#phantasmaw

[vonerde-archive]

— 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙚-𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙧 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡. ft. @phantasmaw (feris)

"your scent is that of the sun . . . it reminds me of older times when gods still roamed the far plains." a sigh, one of bitterness & loneliness whilst her gaze fell. "how was that? i was never allowed to roam with them."

[crimsontroupe]

❝ we both know how this ends. ❞ vis to nox! @phantasmaw

"Not in any that that would be pleasant for your or for me." Harsh, but it is the truth. Equinox kicks a small pebble out of the way, distracted with the small things. With the lingering smell on fresh grass after rain, soil that has been recently kicked up. The hands of his companion (could he even call Vis that?), dirtied with mud and dirt.

He speaks the truth: the road stained with blood is disgraceful, it is unpleasant. But misery loves company, and so they continue to orbit each other. There is something that Nox can offer, and nothing that he can really acquire in return. Nothing that he really wants to, anyway. Nothing that matters, nothing that would make that gaping wound whole again.

So he sits and watches, stands tall behind a withering corpse. Sometimes it is his own corpse. Sometimes it's not. Equinox grits his teeth, ignores old ghosts and unpleasant visitors. The torment of consequences, how they catch up to you. "How do you want this to end?"

An innocent question. With a not so innocent answer (madness speaks so clearly to both of them, it can never be something pure, it can never be something pristine, it can never be what they really want and those two things are so so so so so so very different aren't they), and he knows. He knows that. "Where do you want to be? Where do you want to end?" How do you silence the voices, he wants to ask.

But he knows. He knows they speak - they will continue to speak - until the end of time. The dead and the living alike.

[nulltune]

kithes u(!! lynn beloved!) on the cheek

IS KITHED !!!!! and blushes .......... i am late to this (snailynn moment) but seeing u in my activity is always a joy!!!! AND THIS ASK IS SO CUTE IM GONNA MELT,,, it's da wholesome lisette energy that insta-cures me and gives me +100 happiness points methinks. 🫶💖💞✨️ ALSO I AM OBLIGATED TO SAY THAT I AM DOUBLING THIS CHEEK KITH AND PASSING IT TO THE NEXT PERSON . aka i am giving all ur muses a kith, i luv all ur ocs sm, crane & hakuno and visal & hakuno interactions have been feeding me so well BUT NATURALLY I WOULD WANNA INTERACT WITH ALL UR MUSES SOMEDAY <3 i am greedy like that yknowww úwù

[saintsdawn-archive]

@phantasmaw, as feris, says, “ Prophecy tells what may be, not what should be. ”

“ Does it matter what it means ? My point still stands; prophecies are terrible things. ” She speaks while digging through loose belongings. Books, spare clothes, and a wooden box of embroidering tools. There’s more, of course, but it’s the box she was wanting.

( Later, when the leaves of the design are taking shape, she’ll regret the venom in her voice. For now, she’s content to let it flow. )

With it in hand, Florence continues. “ They’re a burden, and I hope to never hold the weight of one. ”

[illholy]

"Stay for a while?" Imelda coos, offering Judith her most winsome smile: all teeth that glint like moonlight, a promise to show more if only she were to be graced with a few more moments of Judith's time-- though what more constituted of could hardly be anything deemed innocent. But she keeps her lounging position, with legs daintily crossed and claws draped over the mossy fringe beneath her. The monster hides her teeth again. "It's been too long since I had good company."

█ 𝒖𝒏𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒅 ,     always   loved.

Judith is no artist but she thinks of   ' muses '   when she sees the tint of brown in this stranger's eyes  ━━━  that if she were a poet, it would have been written about her   &   that painters dream of unruly hair cascading down amongst the mold of her body,  the pleats and fold of her clothe's falling fabric are nothing but romantic, perfectly placed to alight daydreams of peeling them off.    Judith is no artist, but she knows she does not need to be one to understand temptation.   

❝ Thank you for your generosity.  ❞    She willfully stays,  saunters to her make shift throne and lays herself along the floor, rest her cheek against the cushion of her lounge.    ❝ though, not one good company ?  should I assume I'm good enough for you ? ❞     and she is looking at her expectantly,  doe eyes needy behind spectacles.  tell her how good she is - or she suppose she needs to show Imelda first ?     she doesn't mind performing. 

[yourcosmictimecop]

@phantasmaw​

“Sir, control your butterflies please. Lovely as they are, their wings keep smacking my eyelashes.” He grumbles, shooing a couple away from his face, having half a mind to just bite one at this point. “I just have a few questions and then I’ll be out of your hair.” Cases that involved the feral and seemingly questionable characters weren’t Ted’s favorite kind to handle. Double the potential variables that could spawn wormholes in the continuum or worse, could create divergent timelines, GTF agents had play closer to the chest, really dig into the guidelines and regulations from their rookie days. When he tried to hand the case off to another gargoyle, his handler shut it down before the sentence was even halfway out of his mouth. 

Why was it so important for him to handle this? Whatever the situation may be, Ted resigned to pull out his handheld telepad and a small stylist pen and begin scribbling out some notes about the date, timeline, and the suspect in question before him. He has a job to and a case to close after all.

Eyes still on the lit up screen, he adds, “I can come back in a few days if that suits you better, but I do have to ask these questions. Or I can take you in for questioning. I’m sure you understand that neither of us would prefer the latter option.”

[rakkirrrowch-a]

THE ACHE IS UNLIKE ANYTHING HE’S EVER FELT BEFORE ,  a weighted sink that reaches deep down into a pulseless heart .  in this undead life never once did he think that the answers he sought out might have turned out to be so unbearable .  schism of the body and soul ;  since when has the light of the sun seemed so dark ?  ‘ it’s not mine , ‘  it’s not his ,  it’s not his ,   NONE OF IT’S HIS .  ‘ feris ,  i ---  i remembered something . ‘  he has to admit this .  ‘ i ...  don’t think this is my real body . ‘  and what ,  then ?  didn’t that make him a dirty thief ?  didn’t he steal it ?  did he not dig it up like the dog he was ,  and defile it ?  he can only whine and wheeze where dry ,  hollowish sockets refuse to let him weep .  IT’S NOT HIS ,  and he doesn’t even know how to leave it .  how to lay a corpse back to rest with just whispers ,  how to shed proper grieving tears and apologize to the dead ---  THAT HE CURSED BACK TO LIFE .

      ‘ i was supposed to go with him ,  but i couldn’t even do that much --- ‘  JUST GIVE ME ONE MORE CHANCE !  he couldn’t stop howling that day .  how could he have forgotten it ?  it echoes in a procession of grim memories :  no kiss woke the pharaoh ,  no late love or bodily warmth rejuvenated what sickly spirit had already wasted away .  surely he had been brought in for the sake of a dying boy’s comfort ,  though he couldn’t quite understand the human tongue :  the face he wore now had never born such an expression ,  ever-calm ,  ever-patient ,  waiting for a bond that never formed .  there must have still been scars and holes from every selfish bite marring these wrapped hands of his ,  a lingering mark of every cruel ,  toothy snap despite the gentle palms that had tried to reach out and feed and pet him .  the memory rots in his mouth and leaves him sick with the rot of regret .  

      ‘ i don’t want this ... ! ‘  I WANT HIM BACK !  I WANT HIM BACK !  enough to die next to him ,  and possess the leftover corpse .  this ungrateful beast whose teeth he bares in his memory ,  growling and leering as it indulged in both mischief and misfortune as it liked ,  what was he meant to do with this but be miserable over it ?  was it enough to be sorry ,  sorry enough to waste away and die a second time ?  ‘ i hurt him , ‘  and how it must have felt just like this :  some sort of unspeakable failing ,  a wall of indifference to the earnest heart’s desire .  a confession without one side listening ,  or even able to understand .  ‘ i must have really hurt him .  he was so nice to me ,  but all i did was betray him .  right now ,  he must hate me ,  more than anything or anyone ...  !  feris ,  i’m not the pharaoh on those pyramid’s walls like we thought ---  i was the pharaoh’s dog ! ‘  // @phantasmaw​

[sunsmitten]

@phantasmaw​ asked: gnaws a little on his shoulder... they'll cover the teeth marks with kisses too!

        “Are you teething?” The God’s flesh tingles beneath each purposeful bite, goosebumps rising against his skin and making his neck itch. Sovann’s made worse marks against his body ( scars on his inner thighs to prove it ) and the sharp indents weren’t taken in offense; Rather, Hyacinth lifts a hand to playfully tug at the loose strands framing his lover’s face. “Kiss me here, too,” he asks, voice only a whisper as he leans in to peck Sovann at the corner of their mouth. He’s quiet in his affection, as if the human visitors seated at the entrance of his temple could bear witness to the God’s intimacy. They couldn’t see Hyacinth’s shared time with Sovann, but as the forest comes to life with a blanket of sunlight and a heavy scent of flowers, his love for the Anti-God is clear; Even to the people who cannot see.