#ghosttalked

[violints-a-blog]

it’s the night of vanya’s third book reading.   she’s never been the best at public speaking     –––     it helps that the words are already written ,   already in front of her ,   but after being all - but - invisible her entire life it feels strange to have people hanging on her words.   the crowd pays attention.   she wonders if it’s how her siblings had felt ,   as kids ,   when they’d stood in front of crowds of fans after saving the day.   she stands in the middle of the barnes  &  noble and she reads out the opening lines ,   then signs copies for what feels like about a million people ,   far more than expected ,   and by the time it’s all finished ,   she’s beyond ready to go home.   she wants her apartment ,   her bed ,   some peace and quiet.   (  the last year has been a whirlwind ,   graduating from college   &   writing the book.   she’s ready for some rest.  )

it’d be easy ,   exhausted as she is ,   to miss the man standing in front of the window as she goes to exit the bookstore.   except she can’t ,   because that’s absolutely her brother ,   and he’s absolutely staring at the twenty copies of her book that are displayed there.   the sign above them reads  brand new!  tell - all autobiography from the umbrella academy’s number seven!   &   there’s a photo of her ,   blown up big   &   unmistakeable.

in the moment ,   the decision to not tell any of them had been easy.   she’d tried ,   several times     –––     she’d come so close to calling them ,   had visited the house a few months ago intending to tell luther and dad ,   but.   well.   it hadn’t happened.   and she’d thought it was better that way ,   selfishly ,   because their reactions could be delayed     –––      but now ,   with a reaction imminent   &   moments away ,   she doesn’t know what to do.   there’s only one thing to do ,   and she doesn’t know how to.

but he’ll notice her staring at him staring at the book eventually ,   so she pulls her pill bottle out of her jacket pocket ,   takes one to calm her nerves ,   and approaches klaus.   hands shoved in pockets ,   vanya’s nervous for the first time since the book came out.   she’s been riding on the catharsis of finally having her experience out in the world ,   of being believed ,   but she sure as hell isn’t feeling any of that relief now.   quietly ,   almost too quiet to be heard over the sound of the bustling street around them  :         ‘  hey ,   klaus.  ’

     *     @ghosttalked .

[girlfrosted-blog]

‘ whose blood is that ? ’ she asks quietly , her petite figure leaning next the door frame with arms crossed and a frown . it’s not the first time astrid finds klaus in definitely weird situations , being from almost dying to finding him eating stuff from a trashcan . she’d always convince him somehow to come to her place , take a shower and have a something to eat , stay low and sheltered for a while . despite most of their siblings still are at the mansion , astrid main concern is to get back to her life as fast as she can , avoid being sucked into that big mess that her family is . klaus wandering outside her door in tears is something she really wouldn’t expect to happen . ‘ what happened ? ’

@ghosttalked | starter call

[anemiasiac-a-blog]

          “i, uh, i’m sorry but i have no clue what you’re talking about.” they hadn’t really been paying much attention to the man rambling next to him. they thought that he was addressing them, but as he kept talking, it seemed clear he was actually having a conversation despite lukas not saying anything. they were the only two standing here at this bus stop waiting as well. it was incredibly odd, to say the least. they just hoped that the man wouldn’t become hostile towards them for pointing out the one sided conversation.

@ghosttalked / sc.

[limitknown-a]

I thought you were meant to be the smart one! You think I want another brother haunting me!? Christ, Five!

THE  LOOK  ON  KLAUS’  FACE  IS  WRONG ,         unfitting  for  usually  aloof ,  blithe  character .  a  bad  joke  he  cannot  understand ,  a  code  he  fails  to  decipher          a  reality  he  isn’t  able  to  comprehend .   the  world  beyond  it  fades  into  a  blurry  fog  of  shapes  and  kaleidoscope  colours ,  existing  somewhere  but  not  with  them .  ISOLATED  FROM  THE  CONCERN  and  anger  that  distort  his  brother’s  features  into   ones  of  a  stranger .

❛     nothing  happened            i’m  fine .  .  .      ❜      exhales  and  inhales  slowly  as  though  to  see  if  lungs  can  function  properly  still          proof  of  him  being  there ,  of  being  alive .  gaze   struggles   to  meet  his  brother’s ,  more  taken  aback  by  the  UNEXPECTED  REACTION  than  what  had  occurred  mere  moments  ago .  death  still  taunts  him   with  sweetened  voice ,  calling .         ❛    i’m  not  going  to  .  .  .           haunt  you ,  jesus .     ❜

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃. 𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌    /    @ghosttalked .

[dkatzs]

     Dave INITIALLY doesn’t hear Klaus come in -- that little shit is light as a feather and his footsteps are quiet. It takes the smallest sound from him for Dave to jump half-way out of his skin and turn on the couch ready to ATTACK --- albeit with a potato masher.     He relaxes a bit when he sees it’s Klaus, then points accusingly at the television set and sits up on his feet, “I’m watching The Poltergeist! What the hell is WRONG with that house?!” 

@ghosttalked / SC

[violints-a-blog]

Dear past me,

dear past vanya —–

it feels strange to be writing this.   it isn’t that i’m unused to writing about myself  —  i’ve got nearly 300 pages of autobiography to prove that point  —  but i don’t know how to write to myself.   i’m seeing a new therapist,  and she said this might be a good idea,  but i don’t know if she’s right.   i’m trying it anyways.

here goes.

dear past me   —   i guess,  me at around ten,  because that’s the past me that needs the most help.   dear ten year old vanya.   all you want right now is to be extraordinary.   because in your my our mind,   being extraordinary has always been equal to being loved,   whether that’s by father or by our siblings or by the rest of the world.   here’s the good news:   you’ll get there.   right now,   you’re just starting to get the hang of playing the violin,   and you’re not sure you’ll ever be good enough at it.   we go to school for violin,   a few years from where you are now.   we get good.   we’re not the best in the world or anything like that,   but it’s something that’s ours.

the most important part,   i guess,   is that dad was lying.   it was bullshit when he said we were ordinary.   i don’t mean in the poetic  ‘everyone is special’  way that mom tried to comfort us with when we cried   —   but in the same way our siblings are.   we have powers.   honestly,   right now,   i’m still scared shitless of those powers.   but they’re there.   i’m writing this as if i could actually send it to you,   and even though i can’t,   i feel like you need to know this.   i wish we’d known earlier.   the way it works out isn’t great   —   we make some mistakes,   and we hurt people we care about,   and we get hurt too,   but i think we’re making it through to the other side of it all.   i hope so,   at least.

i think if i’d known earlier,   i could’ve figured out how to control them without all the pain.   my therapist says thinking about all those ‘what if’s isn’t productive,   but it’s hard not to.   we’ve lived with what if’s all our life,   haven’t we?   some of them come true.   most of them don’t.

i wonder if you’d be proud of the person we are today.   there’s a lot of things we’ve done that i’m not proud of.   if you could see me now,   would you recognize us?   i know what’s coming,   but i can’t help but write as if i could change it for you.   make your world better.   this letter is just going to go in the trash after i finish it,   but it’s two and a half pages long and i can’t stop typing it.   like it would make any sort of difference.

pretending that it can,   here’s some things you should know.   stop taking your pills.   they aren’t really for your anxiety.   dad’s a piece of shit,   and it takes you a long time to realize that fully,   but he doesn’t deserve you wishing for his attention.   your siblings   —   they mean well.   or,   they don’t,   not then,   but it isn’t their faults.   that’s a really hard lesson to learn,   and you’ll be trying to process it for a long time,   so i don’t blame you at all for being bitter for a while.   i don’t think you’re bitter yet right now :   i don’t remember,   exactly,    but i think the me i’m picturing here was still hopeful.   i don’t think we started really losing hope till after ben died.   ( ben’s going to die.   five’ll disappear first,   but he’ll come back eventually.   ben doesn’t come back.   it’s going to be really rough. )   keep that hope,   but don’t let it crush you beneath its weight.   keep practicing violin,   keep trying to be kind,   but don’t let people walk all over you.   that’s a problem we’ve had for a long time.

it’ll be a while before you’re happy,   but you will get there,   and it’s going to feel so good,   i promise.

love,present vanya

p.s.   you’re a lesbian.   don’t date men,   they aren’t worth it.

      *  letters .   accepting .

[limitknown-a]

❛       I  DON’T  HAVE  A  JOB  FOR  YOU .       ❜         sharp  tongue  speaks  words  of  venom ,   the  tone  of  someone  who  wishes  for  silence .   no ,  what  nonsense !  there  will  only  be  ash  falling  from  the  sky ,  burning  holes  into  dark  uniform  and  raw  skin  will  ache  against  heavy  debris .  no  more  silence ,  no  more .   he  just wants            P E A C E .       ❛   i’m  better  off  doing  all  of  this  by  myself  than   relying   on  any  of  you  for  help .   ❜

♡   𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋    /    @ghosttalked .

[violints-a-blog]

“ they are all dead because of you! ” (white violin Vanya?)

there are too many sounds echoing in her heart.   she   —   vanya   —   the white violin   —   stares at him with too - pale eyes,   &   the sound of his shouting voice joins the wind around them.   if vanya were present enough,   she would be terrified of herself right now  :   afraid of how little she cares about the implications of his words,   the power surging through her body.   but she’s only half - here,   half - wicked.   vanya is still vanya,   but she’s disconnected,   detached,   and she knows how she should be reacting to these words and how she is reacting are two entirely different things.

she doesn’t want to hurt him.   this,   she knows,   &  even like this she’s got enough impulse control to not allow the energy in the air to target him.   instead,   it remains aimless  :   the wind grows,   whipping her hair around her face,   knocking a picture frame off a wall,   glass shattering on the ground.   she feels more than hears the noise of it.

the white violin tilts her head to the side,   just slightly,   a calculated movement in slow - motion.   they are all dead,   he says  :   names,   moments flicker through her memories.   leonard and pogo,   purposeful  ;   mom,   waving through the academy’s window,   a casualty of war  ;    the apocalypse five had been trapped in  ;   allison,   not dead but just nearly,   and guilt still eats at vanya’s heart for her,   but that’s too much to think about and so she stops thinking about it.

(  it’s easy,   so easy,   to just turn off thoughts like this.   something is too overwhelming,   and she simply stops it.  )

he’s right.   he is so acquainted with death,   but vanya has recently met the act of killing.   he’s right,   and she cannot bring herself to care,   to feel anything about the lives she has ended.   so she nods.   she does not speak,   does not add to the cacophony of sound in her ears.   simply nods,   and turns to walk away.