#redruins

[2005jesuschrist]

@redruins: i don't like it here at all.

“lakewood?   nobody expected you to stay.”   but i hoped you would.   that somewhere amidst the chaos that unraveled,   where your own mind turned into the enemy,   that the familiarity would remain:   nothing else could change.   let yourself be grounded in the world labeled 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎.    a shrine to a scar,    haunted images dance over your eyelids when they close,    the glint of a blade,    your own ricochet.    is the blood not now on your hands too?    tell yourself that it was over,   returned to lakewood like you were not its own sacrificial lamb.   it started again,  old foe at the bottom of wren lake and you still can’t close your eyes.

the murders made a museum out of you,   pointed fingers,   gawks from people who can’t look away from a burning building.  except you can’t recognise that it’s you aflame,   helplessly trapped from something you can’t run from.    𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐,  your friends are dead.    you are not safe here,   and you don’t believe kieran is either.   in your naivety,    you overlook so many signs:    is he holding the matches? —      “you can.  –    still leave,   i mean.”    a shaky breath,    it is not abandonment if you believe it’s for the best.      “god knows i should.”

[doomdays]

@redruins sent 'rest,' (sender rests their head on receiver's shoulder.)

the 'woodsboro truther' forum is open on her phone between them, an obvious 'joined' label at the top of it, making it clear that not only has sam obsessively read through the lies being posted about her for weeks, but she'd subscribed to it, as if there was anything she could do to put an end to it. other than complain about it to her roommate, who she's sure was tired of it by now, but quinn was so far removed from it. she didn't want to show it to her sister or to mindy and chad; it'd only worry them more. sam doesn't remember the last time she's had friends like this -- people to turn to, to rely on, to find comfort in. she'd sworn off everyone except for her sister, telling herself that was all she need, especially with all the time she had to make up for -- but she saw the way tara was with mindy and chad, and how they'd become her family, too, so maybe after a while, it just became natural to find a similar comfort in their roommate. especially now, after fighting her way through another exhausting day of mindless ridicule, she just wanted to turn to someone else who may not be looking at her the same way everyone else who didn't know anything real about her might.

there's comfort in quinn's head against her shoulder, and despite usual hesitance, she leans into it too, letting her own head fall against hers as she tells herself that she might have something real here herself ( an actual friend, not just someone she shares a wall with. ) quickly, her finger presses the button to let her phone sleep, as if that could actually rid her of the forum spewing hate and lies to her name. ❝  please, just . . . tell me something good. ❞   she mumbles it in an exhausted tone, and yet after a moment, a smile creeps against her lips, and she lets out a small laugh. ❝  or not good. i never know with what you get up to, ❞ she teases. ❝  are you seeing someone new? i thought i heard a different voice earlier. ❞ anything to deflect from herself.

[doomdays]

@redruins sent 'pluck,' (sender plucks something out of receiver's hair.)

her body freezes in place, not out of fear from the person in front of her, but she thinks that if she moves, she might ruin something herself. it's what always seems to happen, something always gets in her own way, and she's usually the culprit despite all her efforts to just be better. eyes stay locked on lottie's, until whatever she's found stuck in her hair is free. she doesn't care what it is or how it's gotten there, all she really cares about is that there's someone here with her now, someone close, someone touching her in a way that reminds her she's still real, no matter how simple it is. and it's thoughtful, too, something she gathers might come naturally to lottie, because when she's standing next to her like this, sara can feel that warmth.

❝ sorry. ❞ the moment she says it, she doesn't know why, because there's nothing for her to apologize for, yet it's become such a jerk reaction anyway. ❝  i mean-- thank you for helping me. ❞ she runs her hand through her long hair, finally looking away to watch as her fingers reach the split ends. ❝  i'm always afraid to cut it, ❞ she admits, looking back up to lottie and letting her eyes fall over her own hair. ❝  your hair is really nice, ❞ she says, hesitantly, as if a compliment might be forbidden.

[90svanbye]

❝   lottie—   ❞ van's voice croons, rounds around her name like a prayer and maybe they'd never been the praying type before they crashed in the middle of fucking nowhere and even now, they would never call it a prayer, but there's something in the air. something they can feel because lottie taught them how to. they don't know how to explain it. (fuck if i can explain any of it) she's tried to make sense of it all, but in the grand scheme of things trying to find a reason has proved to be nothing but a futile endeavour. it feels like screaming in the empty woods with nobody around to hear it. just miles and miles of trees and snow and abyss and them. just them, and the damn wilderness. ❝   c'mon. don't say that.   ❞ their brows furrow in confusion. how could lottie believe that to begin with? ❝   i'm pretty sure bad guys don't try to keep people alive. we wouldn't have made it this long without you. you .. you helped us hear when none of us could. lottie, you can't be the bad guy, because you've never been the bad guy.   ❞ van says it, and means it, with every ounce of conviction she can muster.

¹ @redruins (lottie) / ² random sentence prompts .. i never wanted to be the bad guy.

[allthatwas-moved]

i talk to myself, too. (from june)

(‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎🥀 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎)‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎❝ oh no i wasn't– ❞ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎usually:‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎rose tyler can lie as if it were second nature.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎words spill out of her like they were always meant to be.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎only in two cases has that proven to be untrue.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎when faced with new life,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎where her references and cultural understandings seem to fly so far out the door she couldn't access them even if she wanted too,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎but also...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎when ever she's caught doing something that makes her cheeks flushed.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎off guard,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎maybe slightly embarrassed‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(although the humanly emotion itself dwindles day by day,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she's met so many,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she's known so much,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎that embarrassment starts to lose all meaning).‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎instead,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she grins,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎bashful as she tilts her chin to her chest,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎blonde hair falling around to hide her eyes.

❝ alright you got me.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎it helps me to think,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎you know? ❞ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎when she looks back to @redruins,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she tucks her lips inward under her teeth,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎brow raised in a way that's meant to imply:‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎you get it,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎right?‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(ignoring the fact that she was speaking about non-human life around her,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎something that would sound concerning to any normal person‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎/‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she prays june didn't hear).‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎❝ it just gets so hectic sometimes i can't hear myself think. ❞

[exjacket-a]

this room is so suffocating . (from birdie)

" and it smells like shit. "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎her response is hidden beneath her breath,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎eyes dancing over a sea of grumbling stomachs and sweated desperation.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎even in the cold they're burning up,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎muscles eating themselves to give them the strength to wake up in the morning.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎a part of her heart hurts for them,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎in all her time on the sidelines‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(even when she tried hard not to)‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she took note of each girl.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎lottie's speed,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎tai's intelligence,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎van's concentration,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎and as much as she tried to avert her gaze–‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎soccer was hers,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the team was once hers.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎aren't they hers once more?

an equal starvation,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎a leveled playing field,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎and maybe thats why despite everything that she has tried to tell herself‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(and every time she's forced herself to react without the lingering memories of the team they once were):‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she finds herself caring...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎so she whispers,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎so she tries to keep everyone away from any perception of their ex captain digging at them in her mind,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎even for stuff out of their control.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" i feel like every single fucking day it's getting worse...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎i miss when we could go outside. "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎her tone dips,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎it deepens‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(and momentarily her eyes twitch to lottie illuminated by the fire...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎when she catches herself she hopes @redruins doesn't see).‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" it'd be so much better if we could go outside. "

[batify]

@redruins [june]: i've been dead once already.

❛❛ think you're one-of-a-kind? seen the resurrection act before. ❜❜ rare sarcasm bleeds around his lips, replacing the usual stoicism living beneath the cowl. the bat wouldn't often respond in such a way— bruce wayne would. the dark knight keeps to vagueness rather than curt retorts by the tip of his tongue. however, he often doesn't stay up for more than forty-eight hours either. eyes already strained, way past the point of a stinging sensation, he doesn't even want to envision the words that await him once he returns to wayne manor. by the woman's arrival, though— that seems in the distant future. irises trained on her, he wills himself to ignore the pulsing ache beginning to form in the front of his head. he asks an easier question.

❛❛ why are you in gotham? ❜❜

[djaerin]

dust of flour sprinkles on the tan skin of his cheeks, of his forehead, fingers kneading dough, over and over, muscles of forearms flexing. it is relaxing, hands being occupied, far, far from the turmoils in his head, a labyrinth filled with monsters. it shows up in his dreams, when a too loud noise surprises him and then he's back there, armored, protected, nearly drowning in the blood he has spilled. movements grow stronger, quicker, anguish a never dying wound under his skin.

suddenly, his heart is hammering, eyesight blurry, unable to focus, unable to see, a ringing in his ears like a knockout punch in the jaw. a movement in his periphery, the clearing of a throat, and everything stands still, his surroundings rushing back to their place, painting the landscape of his kitchen at the back of some shitty sandwich restaurant. a squint, taking in curly light hair, blue eyes and a face he's known for years now. « berzatto ? » the fuck is @redruins doing here ?