#lauguries

[petitsdieu]

𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝑮𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑪 𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑹𝑶𝑹, 𝑫𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑨𝑪𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑨, 𝑬𝑻𝑪.

@lauguries's orlok : 𝟸𝟷. sender bites into the receiver's (neck, thigh, etc.) and drinks their blood.

The couloir preternaturally marries terror and salacious. Redresses her will to be scared and squirms her from the inside out in sexual verge. She thinks not of death but something deadlier. The then-some love.

She could only love those that manducate her.

—𝒈𝒍𝒖𝒈, 𝒈𝒍𝒖𝒈, 𝒈𝒍𝒖𝒈...

Intimacy. He hugs her to the bone; a mouth eclipsing the left column. Imbibed her wine — the sweet maceration of her blood thins its way down his throat.

Look at how he holds her and how she lets him. The lolling neck, her crown making parallel to the ground, and her hair almost long enough to touch it. She hands loose off his arm and barely moves as he, the ravager, ravages. Her blinking glossed over in illusion; the pink film of it petal-soft, she sees what she wants to because she feels.

On each swill, heartbeats running lines into his mouth. Intimacy.

Five trembling fingers reach for him. She palms into his shoulder and pulls him in. The halo-shape of her mouth is for the audible breath, the feather-skirting of almost-moans. And in feeling the pleasure of eaten, melts off some of the pain. Or this too marries to make a fold in singular feeling.

[svjetllost]

The steady sound of water dripping echoed faintly in the background, each drop hitting some surface that amplified the noise, cutting through even the chaotic hum of traffic outside. Drip. Drip. Drip. Jace’s thumb brushed lightly over the screen of his phone, his eyes fixed on the image. It was still there, and he wasn’t entirely convinced it wouldn’t vanish the second he looked away. Had she sent it by accident? He doubted it. She didn’t strike him as the kind of person who did things by mistake.

It wasn’t what he’d expected, but who was he to complain? Either way, he’d get an answer out of her. His ride back to the Institute was quicker than usual—not that he was in the habit of letting traffic lights dictate his speed. The second he parked his bike, he shrugged off his jacket, running long fingers through his hair as he made his way to the elevator.

Church greeted him in the hallway with a sharp, accusing meow. Jace, having learned his lesson the hard way, wisely kept walking. The last time he’d tried to pet the demon-cat was also the last time he’d made that particular mistake.

When he reached her door, he noticed it was slightly ajar. With a practiced ease, he slipped inside and closed it softly behind him.

“You’re lucky there weren’t any demon attacks in lower Manhattan,” he said, his voice laced with mock exasperation. “Otherwise, I’d have left a trail of destruction just to get back here.” He held up the phone, the screen turned toward her, the photo still on display. “So... this is new. Not that I’m complaining. Should I have sent one of myself? Or...” He tilted his head, his grin teasing. “Maybe you’d rather see the real thing in person?”

lauguries asked: 「 CHIME 」 : for sender to purposefully send receiver a risqué image. for jace › from clary.

[folkpoetold]

so what do you recommend, to encourage affection? shadowheart to laenaya oakveil.

the camp is quiet. it's inhabitants sequestered to their own little corners, ready to wind down for the evening. laenaya sits by the crackling fire. a book, a journal foraged on their journey, open in her lap, a cup still half filled with ale by her left knee and a plate with crumbs of bread, cheese, and apple by her left. so lost to the words of the unnamed author, and their rather dramatic life, that she hadn't notice @lauguries approach. ❝ oh. ❞ gaze turns to shadowheart, her brows containing a light crease. a continuation of an earlier conversation. teasing around the art of courting. how silly it might seem, but it's a nice distraction from the thoughts of the mind flayer parasite currently calling her head home.

❝ well, i suppose that depends on the object of said affection. ❞ fingers fold the corner of the book, denoting the place she had last finished reading, before closing the pages. her full attention on her companion now, as body turns more towards her. ❝ some prefer simple talks - walks along the riverside, stargazing in a meadow, those kinds of things. others might prefer more, uh, primal activities. ❞ gaze briefly sweeps the camp, spotting various of their travel mates. she thinks she knows who might fall into each category. ❝ so . . is this hypothetical or is there a certain someone on your mind? ❞

[svjetllost]

The handkerchief she had held in her hand slipped from her grasp, falling softly to the stone ground at her feet. It was midday, yet the heavy gray clouds above cast the world in shadow, wrapping it in a slow, creeping darkness. With no sun in sight, the bleary winter day seemed even more muted, as if drained of all color. She took a step back, her heart pounding so fiercely beneath her ribs that she was certain the other could hear it.

Perhaps she should smile, or laugh—perhaps she should dismiss it as a jest, or at least pretend it was one. “What an odd thing to say…” she murmured, her voice dry as her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip. Slowly, she crouched down, her skirt pooling around her as she reached for the silken cloth.

“Was it you?” she asked at last, her voice trembling with something that could have been courage—or foolishness. It was hard to tell at that moment, for the words seemed to spill out of her unbidden. “The one I saw on the balcony of my room?”

lauguries asked: i want to sink my teeth into every inch of you. for mina › from carmilla.

[nightmarefuele]

tu . . . tu. . . .

there comes along a rustling amid the sleeping stone. a pitiless rot what susurrates, roused to an ill intermundane, of waking death.

pinched arches echoing visceral folds, and fire, ferrous and heavy, rolling alive in its long-unbreathing places: this the dominion of the demon's cathedral body. this the birth place of its newfound toll — the melody, a woebegone prayer, gentling into darkness untold.

and so he slips.

tu evigilasti me ab aeterno tenebrarum ( you awakened me from an eternity of darkness )

a tenebrous slither under the roof of her abode, her restive resting place, her garden of melancholy ... he knows of no lovelier sanctuary what wilt bid him in. no warmer flesh, no softer satin. into the spaces betwixt @lauguries' footfalls, his shadow grows slow, slow, a pool in the fragmented bowl of her head. and when doth finally she profer her face to the night, moonwashed and pallid as her withering place, he is touched — unfeeling and long-touchless as he — with her nature's somber colors, painted alight under the ghost of the mortal moon.

tu ești pentru cei vii. . . . ( you are not for the living )

the cloak of his silhouette reaches. the pressure of his presence descends. in her sheerest cloth and curtain, the pliant marshes of her skin, his black and unholy allure shadows, drinking her in.

nu ești pentru omenirea. ( you are not for human kind. )

[altarcup]

and the crowd goes wild! for violet › from jinx.

my ears ring. my world spins. the t̳h̳i̳n̳g̳ that used to be my sister 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜 from one greedy shadow to the next, weaving, dancing between pillars of smoke   ‒‒   and then, she seems to simply evaporate, 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫. she's the roach, but i’m the one crushed underfoot.

something cracks and splinters ; 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 as i try to right myself, try t̳o̳ ̳r̳i̳g̳h̳t̳ ̳m̳y̳ ̳s̳e̳l̳f̳ and all the things 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐, made irrevocable. 𝖎 can’t undo what i did to create her. that is why i must undo her.      ❛❛  𝐣𝐢𝐧𝐱,  ❜❜      i rasp, and it comes out with a string of blood-pink spit, the word 𝚊 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚜, h̳o̳l̳l̳o̳w̳, in our empty, dark arena. ( and the crowd goes wild, indeed. )  

my teeth, my teeth, my teeth are aching with how hard they’re clenched together.  i’ll grind them down to stumps. i’ll have 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖑𝖊𝖋𝖙 in my mouth but dust when i’m done here. wincing, i leverage the weight of my gauntlets to 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚎 to the ground as i struggle to stand. they connect, one after the other, with the s̳t̳e̳a̳m̳i̳n̳g̳ ̳r̳u̳b̳b̳l̳e̳. boom. boom. twin earthquakes. 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶? i 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 for an electric glimmer, a flash of trailing blue. her voice comes from all directions at once. and, yes, it’s in my head. it asks, why did you leave me?

when will you kill me?

it seems to laugh. it toys with me, t̳a̳u̳n̳t̳s̳ me. it’s having fun, as if we're playing like we haven't in forever   ‒‒   𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚘. my bones rattle with how much i want to just lay down and cry from the weight of it all. it’s under the surface of my skin, 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 so bad to get out. i’ll never let it. maybe one day, when the wounds turned scabs turned scars stop 𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔, when i’ve not forgiven either of us, but 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡. maybe then. for now, my eyes are dry.

i heave up my metal fists, up, up, up until they’re balanced on either side of me, readied. 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗶𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗱, the dust is settling. i pivot to the imaginary crowd, p̳i̳c̳t̳u̳r̳i̳n̳g̳ her world of grimaces and ragged dolls and squeaking gears on killing-toys. i don’t bother saying her name again. i know she's paying attention.      ❛❛  well, don’t keep 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 waiting.  ❜❜

[folkpoetold]

oh, what a way to die. astarion ancunin to darcie winters - jones.

darcie regards @lauguries with what can only be described as a withering look. the floor beneath them is stained red with blood, bodies littering the ground from an unseen assault. whoever they were, they didn't stand a chance against their assailants, with nothing but knives and daggers in their hands. from the look of their wounds they were met with rather more considerable force. swords, short, long, and great, if she had to guess. a mark on one of their faces draws her attention, one she's seen many times on their little adventure. the mark of the absolute. cultists. someone saved them a job, the pessimistic in her thinks.

❝ right. death at the slash of a blade or through transformation into a mind flayer . . neither is any way to die. ❞ though she knows which she would pick if she had to, and she would hope one of the group would have the strength to show such mercy if the time came. still, avoiding both would be preferable. to live out her life and die in peace is the goal. gaze turns towards astarion, curiosity in mind. after all, he is already dead. she can't help but wonder how. with a shake of the head she continues her search of the bodies, finding only a handful of gold and some rotten foods. ❝ we should keep moving before whoever did this comes for us too. ❞