#guardscape

[somnuis]

who died and made you king of it all?

❝ oh, come on. i think you know.  ❞  her smile's devilish; the girl bela ingold had a smile which settled gently on her lips, a thin line delicately tailored to the occasion, never outstepping its bounds. the creature-girl somnus had no such reservations –– no act to put on aside from one of confidence. ❝ guardians lined up like toy soldiers, one, by one, by one . . . do you feel it, when they die? do you feel the tie sever?  ❞ she pouts, a faux show of sympathy turned sinister by the ever-present shadow of her smile. a sweep of darkness covers her boots, then her shins, working its way up until she stand waist-deep in a void of light. in so wild a display, the boogeyman cometh, she stands with an eerie stillness draped along her form: the thin-line-smile returns, slowly dipping into something altogether devoid of feeling.

❝ question's wrong to begin with, dreamboy. it's not about who died.  ❞  if it were, it'd be a short conversation, maybe only made long by the sheer number of names, but certainly by no sacred secret of somnus' own: ian already knew! ❝ like, i mean, don't get me wrong –– i get it, sarcasm. but your whole king biz might not be as far off as you like to think.  ❞  as she speaks, the dark void surrounding her legs begins to work itself up into the vague shape of a crown resting against her head. the smile returns, in half-hearted style, as she feigns surprise at the crown now sitting there. her expression reads like that of a prom queen who rigged the vote from the jump!

hand extends, held out between the two of them, the other now cradling an armful of black, smokey flowers. all she lacks is a sash.

❝ people die! eh.  ❞  a shrug. no doubt she's enjoying every moment of this nightmare. ❝ not everyday you get a chance to be king.  ❞  at this, her gaze shifts, moving just above's ian's head, where there now rests a crown befit old king henry himself, made entirely of shadowy tendrils of a dark mist. hands reach up from the ground below him, never quite reaching before they dissipate and more appear behind them. a quiet chant calls out from the dark, a whisper of a name, over and over. morpheus. morpheus.

[somnuis]

@guardscape​   asked,     what's up with the hand thing? like do you have some kind of twitch? you good?

             ❝   what are you   ––   what?    this?   ❞       palm floats up to level itself with her head before twisting,  a sharp angle,  to the side,  and subsequently removing the world around them as they know it   –    shifting it to a busy cityscape,  bustling with foot traffic which conveniently steps around the space they occupy.       ❝   do you not like it?   ❞       frown's genuine,  she looks at her hand now,  questioningly.   it bends again.  the world is suddenly changed to a serene,  isolated countryside.  flowers bend gently in the breeze beneath their feet,  though the ones beneath somnus seem darker and withered. 

            ❝   it's cool.   it's fucking cool.   it's  ––  like,  it's terrifying  ––   ❞   another bend,  they're in a dungeon,  classic and misty.   ❝  shut up.   your voice is annoying.   𝑠𝑢𝑐𝑘 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑘.  ❞

[somnuis]

edits:          ian    &    bela.        [    lyrics.   ]

[ugliy]

i  only  love  you  when  you  don’t  love  me.

[ugliy]

                    to begin with,  this place was torture.  she would slam her hand against the concrete walls,  carve marks in them with pieces she’d broken off her bed,   or a fork she’d kept from a meal she was given.  anything to cause a problem,  to end the aching boredom that came alongside being locked away from daylight.   her nightmares had returned,  the terror of her mind returning in full force without the safety net of the darkness by her side.  THIS WAS TRUE HORROR :   I AM ALONE IN THIS PLACE,  I AM ACTUALLY,  FULLY,  ALONE.  times came when she could only guess at what was happening outside the four walls she’d found herself stuck within,  and this in and of itself nearly killed her.  the fact that she was so utterly unknowledgeable of the outside,  and she had no way to determine whether that which she saw play out in her head at night was news or just nonsense.  even now,  she wondered to herself,  ian   ––   are you real?  the thought made her laugh,  barely listening as he spoke to her.

@guardscape​   asked,   for  somnus  bela :    ' you know your cronies, or whoever they are? they keep cracking people's heads open trying to find their way into the dreamscape. for you. while you're still locked up here. how can you be talking to them? what are you planning? '

                      ❝ cronies?  please. ❞   her words come accompanied by a scoff.  she finds the word insufferable.    ❝ why are you assuming it’s on my behalf? ❞  she staves off a smile,  doing her best to maintain a stoic expression.  not that it matters  ––  it’s only funny to see him try to understand what she means.  it’s a matter of entertainment here,  given the shit on tv sucks.  and she’s been reading the same copy of moby dick for the last two months because they won’t give her shit else to do.    ❝  i used to think you were a little more clever than this.  ❞   now she can’t help but grin,  a teasing thing that spreads maliciously across her features,  even works itself up to effect her eyes.  a genuine display.

                      ❝ why are you here?  to ask me inane questions?  ❞  her tone’s teasing as she takes cautious steps closer to the plexiglass which separate her and him.   ❝ to tell me the lambs are still screaming,  clarice? ❞    the smile lingers,  but her gaze intensifies,  a significance hanging along each syllable of her last question.  planning  . . .   what could she possibly be planning?

[ugliy]

@guardscape​   asked,   for  somnus  :        i promise. i will hate you.

                 beneath this visage of an entity,    cruelty detailing every wrinkle in its countenance,    lay the consciousness of a girl before she’d turned sour.  this,  of course,  is the rouse she’d like to play before :   in her perfectly cut tennis skirts and sweetheart smile,  the kind that made you feel like the only guy in the world.  the one she’d worn again and again in the presence of ian himself,  sickeningly sweet and maliciously targeted.    bela ingold hears these words as he speaks them,    and brings to her eyes tears,    genuine and sincere,    as she pulls at her hair and shoves the strands off her face,  holding her head in the process.     –––     and,  in the following instant,  she drops it,  wiping the stains on her cheek away with an aggressive motion.      ❝  is that what you want?  ❞       her voice is cool,  and calm,   and collected,   as she takes slow steps towards him.

               ❝  you want me to cry and ask you to forgive me?    –––    you want me to beg you for it?  ❞      what was neutral before turns angry throughout her features,  a frown forming as she cocks her head to the side.     ❝  all because  ––  i love you so much.  like a little puppy.  ❞      she sneers before returning her expression to its base form,   severing herself as she was so happily used to.  now you see the heart on my sleeve  &  now you don’t,   because was the heart even real to begin with?     WAS ANY OF THIS?        ––      with little hesitation,  but a prolonged movement,  lingering as she makes it,  she places her palm to his cheek,  and looks as him at straight on as possible.       ❝  that means nothing to me.  ❞        the words sound out viciously,  pointed and sharp like jagged knives.

               ❝  i will hate you back.  ❞

[somnuis]

disgusting. awful. 2 stars

why dont you go suck a d*ck dream boy