cyanide skies @sasha-winter - Tumblr Blog

Check out this playlist on @8tracks: my heart is gold and my hands are cold by sasha.winter.

Hi, I’m a grown up self-sufficient woman with serious job and a ton of responsibilities.

I also have close to 10 episodes as a character, who canonically was a two-dimensional plot device.

#8tracks #playlist #pansy parkinson #harry potter #slytherin #fanmix #character inspiration #rpg

a girl is a gun. by sasha.winter.

road trip with the devil and police chasing you all across the badlands / run you fool // kinda a second pt of: https://8tracks.com/sasha-winter/all-your-cities-lie-in-dust

#8tracks #dark americana #playlist #southern gothic #road trip #this is god's country #badass #Rag'n'Bone Man #Royal Deluxe #Kate Miller‐Heidke #badlands #a girl is a gun #devil

oK, this screams Kaz Brekker

#writing prompt #leigh bardugo #six of crows #thief #kaz brekker

Check out this playlist on @8tracks: i am ruination by sasha.winter.

#8tracks #playlist #war #apocalypse #goddess #mythology #the four horsemen of the apocalypse #Hozier #Phildel #GeorgiaRose Music #genderbend

undo ourselves (again)

#witchcraft #blood magic #magic #dragon age #fanmix #dark #music

Kiev (Ukraine) Gothic, 2

· Central part of the city is paved with pebbles that glitter in the sun. Your mother always told you to watch your step, but you do not. Otherwise, the sigils on the ground become too vivid.

· People speak Ukrainian. People speak Russian. Sometimes, when you are half asleep in the old jolty trolley, you hear a language that is neither. It is a quiet whisper, a moan, an angry hiss; it cannot be identified, it cannot be understood. You do not open your eyes.

· There was an old park, a dark labyrinth of tangled trees, a sacred place where children would get lost once in a while. City council cut it down, burnt it to the ground, exterminated like a sworn enemy. Now there is a new shopping mall, bright, modern and disgusting, where fires start, where roof caves in, where everything at the food court is rotten. Old gods are angry. The city council is silent.

· Where is the city council? Who works there? What do they really do? You do not know. Nobody does. It is safer this way.

· You go to Vernandsky national library where they guard that book your college tutor wants you to read so much. There are stairs and halls, halls and stairs, dead ends and dim light. Go to 203, they say. Go to 144. You need the next floor. You need the previous floor. Wait for 5 minutes that turn into an hour. We do not have that book. Who told you about that book? What do you mean, where is the way out?

· They sell everything in the city trains. Everything, including those weird amulets that have to protect you from something that does not even have a name. “Buy one”, an old man with shaking hands insists. “Buy one!” he screams when you run out at the station and watch him watch you, up until the moment train is swallowed by the thick heavy fog.

· Church bells chime. Church bells chime. Church bells chime.

· Construction is everywhere you go. New neighbourhoods emerge without warning, always looking the same - neater, cleaner, seemingly safer than the old grey khrushchevkas, where you live and where everyone you know lives. New districts are shining, glossy and restricted; it is difficult to get in, but it is impossible to get out.

· Underground is filled with the screeching of trains, dull electric lights and cool oppressive scent nowhere else to be found. When you wander through the passages, trying to finally take the right turn, a childhood friend waves at you. You almost wave back, but suddenly realization hits like a knife – there is something wrong with his face. It is covered with a thin dark shadow, and that smile is hunger. You take a step back, a second one, and moments after you’re trying to get lost in the solemn crowd of passengers. It is too late.

· When the rattling sound of a phone call pierces through the evening silence, you know it is another commercial agent. Their offers vary from dry-cleaning services to TVs that unavoidably give splitting headache. You pick up the phone, ready to tell that no one is in the very least interested, but the words get caught in a dry throat.

This voice seems so terrifyingly, excruciatingly familiar like that of an old friend, who has always been here to guide, to advise, to protect. It is so familiar and elusive; the only thing left is to keep listening to these promises of all the comforts and joys of the world. ‘How much would that cost?’ you ask in uneven tone, already knowing the answer. The old friend laughs, and it is a warm beautiful sound, followed by a casual ‘Oh, just your soul’.

#regional gothic #regional gothic meme #gothic meme #kyiv #kiev #ukraine #this is god's country

i will wade out

till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air Alive with closed eyes to dash against darkness in the sleeping curves of my body Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery with chasteness of sea-girls Will i complete the mystery of my flesh I will rise After a thousand years lipping flowers And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

E.E. Cummings.

#poetry #cummings #e.e. cummings #american poetry

Kiev (Ukraine) Gothic

(Okay, so the regional gothic meme is highly contagious and completely irresistable).

· Yesterday you wore a shabby black coat, a winter’s leftover that did nothing to prevent familiar uneasy chill. It seemed colder in that last bus home than outside.Today you are in a T-shirt, dragging yourself along the empty highway, pretending the air is fresh, pretending it can save you from the heavy heat. It is April, and you are not sure what your tired, dazed eyes see behind the cracked window next morning – cherry blossoms or snow again. Maybe, both. Maybe, it’s ashes.

· The city train never arrives on time. When it finally comes, old, weather-stained, dating back to the USSR, you are not sure it’s yours but take it anyway, because here you take anything that comes your way. Everyone inside is looking at you with disdain. You leave at the station specified in a cramped ticket, leave in a hurry, not looking back, but there is nowhere to go. There are building cranes, still and silent, far ahead, a concrete fence that gives off a vague sense of danger and an endless railsea, wide and sparkling with steel. Rails are all you can see.

· There is a church just across the street. There is a church near the round-the-clock supermarket whose staff you believe is involved in drug-dealing and where you go every evening anyway. There are so many churches and so little faith.

· Your college acquaintances, whose names you cannot remember as if they were enchanted, take you to the Dnipro riverside. They casually tell the stories about recent disappearances that get more disturbing with each glass of cheap wine and laugh at the suggestion of swimming. They stop laughing when you splash cold water that somehow smells of metal in your face. It seems to be a blessing, but that evening nightmares come that do not stop for a week. You tell nobody, because keeping distance is a second rule of survival. The first one is to stay inside after dark.

· The concierge is an old woman who has been here for so many years no one remembers the time when she was not. She grows wormwood in the backyard of the house, and you slowly become accustomed to the bitter smell. One day you ask her for the reason; she tells it wards off evil.

What if it does not?

· One day a fence emerges across the shortcut you always take. When you climb over it, a man in a uniform appears from behind the chestnut trees – without a single sound. ‘It’s private property’, he says. You are not so sure it is – or that it will be for much longer, because small land wars occur all the time, - but leave. A couple of days later your neighbour that never goes outside tells it is a cult. You do not believe until you see the people who come out of the small grey building behind the fence. Their eyes.

· Your landlady is so beautiful it seems unholy. When she comes to collect the rent the sun is already setting. You pour her a cup of tasteless tea and stare, unable to really grasp this longing, this rapture, this fear. She has a husband that you have never seen. You ask her if she is not afraid to return alone at night, because there have been rumours of a maniac in your district. She laughs and it is a spell: “Men are not what we have to be afraid of, darling”.

Her name is Marya, and you always inwardly add “Morevna”.

· You buy a new phone because the old one has disappeared – was stolen, you furiously correct yourself. It seems so nice at first, but then whenever you pick it, there are quiet voices in the background, telling the things not meant to be heard. Mobile operator promises to fix it, but nothing changes.

· There is a hotel outside the underground station where no one ever checks in. It is all glass and metal and stone, so high it pierces the sky, so beautiful. Nobody shares your fascination. One Wednesday – all the bad things happen at Wednesday – it hosts a festival, with cheerful music so loud it gives you a headache in just two minutes of passing by. Somehow, you can hear the children laughing through all that noise. When you stop to buy cigarettes that are the only thing to not get more expensive than yesterday and ask about it, everyone looks terrified.

· There are always troubles with electricity. Sometimes the lanterns are lit during the daytime. Sometimes they go out at night. It should be frightening, but if you can’t see anything then you can’t be seen.

· Blue paint peels off the walls of your college like old skin, and there is deep disturbing red below. The cracks are located differently every day.

· The day the old concierge is taken to the hospital nobody can give you the address of, you meet him for the first time, but not really. You think you have seen him before – the handsome young man in a suit who holds a door for you and says he’ll move in next door this Wednesday. He studies the old “Hell is here” poster in the elevator, and his eyes are so blue and so cold you cannot tear your gaze away. You ask if he believes it and he smiles (it is like a razor and your knees go weak). Of course he does. He is the Devil.

#regional gothic #regional gothic meme #kiev #kyiv #ukraine #this is god's country #marya morevna