#|| frieda

[jiangui]

frieda: concerning fire

     Yes, Frieda Reiss had sex once, and it was on purpose. The old-fashioned way: a pill, a disguise, a loud, music-filled barn, whirling skirts, stomping boots, standing by the wall, cradling a cup of hard cider, a shy boy asking her to dance, a warm hand on the small of her back, something like electricity rippling a little at each touch (was this how it felt when two people attracted to each other got close enough?), tentative steps becoming laughs and twirls and, when the cider starts getting to their heads, stumbling out of the light and into long grass, her first kiss, hands fumbling at clothes, etc. and everything was awkward but she’d never felt something like that before (outside of some infinitely more awkward memories that weren’t hers). For a first-time, it was actually good (his work-hardened muscles, she had to admit, she’d enjoyed very much), but it likely had more to do with her good looks allowing her to take her pick of fish than beginner’s luck. She’d have liked to sneak off to another party and know how a girl’s body pressed against her own would feel like, but she could only show her face once without anyone questioning who she was.

      She was almost tempted to let him lie there without forgetting her, but in the end, duty won and she brushed her fingers against his forehead before she left, and so this act ended the way all her rebellion-intended acts ended: with the loss of something she’d decided to know. 

[jiangui]

@godleid ok no lie frieda would totally do the horizontal (or vertical??? probably more walls involved than floors lbh) mambo with yelena, if only because frieda'd be intrigued by her personality

[jiangui]

tagged by: me. I MADE THIS BOOYA

tagging: @vvenari  @compulsoryblood  @kleopatrasdaughter  @astutior  @roguehrenjager

Alessandra Lynch lines pt.1

(from her book Daylily Called it a Dangerous Moment)

bold the ones that apply to your muse, italicize the ones that your muse directs at someone else. REPOST. DON’T REBLOG

CHARACTER: FRIEDA REISS

First air and light suffuse us • daylily, oriole, dust • love, that airborne thing • we become forgetful • leave doors and windows open • the room adrift with pollen-druff • beetle-husk • the world’s quick dispatch signifying the end • and more gorgeous telegrams await • pin oak leaf • darkening canal • little horses fenced by highway • clouds, your face • dead bits • fighting in the wind • drift in • What more to wrestle? • What else to woo? • Close, door. • Close, petal. • Human eye, you close too.

excavation: the bone that has no marrow

let it dry in the ditch • a roadside bone – innocuous • Still, hard to reckon with. • You don’t know the who of it, barely the what • but once it belonged & longed & had stride. • Now it rises from the poke & takes your hand as if for a walk • through rain • & it is alive again • a man, urging you on • mr. anonymous • who coaxes & spends & swings you by another name. • Who never gives his own. • How bloodless he is. • Sitting at the white table. • Undercover matador. • Ask no more about bone. • Don’t breathe or swallow. • The stinging belt • your buckled hip • the blade chucking your chin • drawn down your neck • angling toward the breast. • Don’t ask about the voice that snarled and nested in your ear. • You live in hoax & hoax is fog. • No charm of finches to blast it clear. • His charm: all harm • and names? Don’t ask.

excavation deux

the girl is swerving in her own spotlight • parking lot mercury light • throb-throb • cut to black • but there is no flame or steam between them • she a stifled scream • a horse arrears • a knife pressed

would have lowered

Your body ribboned • your hips fluidly blue • face quartered by light • wrists slashed by the green threads of it • shoulder bronzed • in the glow of disregard • half-lidded eye • perfect interior repose • gloss in all that flat light of his knife • The window dropping its blinds • Your body felled swiftly from its dance • I could have taken your hand • I could have led you • a moonlit horse • beyond shadowy bars • beyond padlock • beyond what had harnessed you • what had wrenched your jaw • lamed your tongue • I would have lowered you to earth • beyond myrtle  rhododendron  cyclamen • away from the light that dismantled you

[jiangui]

basil

@humanwrath is not alone (snk muse starter call)

imprisoned in a filthy cage a ceiling without sunrise little beetles on the floor in the sink a dark lake she soaked her hands in and now it shines, crowned with the white frost of detergent

   ---  DANAE SIOZIOU, FROM “AROUND THE HOUSE”

      Now that Frieda Reiss is finally free, she can’t be consoled.

      She can’t really be anything, anymore. Look at her! You can’t! She’s not living anymore, just an impulse in a long chain of them, all residing in the nervous system of the monster that ate her.

      But was she really? Anything? Even while she was alive?

      Frieda Reiss used to be someone. A fifteen-year-old girl staring up at her enigmatic, unflinching uncle, his arms chained to the unnatural stalactites of the Reiss Family Cavern, his legs shackled to the great rock outcropping that acted as a sort of titan-sized altar. Uncle-Uri, who had always been Kind-Yet-Distant, always Above-Human, always Seeing-Something-Else, had allowed himself to be strung to die, a Vitruvian martyr, the only time he had ever appeared subservient to the apprehensive, dark-haired girl standing multiple stories below him. In that moment, even as he dwarfed her, even as she grieved and almost hated herself for what she was about to do, she had, for the first time, felt powerful.

      That moment, as she had lowered the needle to the crook of her arm (got to pierce the artery, make it quick) of her - and only her - volition, would be the last time that she had ever felt powerful. From then on, Frieda Reiss still ate and spoke and moved, but the First King of the Walls ruled what she had never before known she’d owned.

      So, now that she has been eaten by someone with no perceivable Reiss blood, is King Fritz gone from her? Frieda can’t tell. King Fritz certainly isn’t active in this titan, which rampages and slaughters and is in general not what you would call self-sacrificingly pacifist.

      Dare she poke the specter of King Fritz? In her grief, she dares.

     Would you like to know, Frieda Reiss asks, where King Fritz sleeps?