#rubyfall

[lovetaled-a]

*  @rubyfall​   (  alice cullen.   )    ⋆ ›     ‘  i’m sorry i was late …  are you alright ?   they didn’t hurt you too badly,    did they?   /   accepting.

things like this never would have happened to bella before.    over many sleepless nights,    at the front of her mind had been the moment the breadth of the known world grew larger than mortality — the ethereal beings that walked into the cafeteria as if they ruled it,    then shrunk from the attention of the rest though somehow bella got past their guard   (  it’d been alice that first put bella at ease:    while an oddity,    she was quick to placate and assure,    to make you feel like a friend in a room full of people you didn’t know.  )    it is more than bella can say for most she’s met in general:    let alone in forks,    where everyone either knew you since you were too young to walk,    knew your family and your business and where you lived and what your dad did for a living,    or they treated you like a total outsider and iced you out.    those were the cold ones,    or so she’d thought until the past few months.    the thing is,    at least those people that catch your attention and leave before you can breathe again don’t just show up at your door.    especially not when you almost,    almost started to believe you were capable of forgetting them.    they don’t hurt you when they leave,    and they don’t act like people in movies that come back in your life just as you’re moving on and try to make things right. 

❛❛    i’m fine,    alice.    ❜❜     bella lies when looks into her friend’s golden eyes,    and all she can think is how much she missed this girl she hadn’t known a year ago.    she missed edward too,    and the rest of the family,    but none had given her what alice had.    an ear on the other side that listened.    even if alice never wrote back,    she must have thought it was better for bella    (  people can be empathetic,    and not realize just how distant,    how cooled they come off.  )     ❛❛    i’ve been looked after by my friends  ...  i guess you probably don’t like me calling jake that.    ❜❜     how can she explain this haphazardly repaired part of her heart,    the way the edges still hadn’t smoothed over just because she’d been forced to patch them ?    faced with alice’s reproachful brow,    bella’s stuck in a loop,    thinking of how tired she is.    really,    beyond tired — of talking around her feelings,    walking on eggshells with people she loved and loves still,    like that wasn’t enough to make them stay.

❛❛    i’m just  ...  wow,    you’re here.    you got my e-mails.    or did you see something happen ?    ❜❜    curling her grey-socked feet up on the couch,    she leans against the cushions,    not into alice.    she seems on the verge of something important and has yet to touch the tea bella laid out.    which was characteristic,    since alice was a vampire,    but she wasn’t even holding it as a grateful gesture.    that’s something the old alice would have done,    just so bella didn’t feel unnerved.    wide brown eyes narrow and she turns her chin away,    feigning interest in something like the rug or the wall so she wouldn’t start crying in frustration.    alice’s visions were vivid,    edward once said — yet fragile,    plucking her out of the world the rest of them lived in at often the most frustrating times    (  maybe she really was alice,    like in wonderland,    tripping down,  down a rabbit hole in her mind.    probably bella was just one of her curiosities,    and soon she’d move on to something more interesting,    because regular human things don’t interest curiouser girls.  )    bella pipes up,    hating the insecurity in her voice.   ❛❛    — what is it ?    is something wrong ?  ❜❜

[svyatoiy-arch]

✺    PRIDE AND PREJUDICE    —    ACCEPTING.      ⊱      @rubyfall​

beneath the spring sun the girl once had her first taste of peace,    a sense of tranquility not often afforded folk such as her,   and now she has grown rather greedy   ─   a day cannot be considered  good  if not spent outside under the warming rays from above with the welcomed breeze tickling her neck.     were it up to her alone,   she would not go to school at all   &   instead sit by the lake of masks all day,   basking in the serenity.     all too soon  the mirage  is shattered,   with what she’d thought was a cloud rolling past the sun quickly revealing itself to be a permanent shadow settled before her.

from above calls a voice alina wishes she could unlearn,   wipe from her memory   &   banish from her close proximity for all time:      «  if you wish to avoid seeing me,  you must go,  not i.  »

❝   were you not taught manners in that palace of yours ?   ❞    her question rolls off her tongue nonchalantly as her gaze refuses to lift from her sketchbook,   though within her the little orphan girl she once was stirs a witch’s brew   ─   a concoction of fury   &   frustration     (   mixed with an ever - growing undertone of amusment   )     spilled from the pot and sept into her bloodstream,   floating through her veins purring with purpose.      ❝   i was here first.   ❞      at long last the girl peeks up from her artwork,   golden gaze straining against the sun peeking from behind his back.     her head tilts to the side,  dark brows raising in a challenge.

                  ❝   ───   you go elsewhere.   ❞

[lovetaled-a]

*    @rubyfall​​  (  edith cushing  )    ⋆ ›     ‘   it’d  be  a  fine  proposition,  if  i  was  a  stupid  girl.  /  not accepting.

❛❛   just what is stupid,    miss cushing,    about reading up on some harmless old ghosts ?   ❜❜    will looks up from the book in hand,    one he’d clutched to himself under the pretense of researching what seemed to be edith’s most favored topic:    hauntings.    there were few books on the subject,    as shadowhunters rarely concerned themselves with spirits.    they did harm to the living here and there with their pleading,    like beggars on the streets,    and coalesced prominently near graveyards,    ancient sites of terrible deeds or rivers like the thames,    but it was not as though most could see them,    and fewer still communicate well enough.    those superstitious even among the folly of the clave’s legalism managed to avoid them most often,    while seers of particular sorts were sometimes brought in to interrogate the dead when crimes went unpunished by nephilim retaliation.    politics oft’ considered the voices of the deceased less troublesome than the investigations they conducted under the premise of saving the living,    and fighting the downworld.

truth be told they could not have been more wrong,    and will herondale knew better.    ghosts remained on earth because something had gone very wrong for them before they passed beyond,    and these spirits could return to the living as easily as though stepping through your mother’s curtains with their bargains and warnings and attempts to appear to those they’d left behind.    he’d always kept mum on the subject of his aptitude,    while some knew him to possess it,    lest it be used for further clave tactics.    specters liked to trail him sometimes when he took long walks,    down fleet street or closer to the east end and the docks.    most often they left him alone — will didn’t have the look about him mistakable for anyone’s savior.    other times he kept them company,    and there were those he considered informants,    which would trouble charlotte or any respectable hunter to know.  

yet here was their newest arrival under the protection of the institute,    asking will reluctantly of them as though speaking to him were her own last wish.    and she was opening up to will    (  albeit at his own interrogative efforts,    which were vexing as well as convincing to anybody  )    about her brush with the dead.    it was troubling that such things could follow one over the ocean.    will might have been conflating her narrative with his own perils.    yet will’s curse was laid out,    and he needed no fine print to seal its terms.    miss cushing knew less,    and could hope less to avoid the fate that seemed to come for her. 

❛❛   they are usually blue,    or seem blue in a transluscent sort of way,    though i suppose they could be red when dripping blood.    wraiths they sound like to me.    the sorts one reads in a foreboding fireside tale at the witching hour.   ❜❜    he lifts his brows in suggestive horror beneath his hair,    stepping across the room to set the book upon the table.    ❛❛   perhaps these illustrations might be ringing death knells ?   ❜❜    he trails one finger over the page,    lifting a gaze to the curious young woman.    she did have a look about her of a heroine in a gothic tale,    striking in the dim haze of witchlight.    the sort that took her story into her own hands only after no one came to help.    ❛❛   not even consecrated ground can keep them from crawling in these walls,    i’m afraid.    you may be stuck with your morbid callers if you refuse my helpful and obliging heroism.   ❜❜

[lovetaled-a]

❛❛     i  was  wrong,  entirely  wrong  about  him.

... @rubyfall​  !

a  moment  of  unequivocal  realization,      like  those  lucie  has  read  of  in  all  the  stories  she  loves  most:       the  part  when  the  heroine  gives  herself  pause  to  recognize  the  feelings  she  has  long  repressed  over  her  dashingly  complex  lover.         it  is  a  time  for  the  pen  to  endow  romantic  fantasy  and  dismay  in  simultaneous  grandeur,       with  a  hint  of  future  resolution  that  shall  only  come  once  all  is  explained  as  it  ought;       as  two  people  equally  confused  that  have  stored  all  their  hopes  in  one  another  must  feel,       for  in  feeling  they  are  justified  of  bitterness  and  betrayal.         in  stories  there  is  hope,       in  poems  there  is  resolution:         but  in  reality  these  events  are  difficult  to  parse,       an  inextricable  mire  of  loyalties  and  disappointments.

this  is  what  lucie  discovers  as  cordelia  tucks  into  herself  in  a  chair  by  the  fire,       its  upholstery  comforting  in  the  orange  glow,       a  familiar  damas  pattern  lucie’s  eyes  traced  in  childhood,         retired  into  her  mother’s  old  room  and  now  befitting  her  intended  parabatai  to  reside  in.         (  daisy  will  always  have  a  home  among  them,         as  her  father  has  said  the  carstairs  shall  have  always  with  the  herondales.  )      cordelia  clutches  a  handkerchief  with  the  initials  c.h.  which  lucie  herself  embroidered  in  a  dainty  and  delicate  script;       a  wedding  present  that  seemed  morbid  at  the  time,       which  regrettably  has  served  her  friend  well  tonight.         i  ought  not  to  have  prophesied  such  a  thing,       she  thinks,       guilt-tinged  and  grieving.         as  though  i  wove  tears  into  the  tapestry  of  her  fate  and  its  sorrows.

❛❛    oh,  daisy,     ❜❜       lucie  sighs,       brows  furrowing  in  sympathy,       while  a  coldness  in  her  chest  wars  with  the  tenderness  she  holds  for  her  brother  and  his  longsuffering  plight,       always  tangled  with  the  blackthorns:       and  perhaps  it  is  her  fate  too,       for  had  james  seen  the  same  fascination  in  grace  that  lucie  cannot  help  but  recognize,       and  was  cordelia  simply  something  in  grace’s  way,       a  soul  to  deceive  so  thoughtlessly  ?       her  hand  fists  in  her  dressing  gown,       the  lemon  tea  flavorless  on  her  tongue.      ❛❛    you  are  never  wrong  to  see  more  in  a  person  than  they  are.     ❜❜       rising  on  slippered  feet,         lucie  moves  to  her  beautiful  cordelia,       catching  her  shoulders  in  an  embrace.      ❛❛    james  sees  much  in  you  too  …  i  know  not  what  he  can  that  is  not  pure  and  brave.       he  is  too  fortunate  with  you,     and  i  am  certain  he  knows  it.     ❜❜  

[nofable]

gun - rough fingertips and the flask natalie has kept with her,    that’s all that matters in the wilds...       they don’t make very good predators,   but they’re better than prey animals   [   the forest bears nothing but slim - pickings:     rotting berries growing away from the sun,    diseased animals stumbling half - dead into their line of sight,     the sky swollen with their impending fortunes   ].       ‘       this is fucking useless,        ’       he says,   an impotent explosion of anger.     HIS RAGE HAS NOWHERE TO GO:     he kicks the spiraling roots of the tree,    which just makes his ankle tingle.    the gun is hooked over nat’s shoulder   --   he wishes he could empty the bullets into a nearby tree,     but it’d be a fucking waste.     this whole thing is a fucking waste.        ‘       fucking christ,     we haven’t managed to kill anything in two weeks.     we’re shooting at fucking birds,    nat.     we’re...      we can’t keep doing this.       ’        and what is not said:    they have tried at murder before and i am nothing if i cannot be a hunter to them.       @rubyfall

[nofable]

‘      don’t worry,   nat,   i’ve taken care of everything...       ’       misty’s knife slams through pulpy strawberries,   the juices red against her fingertips   [   she’s making virgin mojitos for them both!    it was important to worry over natalie’s recovery:    poor girl,   poor girl,  poor girl...     misty was the only person in the world who cared if she lived or died   ].     night shaded the windows black,    the chopping board lifted to slide the fruit into the open maw of the blender.    its steel teeth glinted up at her.      she stares at the dark outline of nat in the doorway,    a ghost of a woman shrouded in her self - created agony.      misty has always been a fixer and there’s never been a greater canvas than nat.        ‘        i’ve gotten rid of the teeth and the hands.     but it’s so gory,  blah,  we don’t want to talk about all that when it’s just us girls.     oh   --   and don’t worry about the reporter anymore.        ’        @rubyfall

[songecreux]

@rubyfall   said   :   OH,  i’m  sorry,  it’s  time  to  be  discreet  ?

cassie   howard   had   never   been   very   good   at   hiding.         perhaps   it   was   the   one   thing   she   had   learned   from   being   maddy's   best   friend,   who   did   not   like   to   keep   her   voice   down   no   matter   the   circumstances.         easy   to   remember   their   eleven-year-old   selves,   and   maddy   bashing   a   girl's   head   against   a   locker   just   because   she   had   made   fun   of   her   accent.         loud,   bright,   impossibly   herself      :      cassie   was   admirative   of   maddy   in   ways   she   could   not   quite   explain,   nor   did   she   necessarily   try   to   pin   them   down.         like   most   things   about   herself,   cassie   preferred   to   not   pay   too   much   attention   to   it,   from   fear   of   seeing   it   blossom   into   another,   more   potent   issue.   

or   perhaps   cassie   did   not   feel   like   hiding   simply   because   she   had   been   so   used   to   hearing   her   parents   argue   at   the   dinner   table,   airing   any   minor   issue   in   front   of   their   two   baby-faced   girls.         even   back   then,   lexi   had   been   far   better   at   observing,   whereas   cassie   had   always   felt   the   need   to   intervene,   as   if   she   could   somehow   help   ease   the   tension.         she   did   not   like   conflict,   and   truth   felt   like   a   very   easy   way   to   keep   things   straight.      or   at   least,   it   used   to.

but   they   had   grown   up.         both   of   them.         lexi   liked   silence   more   than   she   liked   truth,   and   cassie   desired   peace   more   than   she   desired   truth.         in   some   ways,   the   howard   sisters   had   both   shot   themselves   in   the   foot   without   knowing,   and   they   would   only   discover   it   too   late.         not   today,   though.         today   was   for   sisterly   conflict,   cassie's   mouth   slightly   open,   staring   at   her   younger   sister   with   an   air   of   betrayal.         «      um,   YEAH.         no   need   to   be   loud.      »         ironic,   considering   her   high-pitched   voice   was   definitely   too   fucking   loud,   ringing   in   her   ears   like   a   siren   alarm.         she   sounded   insane,   fuck,   she   really   did.         but   lexi's   tone   felt   too   accusatory,   like   somehow   cassie   had   fucked   up   without   even   realizing.         «      what's   with   you?      »   

[dhufeainnewedd]

38 & 26!

∗   38﹕   what’s      a      bad      habit      you      have      when      it      comes      to      roleplay   ?

putting   waaaaay   too   much   pressure   on   my   writing,   which   is   one   of   the   main   reasons   why   i   am   such   a   slow   writer.      i   will   take   eight   thousand   years   to   post   a   reply   because   the   imposter   syndrome   is   Real   and   i   usually   stare   at   the   drafts   until   i   get   overwhelmed   and   abandon   entirely.      this   is   clown   behavior,   i   know.      another   one   would   be   my   inability   to   reply   to   ims   in   a   timely   fashion.      i   will   get   the   notification,   open   it,   get   excited,   and   then   i   forget   about   it   because   i   can't   reply   immediately.      this   sucks   because   i'm   sure   that   if   i   was   more   consistant,   i   would   make   connections   much   more   easily.

∗   26﹕   who      was      your      very      first      muse   ?      would      you      consider      writing      them      now   ?

bela   talbot   from   supernatural   !      i   still   love   her   and   i   still   think   there   is   much   to   do   with   her   character,   but   frankly   after   years   of   being   obsessed   with   supernatural,   i   think   i'm   finally   Done   and   i   have   no   desire   to   go   back.      it   was   my   hyperfixation   for   so   long   and   i   got   so   disappointed   by   the   latest   seasons   that   now   i   am   just.      not   interested   anymore.