omen sung

𝙖 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙬𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣'𝙨 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙛 . [ 🦊 ]

[lesziye]

                      DARK FOREST / DEATH BLOOM .

SLAVIC LORE BASED LYDIA MARTIN & MIECZYSŁAW STILINSKI  // by LENA & RIO

[prophaetia-a]

we’re going   ✈️    blog move and revamp

[apathine]

*     (   ›   )        DIVINE APATHY       [  …  ]         !                                                                      REAP   YOUR   SORROWS    /                                                                                   AT ANOTHER MAN’S DOOR  .

FANDOMLESS OC     /     WRITTEN BY LENA .

[wollfling]

ig: cherub_ (Don’t delete my caption, thank you!)

[de-morte]

I have unfounded tales, hidden beneath my tears.

Channing M (via de-morte)

[prophaetia-a]

♡    ›    jokethur .

It’s almost poetic: a few calculated words can rend Joker’s human skin swifter than a full moon. Dead in his tracks, werewolf clutches the toddler close to his chest with one arm. The other dips into his pocket, coiled around the Smith & Wesson with his finger on the trigger. Joker appears to internally decapitate himself, trembling and straining to smile even when instinct bids he turn and bare teeth. He is, yet can’t tear his chin from his shoulder. Redhead just shades his periphery. Tread any closer and he’ll strike. 

Frightened as she is by her father’s shift in demeanor, the baby allows one deep blue eye to creep out from the safety of his hair. She stares at Redhead. Redhead stares at them. Then she sheds a tear, gripping Joker’s long green hair and his collar. As night sinks its teeth in, he pivots and stretches his lips. Nicotine-stained jaws on full display. “Ma’am…” he’s too soft, too airy and weightless for this omen, “You have…” brittle laughter drenches his frown lines in shadow, “Three seconds…and you better pray to God that I believe you. Understood?” Joker cants his head, fronting a simper that leaves his eyes more jagged than sea glass.

THERE IS NO BLAME TO BE HAD HERE  ,     not from lydia  .    she  ,     too  ,     would be on the wrong side of anxious  ,     the wrong side of afraid  .     angry  ,     a little bit  ,     even  .     more than a little bit  .     lydia thinks of her own daughter  ,     safe and loved and home  .     she thinks of the horror she would feel if someone approached her like this  .     it is easy  ,     then  ,     to empathize  .     lydia is the odd one out here  ,     some kind of an outlier  .

some kind of a herald  .     she truly wishes she wasn’t  .

softly  ,     under her breath  ,     as to not frighten the little girl even further  ,        ‘    her name is avery  .     but you changed that  ,     though i    —    i can’t quite figure out to what  ,     only that that shifted the course of   —    it doesn’t matter right now  .     what matters is i know she’s in danger from some people in her past who   —    ’        she cannot imagine a sickness deep enough to warrant wishing your own child harm  .     lydia shivers  .       ‘   who were supposed to care about her  .     if she goes back  ,     it’ll be bad  .     if you would just    —    listen  ,     i swear  i’m just trying to keep a kid safe  .    ’

[prophaetia-a]

♡   ›   duszycien .

        AND    SO    JUDGEMENT    DAY    hath    come  .    the    snakes    descend    on    the    fox  ,    but    the    fox    is    outgunned    and    outnumbered  .    [    is    this    or    is    this    not    you    on    this    tape  ?    /   𝚒    𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝    𝚊    𝚕𝚊𝚠𝚢𝚎𝚛  .    𝚊𝚗𝚍    𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜    𝚖𝚢    𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐    𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎  ?    𝚒    𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛    𝚝𝚘    𝚐𝚘𝚍  ,    𝚒𝚏    𝚢𝚘𝚞    𝚙𝚞𝚝    𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛    𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜    𝚘𝚗    𝚑𝚎𝚛  ,    𝚒  –    /    i    wouldn’t    make    threats  ,    detective    stilinski  .    not    in    your    position  .    /    𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔    𝚢𝚘𝚞  .    ]    bravado    does    him    no    good  ,    not    when    his    mind    plays    tricks    unlike    even    the    trickster    himself  ,    and    the    spiral    deepens    the    longer    he    is    alone    with    his    thoughts  .    maybe    that’s    why    he’s    kept    in    confinement  .

        had    she    not    been    here  ,    he’d    only    pace  .    as    it    were  ,    he’s    properly    still  ,    kept    in    the    shackles    of    her    loose    hold  ,    the    thin    of    her    arms    wrapped    around    his    waist    like    a    vice  .    she    needn’t    worry    for    his    escape  ;    stiles    hugs    her    around    the    shoulders    and    keeps    her    tucked    under    his    chin  .    she    might    feel    him    tremble  ,    his    anxiety    rattling    his    chest    as    violently    as    his    rage  .    ❝    did    you    see    the    tape  ?    did    you    see  –    what    if    i    did    it  ?    what    if    i  –    what    if    i    did    it  ,    lydia  ?    ❞

TERROR DOES NOT LIVE IN THE SHADOWS  ,     it does not live in the night  .     terror is a concept that twists  ,     vine  -  thick and cloying  .     terror hovers  ,     demon  -  wrought  ,     shifting shapes like voracious hunger  .     shifting shapes for voracious hunger  .      *   TERROR WANTS WHAT IT WANTS  ,     STILES  .     IT WANTS YOU  ,     IT WANTS HER  .     WHAT CAN YOU DO    ?     WHAT CAN YOU DO BUT SUCCUMB    ?    SUBMERGE    ?    DON’T YOU LIKE DROWNING  ,     PRETTY THING    ?    YOUR SYREN WAITS  ,     COFFIN  -  KISSED  .     HAVEN’T YOU SEEN IT BEFORE    ?    DOESN’T SHE LOOK SO PRETTY WITH HER EYES CLOSED    ?

‘    i saw  .    ’       lydia’s eyes are closed  .     she is breathing deep  ,     holding on    —    beneath the scent of cell  ,     of grime and sweat and fear  ,     there is stiles  .     it is enough  ,     for now  .        ‘    that wasn’t you  ,     it wasn’t    —    i can’t explain it   —    ’        she means    :    I KNOW YOU BETTER THAN YOU KNOW YOU  ,     I KNOW WHEN YOUR HANDS ARE NOT YOUR OWN  ,     THEY WERE NOT YOUR OWN  .     THOSE WERE NOT YOUR HANDS  .     lydia stokes her touch down his spine  ,     safe in his arms  .     safe in her arms  .        ‘    did you notice the eyes    ?    ’

[justanotherrpmeme]

Send 💬  for me to make you a starter with a random line of dialogue from this generator.

[luthienne]

She was a gentle sort of horror,

Julia Armfield, Salt Slow; “Cassandra After” (via luthienne)

[sad-house-of-mortality]

Deda . - All souls day.

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Federico García Lorca, tr. by Sarah Arvio, from Selections; “Gacela of the Unexpected Love,”

[hope-mikaelson]

[prophaetia-a]

♡    ›    duszycien .

        DEATH    IS    AFFORDED    SOME    cruelty  ;    she    wields    it    here    well  .    [    𝘸𝘦    𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵    𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘰    𝘢𝘯    𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨  ,    ]    says    banshee  .    whatever    anxious    energy    drives    stiles’    movement    seizes    here    so    that    he    falls    still    and    blinking    at    nothing  ,    his    back    facing    her    rigid    and    trembling    with    the    effort    to    keep    so    static  .    ❝    copy    that  ,    ❞    says    fox    flatly  ,    emotionless    and    drained  .    he    does    not    even    taste    her    grief    when    his    own    is    so    filling  .    stiles    drags    his    wrist    under    his    nose    to    hide    a    sniffle    and    goes    back    to    rifling    blindly    through    papers  .    ❝    you’re    right  .    he’ll    be    fine  .    you    should    get    some    rest  .    it’s    late  ;    we    can    pick    back    up    tomorrow  .    ❞

‘    STILES    —    ’        WHAT IS THERE TO SAY  ,     SYREN    ?    what can you weep here that you have not already cried for    ?    lydia would love to    turn back the clock  ,     reverse what has been done  .    it still cuts  ,     this wound  .     it still bleeds  .     lydia thinks if she could just let it go    —    if she could just let it go  ,     it would be different  .     but she can’t  ,     yet  .     his back faces her and she thinks that even if it were his eyes  ,     she’d see the back of his head instead  .     lydia doesn’t keep talking  ,     quietly lifts a sheet from her own stack  .     something about parasites  .     she sighs  .        ‘    i’m not tired  .    do you want me to go    ?    i can finish on my own  .    ’

[rosources]

—   ask meme   :   RICHARD SIKEN,   THE LONG AND SHORT OF IT.

you have been watched from a distance for some time now and now you are being watched from even farther away.

you’d like to believe it’s true. who wouldn’t?

just because a thing’s invisible doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.

you close your eyes and nothing happens.

let me in, i’m still here, hello hello, you know me, you know…

i could pretend i’m speaking to everyone — assume a middle distance and transcend myself — but i’m talking to you and you know it.

where did you just go?

it doesn’t always matter where we are but here i am and i say hello.

you would like it here. maybe you would like it here. i think that maybe you would like it here.

when i try to guess your trajectory i end up telling my own story.

i love you sideways daily.

i’ve been rereading your story. i think it’s about me in a way that might not be flattering, but that’s okay.

we dream and dream of being seen as we really are and then finally someone looks at us and sees us truly and we fail to measure up.

sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them.

so here we are again: me being here and you being off the map.

do you have a human soul and can you prove it?

a robot can do the math. a robot can spit out an answer. people, they make it up as they go along.

i had a tape recorder. i poked and prodded.

i’ve been warned that i’m not supposed to threaten or beg for pieces of someone’s soul.

you said if people wanted to change the world, they would.

too bad for them. i want something else.

you know how i am. i push too hard. i get ahead of myself.

i’m learning how to be gentle.

love, love, go ahead and have another plate of it, it doesn’t run out.

of course, i wonder if you love me back, which is, really, besides the point.

sure, we invent each other. we agreed to that a long time ago.

here is a place for it to happen. a place where i can love you.

[prophaetia-a]

♡    ›    duszycien .

        ❝    YEAH  ,    THERE’S    NEVER    TIME  .    ❞    vitriol    rolls    off    the    tongue    like    maggot  -  rot  ,    but    just    as    soon    as    he    is    to    fester    in    it    does    he    back    off  .    fox    goes    tail  -  tucked  ,    teeth    hidden    in    maw  ,    ears    drooped  .    stiles    turns    away  ,    flicks    through    papers    without    seeing  ,    and    mutters  ,    ❝    everything    just    keeps    ending  .    i’m    sick    of    the    endings  .    just  –    never    mind  .    ❞

‘    YOU’RE SICK OF THE ENDINGS    ?    ’        SHE IS A BITTER   thing  ,     this banshee  .     this woman  .      she is bitter and she is sad and she is angry  ,       still  .     lydia is still angry  .        ‘   so am i  .    again  ,     what do you want me to do    ?    what should i do    ?   we can’t undo    —    an ending  .     you    —    ’        she is tired of being angry  .        ‘    look  ,    we’ll    —    we’ll figure this out  .     scott’s going to be okay  ,     he’s got all of us  ,     right    ?   we’re working as hard as we can  .    ’

[prophaetia-a]

post eichen, lydia recovers from craniocerebral trauma. she is “lucky,” in a sense, because this head injury she experiences is one that goes away without surgery, but with rest and a few medications. this manifests for her recovery period with bouts of memory loss, confusion, and inability to speak properly. she has moments of clarity, and understanding, and given that her injuries had not been severe, more often than not she is in a correct frame of mind.

but for about two to three weeks, post injury, she mixes up her words a lot, and grows increasingly frustrated when she is unable to remember certain things. once she’s recovered, she does not remember all of the recovery period, as that’s a side effect as well. 

in addition, her migraines increase in frequency. this is unfortunately something that lasts for life. for the most part, it’s manageable. her banshee migraines are different, and far more painful. medications do not usually help. typically, lydia can pop some excedrin and go on with her day. 

overall, the symptoms experienced while healing fade, and she goes back to “normal.” still, she suffers with sore temples often.

[duszycien]

                            is it better to out-monster the monster 𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙚𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙙𝙚𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙙?