many fucks given. some received!

[manyfucks]

PINNED POST.

#MANYFUCKS. hi my name is morgan. they/he. lesbian. irish. this blog is a multimuse trashfire and is probably going to be iconless. normal rules apply. my triggers are ED and SA. the most important rule is to just have fun. my main blog is @dimitresca . i'll update this, probably. the muses i have used most actively beneath the cut.

hilda spellman, chilling adventures of sabrina. primary muse. i usually prefer to write au verses. esfj, phlegmatic-sanguine, enneagram 2w1. cancer sun. capricorn moon. taurus rising. aunt, witch, lover of potions.

mother miranda, resident evil village. secondary muse. canon divergent (i like to make her a real freak.) intj, melancholic choleric, enneagram 8w9. grief monster, priestess, and all around bad time.

sweeney todd, from sweeney todd. secondary muse. canon divergent. infp. 4w5. choleric melancholic. barber. father. dead inside.

[manyfucks]

adding:

Jen Kale - Agatha All Along Benzo - Arcane Mike Ehrmantraut - BCS / BrBa

[manyfucks]

have the biggest urge to use simon russell beale in the death of stalin as a faceclaim for an OC. torn between banker with an illegal side hustle or kingpin.

[auntiezelda]

Zelda pursed her lips at the response. Was Lilith keeping an eye on her sleeping habits or had her caring but meddlesome sister been praying for her to their new queen? She had never been all that fond of being watched; unless, of course, for lascivious reasons.

Speaking of which... Zelda's eyes followed her queen's movements. It was stunning, how Lilith could turn the appearance of Mary Wardwell around completely and sell it so beautifully as uniquely Lilith. So much effort clearly went into it, and Zelda found herself quite appreciative.

"If you're asking if I'm busy, then the answer is yes. Terribly and always. But seeing as the subject of my work has availed herself," Zelda fixed her posture enough to pull out a pile of paperwork neatly clipped together and let it fall onto the desk near Lilith. "Some updated doctrines I'd like to get your approval on."

[manyfucks]

No reply? The Mother of Demons and Tormentor of High Priestesses filed that away. Zelda was always the more defensive of Sabrina's aunts. Or was it pride? From her perch, she takes in the other. The well-touched makeup, the glamorous fashion, her hair. Zelda Spellman's vice was undoubtedly pride. She enjoyed these little visits, preening about her workload. Lilith watched her shoulders draw up proudly into that rigid posture. Unmistakably, there were soft edges to Mdm. Spellman. When the night was late enough, when they had spoken at length - then, and only then, she saw beyond the sumptuous veneer of the High Priestess, and at the witch herself. Lilith found herself memorising those things that unlocked the other. Perhaps the comment had been received as a reproach on Zelda's work ethic. "Is that what I am, Zelda? The subject of your work?" Lilith tutted. Playfully, idly. "Now now, my acolyte. There is only one of us here who finds herself the subject of the other." It's not what the other meant, and she was purposefully contorting the word 'subject' to assert herself a little. But these were simply word games designed to tease, for who could blame a cat for taunting a mouse? It's the most pleasant way she's had to pass an evening in a long time. As if to prove it for Lilith, as if Zelda hadn't shown that she worked doggedly a thousand times over already, the woman lands a stack of papers between them that was easily a foot in height. It announced itself with a thud.

Her stolen blue eyes flicked between the paper and Zelda. A long moment passed. "Terribly and always indeed," Lilith murmured wryly. "Hold this," Eyes now trained on Zelda, she held out her book, expectant. Commanding others and being obeyed was a treat she enjoyed more every day. Particularly from the Priestess. Particularly when they both knew it was unnecessary. Do as I say because I say it.

That done, she took up the first document, shifting to sit more fully onto the desk. A drafting of how to portray the history of the Church of Lilith. Then, a document on the concept of sin and virtue, and radical freedom. Another, about prayer rituals to Lilith, annotated with where her input was needed, no doubt. All very orderly. This was barely the beginning. "My, my. You've been busy." A small measure of praise. A reward for her loyalty.

[manyfucks]

“I can’t live in that house with her.” for miranda :)

there is a long, unravelling silence. then: "once, there was a mother and a girl," the priestess wraps one golden-taloned hand around the girls hands. her grip isn't hard or unrelenting - but it is insistent. "they were separated by something they could not cross." her eyes flick to yukako's. death. what else could keep mother and child apart? "they searched for one another. they banged their fists against this invisible wall. they wept." her grip tightens. "they vowed to stay close to that initial separation. the incision that kept them apart. here." a ghost of a smile passes over her mouth - for a girl she found bleeding in the snow? desolated by the death of her mother? mother miranda summons all the approximations of kindness to flesh this story's true skeletal purpose. "do as you will, child. but the castle is where your mother died. if you stray, she is lost to you fully." her gaze does not break. she does not blink. she is lying, of course, when she says 'do as you will' - for miranda will always say something and find a way to tip the table, change the game - but not about the grief. the priestess' hand presses against the flat of her breast bone. a finger hooks under yukako's wrist, feeling that bright pulse. their heartbeats were one.

"i can hear her, child. the glut of the castle runs into the ground, and here she remains." and it was true: the BLACK GOD stored every soul as a murmuring husk, inert and untouchable, but here nonetheless, pulsing in the ground. every terrified maid, every severed soldier. all here, groaning eternally in the fungal root that grew beneath this place. miranda's hand falls to join the other. her grip slackens. her eyes narrow. "are you going to leave your mother again?"

[auntiezelda]

The sudden and unexpected sound sent Zelda's heart racing, her muscles tensing so severely the pen in her hand scrapped across the page. Fierce, wide eyes landed on her queen, and the tension in her altered. Any other that would dare startle her so would be made to regret it, and she had half a mind to treat this one just the same if not for her new high status. To be honest it was a struggle sometimes to remember that this woman was the first woman and not the forlorn witch she masqueraded as. Zelda would have to watch her rebellious tongue.

"Apologies, my queen, as I didn't realize you had such a finely attuned ear for my.. tutting," she replied, making sure to keep her voice low and lightly tossing the pen down upon the desk. Zelda briefly wondered if the office had been soundproofed somewhere down the line. Perhaps making the room less quiet would reduce Lilith's talent for making her jump. Unlikely, no doubt. "Have I asked before.. do you have an aversion to doors," Zelda asked with a hint of a smirk, leaning back and relaxing somewhat into the high-backed chair and crossing her legs.

[manyfucks]

Lilith kept her eyes off of Zelda's fright, her face low to hide the barest betrayal of a smirk. Besides: she had memorized the expression of Zelda's consternation long ago, the way a harpist remembered the note they played without needing sound. Zelda's answer, while amusing, didn't contain the information that Lilith had been probing for. The book's a bore - she snapped it closed over her finger, each clacking step bringing her closer to the desk. Zelda settled into comfortable banter quickly. Some sharp, dark feeling flickered over the Queen's eyes, gone as fast as it had come: no one should grow too comfortable around her. Barren, bleak things lay in that direction, to be sure. "No more than you have an aversion to sleep, it seems." Lilith stopped at the corner of the desk, clad in her black coat, her eyes narrowing a fraction as she assessed the other. She leaned one thigh against the desk, perching herself. "Is this a bad time?" She asked coolly, a quirk of her brow. Her second statement was not one of politeness exactly, but further pointed search. Call it habit: any information left unknown was armour lost.

[auntiezelda]

plotted starter for @manyfucks

Would this office ever truly feel like hers, Zelda wondered as she took a look around from her seated position behind the sizeable desk, His desk. Always his. Faustus, Edward, and so on up the long list of High Priests. Never a woman; never a High Priestess. Not until her now, and not until Lilith. Not until them both... working together.

Together. She nearly scoffed at the thought. It was still hard to believe, in quiet moments like now, that they had done it. She and her family had worked in tandem with the mother of demons herself to overthrow a... well, she wasn't sure what to refer to him as now. Perhaps she wouldn't refer to him ever again. If only they could erase him entirely and build a new faith from scratch. It might be easier, she mused, than having to adapt the old while attempting to build off of the, frankly, minimal new information Lilith was willing to give during their meetings.

Zelda understood Lilith's guarded nature, but unholy hell could it be irksome. Nevertheless, she would continue to work all hours in this cage of a High Priest's office, she resigned herself as she straightened her posture and resumed her writings, yet unaware of a certain presence watching.

[manyfucks]

There was something ridiculously regular about the High Priestess' schedule. Her stress came in cycles - Sabrina, another Church's dissent, a troubled student. All of it sent Zelda to her desk, and her scribblings, and her readings. In those first moments when Lilith would appear, winked into this world, she'd look upon the other, wondering the contents of Zelda's mind. Wondering, too, if Lucifer ever wondered that of her own. No, she concluded, watching the Priestess' quill dance over the page. Zelda is rigid-spined and worry-lipped even in the wee hours. No, he had never cared to know what Lilith thought. He had answered no prayers of hers. With one finger tracing the gold-lettered spine of a book, she said into the dim room: "Is that you, Sister Spellman, that I can hear tutting, even from Hell?" Every syllable enunciated quietly, sharply. Lilith's head tilted. It's a lie, of course, but she took no small portion of satisfaction in appearing to this one out of the blue. She thought it was rather a playful thing to say, even if it was delivered with a classic acerbic tone. Her finger hooked out the book - Paradise Lost. She allowed it to fall open in her waiting palm.

Loneliness is the first thing which God's eye nam'd not good, Milton wrote. She had always disliked that man's eyes, too hungry for truth that was not his to have. How fitting that in hell, he'd lost his eyelids. Her mouth curled while she awaited Zelda's answer.

[manyfucks]

14 and 24 for the multi meme

multimuse meme - accepting.

which of your muses second guesses themselves the most? why?

answered.

which of your muses would be most likely to survive a zombie apocalypse?

i have made a list from least to most likely to survive. creed bratton - either lasts 14 years by drinking his own urine or dies immediately, no in between. sweeney todd - the zombies didn't get him immediately. rushes to the judge's house to be the one to kill him - judge is already a zombie. sweeney "kills" him again and allows himself to be consumed by the hoarde. gertrude robinson - assembles a team to help people survive / give a task to undo the apocalypse, dies as soon as u realize how much u need her kathryn janeway / raymond holt- dies for others to live. its very noble and moving. alfie solomons - has a completely gated community where he becomes a tyrannical overlord. killed by humans. datak tarr - you think he's dead, he's double crossed you twice, he's actually not dead, he double crosses you again lilith - she's doing some double cross action, but she has a lot of knowledge. eventually gets left to the zombies, presumably dies but its never confirmed. mother miranda - caused the plague. elias bouchard - holed up in some maximum security underground fortress. caused the plague n cahoots with miranda. needs to be killed in order for people to get to the antidote. kim wexler / robert dubois / seven of nine - they all have colossal final girl energy. they make it to the end, covered in blood and dirt. not pleased about decapitating a guy but will do it. hilda spellman - surrvives because no one would watch the movie otherwise. starts a garden community for other survivors. talks to zombies very sweetly and kindly as they die.

[manyfucks]

14. which of your muses second guesses themselves the most? why? and 15. do any of your muses have trouble falling asleep / staying asleep? <333

multimuse meme - accepting. do any of your muses have trouble falling asleep / staying asleep?

muses who can't sleep + why sweeney todd, grief tyrion lannister, fate of the realm and alcohol kathryn janeway, duty, also probably had too much caffeine kim wexler, too much work not enough time malcolm tucker, has whatever brain rot thatcher had that meant she only slept 4 hours eve of eden, she spents 2 hours staring at the ceiling, thinkin house, he's solving it (the universe) muses who sleep well hilda spellman, honk shoo mimimimi robert dubois, he has one really inconvenient nightmare every now and again marcellus wallace, he's busy and needs his sleep datak tarr, he ruined your family and he sleeps like a baby. hogs the bed charles xavier, mostly gertrude robinson, starts dreaming to solve more cases madame thenardier, passed out drunk and very tired from madaming andromeda tonks, passed out drunk and very tired from raising her grandson grunkle stan, sleeps & dreams of money mimimimimuses who don't sleep - lilith, archaic demon who doesnt sleep - seven of nine, alien tech puts her in 'regeneration cycle' - alfie solomons, too much redbull, he will never sleep again

which of your muses second guesses themselves the most? why?

i am starting to realise that my muses are not generally 'second-guessing' types. most of them are ego-maniacs and completely devoted to their own goals, whatever those may be. under the cut because this got long!

i have a genre of character who second-guess their perceptions often - alfie solomons second guesses what he knows constantly because he's brilliant but paranoid, and is not afraid to change allegiances or flip the world on its head. but he does not doubt himself. house fluctuates between self-loathing and arrogance/hubris, but he does not doubt his mind. lilith doubts the reality of what she can impose (specifically when she is under the yolk of the dark lord), but she is dogged and determined to the very end. tyrion lannister similarly can doubt the things he thought were certain, so that he can see more clearly. of the characters listed, he is the one who doubts himself the most, out of resentment that was once from others, and is now in him. kim wexler has a crisis of confidence in who she has become, but when she figures out what the right thing to do, she pursues that no matter any consequences also. to compare her to someone else who goes through a similar experience but for the worse, sweeney todd was a fairly unassuming, sweet person - a traumatic event unmoors him from his life, and he commits wholly to a new life (over a period of time) that he cannot be dissuaded from. any of the complicated feelings of grief, he can sublimate into rage and revenge. the effect it takes on him, hollowing him out, is the same - but he does everything he can to avoid dealing with the tragic, mature feelings that will make him feel uncertain. instead he becomes extremely certain: the world has been bad, and now he will do as the world showed him. people who doubt themselves the most would be: robert dubois: he has been a man with a single purpose all of his life, and now that this is complicated by prison, and by being a father, he finds himself increasingly unsure of what he should do. most of his mission in TSS he spends, half-in and half-out, doubting if he is only a man like his father, or if he can be more, and better. in fact, he's certain of it - his self-doubt is a softening of his idea that he is hopelessly destructive, a cruelty to others lest they try to visit cruelty upon him. i think upon arriving back to america, he would be emboldened enough to try to take on the task of being a good father like he never had, something he actively pushed away for fear of how hopeless it felt.

eve of eden: eve's entire story is about doubt. doubting god, doubting the world, doubting herself. she's been given everything - almost. that last inch of unexplored land festers away at her. i don't think she was easily led (though that was a part of it) i think she was someone who could not help but pull at threads. if the seams of the world come undone, that's a tragedy. but she'd do it again. as i write her (my canon for her is that she and adam are undying and forever roam the earth, even though their children age and die) she is extremely self-doubting, fighting her urge to pick at things with the knowledge that she has ruined things by doing so. she fights her instinct at every turn, and it is this self-denial that contributes to her misery. because, inevitably, she will one day pull at the string again. she will one day see the serpent's bounty and respond without words, respond by wanting to bite into it.

seven of nine is reckoning with having individuality, when this has never before been the case. she's a mess of self-doubt. she's going between the values and way of being she has always known to something more 'flawed'. while she can be incredibly sure of her actions, she has never had that same security in herself as an individual. it comes slowly over a few years, and continues after voyager. once voyager lands, i think seven is truly feeling alone - voyager was a small community of people who absolutely relied upon and needed one another, with a written code of behaviour. the real world would challenge her even more, but i see her eventually buildiing up confidence once again - she remains as someone who is self-doubting, because that is part of the nature of humanity as she has learned it.

kathryn janeway is someone who has taken on the role of a captain fulltime, navigating her crew for seven years through drama and alien hjinks. she has a few breakdowns adn bouts of depressions, exacerbated by self douubt because she simply has taken on too much. usually she is incredibly confident and driven, but the souls of her crew weigh heavily on her - constantly, and without breaks. she makes friends with people around her, she has romantic interests in people off of the ship, but her ideas about authority isolate her from others. she is a Doubter, she doubts if she's good enough for the impossible task put to her.

charles xavier is someone who has a relationship with doubt a little similar to kathryn janeway - he worries if he is good enough to lead mutants. but, he has a strong idea of what mutants should be, formed in opposition to what magneto believes. he is someone with a healthier relationship to self-doubt. while it bites at him, he can see the joy and bittersweet experience of seeing something come to pass that confounds him, or someone showing a new side to themself that he feels he 'should' have caught. he is confident, but he is able to examine himself and his place in relations to others critically, and grow with circumstances.

some of my most confident muses are: malcolm tucker is someone who lunges at his next move with infamous ferocity. but in his final moment, he sees stops talking, the very thing thaht has kept him in power for so long, always moving to the next disaster to prevent or manage into subission and irrelevance. i think his last line is him giving up on it all, truly retiring - but while it's painful, it's not because of disillusionment. he never felt politics was anything but a vicious game to maybe have some good effects through harsh toil. he just knows he will no longer be a part of it. aunt hilda: hilda doubts her place often, but she's got a palpable determination. when lifes trials (mainly zelda) kill her and stick her in the cain pit, she crawls out every time. things don't often go right for hilda, but when they go wrong, she digs her heels in harder to doing what's good for her. the chuurch excommunicates her? ok! she'll go get that job she wanted. the high priest inappropriately propositions her? ok she killed him. in a crisis, hilda never doubts herself, even if she seems a little fragile or gentle in her demeanour.

[rpmemes-galore]

q’s for a multimuse! 

which of your muses is the pickiest eater?

do any of your muses have dietary allergies?

what is your process for creating a new muse?

how do your decide on an FC for a new muse?

which of your muses needs / wants a hug the most?

which of your muses has the most unique comfort food?

do any of your muses have issues remembering things?

do you ship any of your muses with some of your others?

which of your muses tends to be the group “mom friend”?

have any of your muses ever experienced sleep paralysis? 

which of your muses do you tend to have muse for the most?

which of your muses has the most unsteady sleep schedule?

which of your muses would you consider to be the best cook?

which of your muses second guesses themselves the most? why?

do any of your muses have trouble falling asleep / staying asleep?

which of your muses is most likely to walk into a sliding glass door?

which of your muses do you think would be good friends if they met?

which of your muses has had the weirdest dream? what was it about?

which of your muses has the funniest story from childhood? what is it?

which of your muses would you trust LEAST with the ability to teleport?

which of your muses tends to get attached to people / things the fastest?

which of your muses has / would have the most complicated coffee order?

which of your muses is most likely to believe in ghosts? which is the least?

which of your muses would be most likely to survive a zombie apocalypse? 

which of your muses has / would have the silliest ringtone? what would it be?

which of your muses would be labelled  “most likely to succeed” in a yearbook?

which of your muses has the best / most attuned gut instinct? do they listen to it?

which of your muses has had the most character growth since you started writing them?

[manyfucks]

"excuse me." she is wearing the garb of this land: a lab coat. a visitor's 'pass'. miranda's old boney forefinger points at the canteen's plastic cutlery container. at the fork. mia winters, years prior to her true destiny that neither she nor miranda can yet know, is in her way. the woman starts as she means to go on.

@terrorgone didn't ask for a starter but. pass the fork

[manyfucks]

@canonfoddcr | the duke.

He can’t help but laugh at her mistake- of course she wouldn’t know. They’re pious people up here in the Carpathians, the kind to put garlic braids on the porch and hang open scissors on the wall over a newborn’s crib. What was in his books was decidedly un-christian, the kind of smoke and brimstone they used to burn you at the stake for. But it’s a new century, increasingly godless if the war is anything to go by. “Not alcohol, my dear, alchemy. Science.” Magic. Both. He watches Miranda’s knees buckle and her knuckles go white. The desperation is evident. What young mother wouldn’t be desperate in a place like this? When was the last time she or her child had a good meal? Not since the family sold their last goat. He knows she thinks a great deal of her child. Eva, Eva, Eva, Eva is the constant drum beat that all her other thoughts are set to. “Come inside, won’t you?” He offers a hand. “We’ll finalise your employment and discuss the particulars over some mamaliga and hot tea. I find it’s inadvisable to do business on an empty stomach.”

alchemy. science. these are his enticing words. whenever his caravan rolls into town, a susurrus settles over the nature around him. she is not like him, but in her way, she is like that: anyone in her small family is now gone, faces swiped away like bleared thumbprints. now she has no goat, no hens, no family, no partner. only one duty: have her and eva last the winter. that would be enough. she thinks, one day, she'd like to go dancing under moonlight, or solve complicated arithmetic, or have some sort of fantastic friendship with someone who can discuss religion and mystery. she'd like to live many lives, to grow old and die peacefully. she'd like to have a caravan of her own one day and travel far, far away with eva. that's all fantasy. here she is, in the biting cold. being offered a job. and food. she has never seen him without an answer, his knowledge never-ending. but she knows about myth and fairytales. she knows when you eat fairy-food, you cannot go back to the real world. her lips twist into a hard line. her stomach growls. that's her answer, then.

"yes." she says hoarsely, nodding two sharp jerks of the head seconds after. "yes."

she puts her hand on the wood of his caravan, like it is a beast with a heart. even in the bitter death-throes of autumn, there's warmth emanating from it. maybe it is.

[manyfucks]

' I am your servant. ' ( to catherine the great )

Strictly speaking, it's not true. Thomas Cromwell is here because of some great, international exchange between two proud nations that are not Roman Catholic. For the English, it represented possible trade and support from the oh-so-recently culturally relevant Russian people. And for her? Well, there's this pesky idea in the mainland that she's somewhat barbarous, that she killed her husband, the king, and ascended quite unjustly. England and Russia both stood to gain something from this, reputationally. Allyship for England, or acclaim for Russia. All hinged on this little man's subservience to her. She wondered what had made him fit for it. She wondered what he thought of her - his eyes were like wells. He must be either fanatically loyal to this King, or he must be a relief to remove from Court. Are you here for punishment or providence?, she'd like to ask. But, she is still assessing. Her reputation will shape his perception, and his will shape hers. Two shadows, stretched out and distorted by the white nights of Russia, the ever-sunned summers and the black winters. "And I am Russia's Ruler." It is a satisfactory answer. His denotes submission, and hers dominance - but he must show a deferent bond to her. She need not show him anything. Her piercing eyes assess him. A man who came from nothing, her courtiers tell her. A man who spun his power like a spider, her advisors tell her. He's got hair like candle-smoke, and a quiet, pensive voice. How does her long hall of painted-faced, French-inspired courtiers compare to his little England? She wonders. There is so much to be learned, and all the time in the world to needle at his mind. It's exciting. A soft, smug smile, very practiced and well-worn, splits on her face, one eyebrow still arched. "Rise, Cromwell, and be no stranger to your Empress. I remember what it was like to speak no Russian. You'll learn quickly." He's taller than her, because everyone is, but she is stouter than him. They both are older - lucky, too, that their minds are still dazzling. Lucky also, that they both speak French. "Have you tried our vodka, our darling water? It is the pride of Russia. At our Imperial Court meal, you'll try many kinds - and zakuski. You never will have lived so well." Russia outshines England, and you'd better tell all those little European swamp-squatters as much, this means. All of her generosity is also a demonstration of power, but she likes to think this is not duplicitous: it comes as naturally to her as breathing. Like that, their first meeting is nearly over. Her mind is constrained by time, always - it is true, after all, that she would spend long hours in the night reading, and had her court time narrowed into five-minute slots for adjudication. Only afternoons and evenings and this show of generous force remained as wild time, for her to explore the courts and people there. She'd like the man, she reckoned, if he remained clever.

[scotchymemes]

Chilling Adventures of Sabrina S01E08 Sentence Starters

Hold on, hold on! You look like you’re in shock. I don’t want you going back down there. Oh my gosh, you’re really bleeding! This cut is pretty deep, I think it might need stitches. What if tomorrow’s too late? Things must play out as they would without our interference. We haven’t even found his body yet! What happens when you die? Where do you go? Bringing back the dead is by large a no-no. I can’t live in that house without him. It shouldn’t have been (…). It should have been you! You can’t mention what I’m about to say to (…). Are you talking about a ressurection spell? If we have the power to ease the suffering, then why can’t we use it? The spell requires an offering for the dead to rise. An eye for an eye, a life for a life. His mission became my mission. Give me the names of the others who have plotted with you and you shall have your freedom. I will return to hear your decision. We’re made out of flesh and failure. I do know fear and suffering. Blood will have blood. You see?! They admit it! A life for a life. You don’t have the guts to kill anyone. How dare you act without my permission? There are no limits to what I would do to help the ones I love. We’re talking necromancy, right? The slightest deviation and we could all end up dead. Unholy shit, it’s working! Remember, you brough this upon yourself. We offer thee a life for a life. Why are you burying her here? Why not just leave her in the woods? Necromancy, (…)?! This is the stupidest most dangerous thing you have ever done! Why must you always insist that the universe grants you special privileges? See, everythings going right according to plan. Actions have consequences. Together, we will suffer in exquisite ecstasy. You’re playing with life and death and you don’t even know the basics!

[manyfucks]

well i am using my brother in laws' laptop to write while mine is in the shop and he only has microsoft edge so i cannot cut my posts :') all 2.5 of my followers, you will simply have to learn to live with this

[manyfucks]

"woar." hilda breathes, staring at milena's neck. it looks like battered apples, but purpled instead of rotten. her fingers hold aloft a few breaths of soft hair, subconsciously keeping them from falling in case even they would agitate what is clearly the world record for largest, most obvious hickeys.

"sorry. i didn't mean to --- just, i thought it was an injury at first ---" and it is in a way. but hilda raises her palm between herself and the neck in question (milena's, naturally) and spins herself into a tizzy, twice circling before pivoting off in a scattered direction to go for a hairbrush. a girl's night. they'd never been able to have a hen's do before the wedding - this seemed as good a time as any. "um - er -- yeah. like i was saying - everyone has a hen's night. it's very regular. you just go out and you..." she trails off, eyes finding that massive blue welt of lipsticked skin again, before she forces herself to stare at the hairbrush. " ... go out with friends. blow on whistles. wear a feather boa. get drunk." weakly, she finishes: "traditionally done... before the wedding but... y'know..."

and milena did know. if she lived half as much as her chew-toy of a neck she knew loads!

@sacrificialmaiid

[sacrificialmaiid]

For a moment, for just a split second of time, Milena is twenty-three years old again and a nobody, and the housekeeper is staring at her punctured, bite-ridden neck with a sneer that makes her feel lower than the frozen earth. She blinks and the memory is gone, leaving behind nothing but a slight chill. She's in her rarely-used bedroom, the one that has barely changed in over sixty years, with a jewelled ring weighing heavy upon her finger, and she is not a nobody anymore.

She picks up where Hilda trails off, fancying for a moment that she might be able to breeze right past the awkwardness that hangs there in the air between them. "Oh! Yes. It all happened very quickly, didn't it? Not much time for parties, or... anything like that."

Hilda is standing there, twiddling the brush between her hands and making no move to approach her and it weighs heavily upon Milena. She suddenly feels much younger than her years, realising with a jolt that she can stand it if just about anyone looks down upon her... but not Hilda.

For a beat, she rubs self-consciously at her wedding ring, and then resolutely pulls her hair down to hide her neck once more as though it might help to dissolve the sudden tension.

"You don't... You don't think less of me, do you?" she finally broaches the topic on a hesitant breath. "You're my very good friend, and I couldn't bear it if you thought that I was..." This time, it's her turn for her voice to wither and die, because any word that could possibly fit to the end of that sentence could be true.

[manyfucks]

hilda's mind was a race of rude expletives she would never say out loud. witches tits! newt piss! shit. milena seems as bruised by hilda's feather-headed response as she is on the neck. a quietness settles on the room after milena tries to engage with hilda's comments (the ones hilda made before she exclaimed loudly and span around the room.)

they're only looking at one another through the vanity mirror. the room suddenly feels vast. all the things in here look new. not dusty but... unused. this isn't the place where milena sleeps - it's just a room of her own so they can get ready, without interrupting the schedule of milena's wife. before milena's finished, hilda's hands are ringing around that hairbrush, her brows turned up in concern. this whole scene reminds her a little of arriving in on zelda. by candlelight, her sister stood there, a whip snipping angry cuts over her back. love shouldn't bruise and it shouldn't bleed, she wants to say - but she's not one to talk. her heart was broken while she held a garland of garlic, years before now. none of this is the same, but ...

"no, no," is out of her mouth before she even knows what she wants to say. no, i don't think less of you. no, don't be sad. "...erm." another pause. her heart is beating loudly. after a moment, she sits adjacent to milena's seat, the bed sighing underneath her. she's biting her thumbnail. "i'm sorry." she slumps her weight to one shoulder to try and get a better view of milena's face than just profile. "i shouldn't've..." that peters out too. it's unclear what she's looking at. is this someone who enjoys a little rough and tumble? or is it worse? she doesn't know. "i'd never think less of you, milove." she says quietly. it feels like a shout because of how quiet the room is.

[manyfucks]

it's her favourite time of year: halloween. and, despite herself, she had to admit that it was nice to visit ciuperca - the festivities were nice. appealing to ambrose, at the least, who fell into heartstruck love with every black-lipsticked goth with a chip on their shoulder and a piercing in their tongue. it delighted her, and lifted her spirits no end, to see him happy. it had been too long. ever since everything that happened with sabrina - well. it doesn't bare thinking of. she's aware that he can hear her thoughts - they had admitted this much - and she'd rather not subject the duke to this sad old tale. "oh -- i know!" she exclaims, her hands gripping tightly to her wicker shopping basket. "i'd invite over vampira, and i'd make... vegetable pie!" the question? which celebrity would you have to dinner, and what would you cook. the duke was the sort of fellow who loved to discuss every break in a loaf in magnificent, smoky detail. get them to tell you a fact or two about themself - now that would be the miracle! the happiness and ease they share has a sort of fragility. hilda thinks briefly of how some spiders repair their webs every day. some spiders eat the old webs as protein sources. spiders are resourceful - she wants to be too. it would be so nice to make something new here from this old web.

"and y'self?" she stares up at him with a grin, gentle and observing. it's been a while. to say the least. she wants to get to know the duke in the middle of this new city, as opposed to in a rickety caravan parked on a mass grave. but even that brings forth a memory of eating soup together in that old shoppe (it felt appropriate to add the extra letters) of his.

@canonfoddcr get ready baby

[canonfoddcr]

The Duke loves Halloween too. It's a perfect time of year for the darkly whimsical, the slightly uncanny, and as the temperature drops the more excited he becomes to be back in soup weather. Hilda's presence is another wonderful treat, one that he couldn't help but get excited for even though there were unpleasant feelings hanging in the air. She thinks of Sabrina often. A less experienced telepath would feel unbearably sad for her.

He weighs a butternut squash in his hand before passing it to her.

"That's an excellent choice," he says. "Your vegetable pie is quite a diplomatic dish, I can't imagine anyone disliking it."

He's stopped to lean on the side of the nearest building, head turned up as he thinks over his answer. He exhales heavily, hand coming up to rub his chin.

"Hard to say, hard to say..." He hums thoughtfully. "Paracelcus, maybe. As one of the greatest alchemists in history, and the father of chemistry as we know it, I think he'd be very impressed to see the kinds of things we can do with chemicals now. I'd make him a raindrop cake, maybe a cocktail with butterfly pea flower powder that changes colour. I think he'd be decently amused."

[manyfucks]

"diplomatic?" hilda repeats, nose scrunched as she guffaws, throat yoked with laughter as she looks up at him, bubbling with the unusual turn of phrase. "yeah, i s'pose it is!! brings the family together anyway." she raises a cocksure eyebrow and makes a face of overexaggerated confidence - hilda is giddy. in fact, she's wild! thinking of all the fights avoided and nurturing given because of her cooking. and she's a little giddy also at the compliment. it's nice, albeit strange - perfectly fitting himself, then. "i could stop wars with it." she says sagely, staring at the stalls on the cobble-stoned streets. you could hand it to the rebuilt city for this: it had very neatly segmented aesthetics. next street over was all neon and dinge. but here, on on prima street? (no doubt named for bela dimitrescu.) well, it's apple-carts and castle-fronts and bookshops. ye olde book-shoppes, in fact. his response is paracelus. her eyes glitter as she looks at him. it's a cracking choice. she's quiet for a moment: it is sweet, isn't it, to want to share all those incredible achievements of potioneering and alchemy through a social little tea party. it means someone getting to see their works come to fruition. he's not thinking of it as sweet, she reckons: he's thinking of it as warm and hospital, and being impressive to that guest. but she thinks it's sweet. so she says nothing for a moment. this is all very familiar, as are the feelings he stirs. "he'd love that." its polite to say, but she's fighting off a feelings with that muted response. she looks, conveniently, over at a stall with jam and cheeses. she gasps! "i wonder...." and before anything else can be said, she's bee-lining (politely!) over. her eyes lock with a jar of strawberry jam before the duke has even joined her. proudly, she holds it up. "look!" just like when she first met him.