exactly like he can ask other people if this is how it usually goes when someone you care about dies because of you?)

"It's just-" A pause. "Everyone's expecting me to be this, big artist who goes to art school and I, I don't want to let them down." Because what's the point of anything if he does? Disappointment, and a ruined dream he's not even really sure if he wants, and a best friend he only gets to see at night. (Because he got distracted and let Mapplethorpe go off alone and he can't let him have died for nothing.)

"Sorry, you've probably got better things to do then hear me complain about stupid, living people things."

[luminarot]

Laughter rings out from another part of the park, bright and unapologetic over the hiss of hydraulics and metal. Beside him, Chester teeters on a precipice, lips pressed in a thin line with all the weight he's holding in — but Wesley is persistent, and patient. He has all night to wait if it takes that long for the other boy to let it out. Thankfully, it doesn't take that long; only a few beats of silence pass before Chester starts to talk, blurting out his concern before once again clams up.

Wesley thinks he just might explode if he keeps going on like that. He's seen it happen in the sickly heat of summer, when all the pressure in a can finally caught up to a bad seal: glass shards exploding off the shelves in a chain reaction, leaking tomatoes and corn and mushy bits until it formed a slop on a bed of hay. Some things, there's just no going back from.

A slow blink fills the quiet as Wesley stares, and when he's sure Chester isn't going to say anything else, he delivers a harsh reality.

"I don't got anything to do," he says, not a complaint or a lament but simply the truth. "I'm dead. And I ain't exactly as social as Mapplethorpe." Pretty much the polar opposite, actually, which is how he found himself in this quiet corner with Chester while the rest of the fun kids started up another game — and that suited him just fine, most days. If he wanted any other company, he'd go and find Gonzo.

"Besides, I didn't ask you just because. I asked 'cuz I wanted to hear it; it ain't good to keep all that bottled up." He tugs at his earlobe as he thinks, tilting his head from side to side until it finally cracks; he thinks he and Chester have the opposite problems. Nobody ever expected Wesley to amount to shit, and he never really had a chance to try, either. Still, it sounds like a bad deal either way.

"Well... it's your life, Chester. You can't live it for anyone else," he finally advises, doing his best to gentle his tone. He knows it's a hard lesson to learn because he'd died doing the same; hell, he didn't even know who Wesley really was until recently. And that was without a bunch of people drowning him in their expectations. "—But I don't think anyone's gonna be disappointed in you. You're goin' through a lot."

[luminarot]

(( treatments have been really kicking my ass the last couple of weeks & I’ve been sleeping a lot😭 but I’m hoping to be here tomorrow night or Friday writing ))

[luminarot]

(( treatments have been really kicking my ass the last couple of weeks & I’ve been sleeping a lot😭 but I’m hoping to be here tomorrow night or Friday writing ))

[metamorphesque]

Returning Home, Alex Venezia

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— Natalie Diaz, Postcolonial Love Poem

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM THE MANDALORIAN - "THE MARSHAL" *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

enjoy the fights.

i know you're good at killing.

i figure only one of us is walking out of here.

maybe i pegged you wrong.

who are you?

where did you get the armor?

hand it over.

i'm sure you call the shots where you come from, but around here, i'm the one who tells folks what to do.

take it off. or i will.

we gonna do this in front of the kid?

right here, then?

do you gamble?

i'm prepared to pay you for the information.

i'm not leaving my fate up to chance.

thank you for coming to me.

give it to me now, or i will peel it off your corpse.

i thought you said you weren't a gambler.

all right, stop! stop! i'll tell you where he is!

you must promise that you won't kill me!

i promise that you will not die by my hand.

my information is good, i tell you.

you can't leave me like this. cut me down!

that wasn't part of the deal.

this little thing had me worried sick.

you know he doesn't like droids.

may as well let them have at it.

you don't understand what it was like.

i've got an idea.

get its attention.

you still have that detonator?

what's the plan?

what are you gonna do?

wish me luck.

maybe we can work something out.

they might be open to some fresh ideas.

it's not to scale.

it's a whole lot bigger than i guessed.

might be time to rethink our arrangement.

that's more like it.

where are they getting the reinforcements?

i hope someday our paths will cross again.

you know what that means?

we've heard the stories.

this one's got a problem.

looks like it remembers me.

how much do you want for it?

just kidding. but not really.

can i help you?

we don't get many visitors in these parts.

you want to tell me what's going on?

i'm here on business. i need your help.

can you tell me where it used to be?

you know this is no place for a child.

wherever i go, he goes.

you can't just get help anymore.

you still have that speeder bike?

what am i supposed to do with this?

you drink it.

lower your voice.

you're agitating them.

how do we kill it?

what brings you here?

why don't you join me for a drink?

[considersparrows]

— sharp objects, gillian flynn

[luminarot]

@swordluck // continued from here.

Teddy’s lungs were taut and shuddering, seized up like the sails of a sinking ship; when he breathed, there was a creaking, a warning of the waters weighing down his chest. On days like this, he cursed the heart still beating within it. He cursed the fractured memory that held him here, cursed the waste he’d made of lives snuffed out and stolen, cursed the thoughts that fizzled out in roiling waves — but still, the rain battered the roof above him. Still, he thought of nothing but the terror. ( He should have told them it was coming. He’d dreamt of stormy skies for weeks and weeks, but he hadn’t tried to save them. )

Every lightning’s flash showed bodies in the water.

Between the space of one choked gasp and the next, Teddy suddenly felt a presence kneel beside him: Anri, all golden hair and angel’s graces, who would never judge him, who had never been anything but impossibly kind. She must’ve come in from the storm looking for safety. She wanted a refuge, but instead she had found Teddy, pathetic and sniveling like a small child. It made him feel even worse about his shitty explanation.

Anri always smelled vaguely sweet; of the earth, of the delicate flowers she sold in warm seasons, of the honey he liked to mix in his tea. Now, she carried a hint of the storm with her. It was in the water dripping from her hair, leaving a dozen puddles the floorboards, and in the fabric that clung to her knees, sodden as a castaway from the wreckage. He thought to offer her a blanket, but couldn’t push the words past the lump in his throat, let alone crack the cement between his teeth — and in an instant, they faded to a whisper, washed away by the relentless current. All that was left behind was his worry.

She deserved a better friend than the mess in front of her. She needed no such burden, but she lingered at his side all the same, her previous efforts forgotten. As if nothing else mattered but his silly little fear of the rain. And when she spoke, her hands echoed the quiet reassurance; not questioning his silence, not angry or lost, but calling back to him in the same language. ( The only one not yet swallowed by the storm. )

In doing so, she cast her light out from the harbor.

It didn’t dim when the thunder shook the wall he was leaning against — but he shut his eyes to it, flinching away from the wrath of the tempest. Salt burned through heavy lashes; it was sheer luck that he caught the slow movement, watching a gentle hand submerge through the depths to find him. He nearly trembled at the warmth of her touch.

Everyone gets frightened sometimes, Anri murmured, and he choked on fresh air, half-strangled as his ribs began to splinter. ( Even the sky, even the sky, such a gentle way to explain dreary weather. ) He felt another crack when she hunkered down beside him; struck suddenly by the promise at her fingertips, the lonely thing inside him cried out stay, possessed by a terrible longing that rushed through the hollows inside him. There was no demand in her words, no end to her kindness, no need for him to answer at all if the silence took him —

But he thought maybe that was why he let out a quiet sob, shaking so much that he could barely form a sentence.

[ Please. ]

A single word repeated, tracing the gaping hole in the middle of his chest; for a moment, it was all he could think to say. The thunder sounded a lot like the mast finally breaking.

[ Please. ]

His fingers twitched, and he hated the static, hated the weakness that poured down ruddy freckled cheeks. Every hiccup brought another current between them.

[ Hold me. ] He needed soft, he needed safe, he needed distraction. But most of all, he needed Anri; God, he was so tired of being lonely.

[ Talk. Read. Anything. But… please hold me. ]

[luminarot]

: ̗̀➛ 『 FILE NAME: PEOPLE I WANT TO GET TO KNOW BETTER. 』

last song i listened to : 3rd Planet - Modest Mouse. favourite colour : Green!! Sooo many different shades of it, from pine green to acid green to emerald. I'm also really fond of purple shades, as long as they're light or muted ( just not neon purple basically ). currently watching : I'm watching Gab Sm.olders do a murder mystery puzzle called Who Eliminated Justin Astor? last movie / tv show i watched : The Darjeeling Limited, but I'm thinking about rewatching A Real Pain tonight. spicy / savoury / sweet : savory all the way!! I do occasionally like a sweet treat, but most often I crave savory foods and snacks. I can't handle any spice at all, though. relationship status : single. last thing i googled : ‘adidas sandals’ ( at work. ) current obsession : honestly I'm kind of between hyperfixations right now, but I'm really loving Gab's videos and some things I'm plotting with friends.

tagged by: @swordluck <3 tagging: @brutalwillds & anyone else who'd like to play!

[luminarot]

IF YOU WERE A DEITY, WHAT WOULD YOU BE THE GOD OF?

Wisdom and Knowledge.

intelligent and trusted, there is rarely a soul who doesn’t hear and value your voice. you act as a guiding light in an array of situations. calm and wise, you offer the deepest and sincerest insights regarding the world’s problems.

tagged by: @swordluck tagging: @mehrcedita