#runeread

[freakyn1kki]

cynthia hardy: you're more than what he did to you.

it didn't take much to break her, these days. sometimes she cried so often that her eyes burned, water so far gone from the ducts at the corners of her lashes that she was mostly heaving in breaths instead of actually sobbing. she thought she was doing better, given the circumstances. but cynthia's words cut down into a place past her skin, tucked behind a heart that was still too big for its spot in her chest, and her eyes well as if she hadn't been trying to hold herself together. 'i am only what he did to me. that's all that's left. because this sure as hell isn't me, anymore,' the shell of herself, maybe, but certainly not the nikki freeman who was going to be a novelist and show her father exactly who she was. quick hand reached up to brush away tears, though they simply kept coming. 'i'm fucked up. i'm going to be fucked up forever, and it's his fault. i know that. but that doesn't change the fact that my life is still over,' @runeread.

[vidaeodrome]

" so. you and him. " there isn't any malice (even though she has plenty of reasons to be angry— half her father's age and five years younger than her. cordelia would laugh if it wasn't sad). instead, she's looking at her with curiosity. not as if she has any reason to stake any claim. her father didn't know she existed for 35 years. it wouldn't be nice to come in and say she deserves the attention.

" what's that about? " @runeread

[runecast]

i see ur url and i think wow thats my very creative cool awesome friend that i say insane shit to 😌

well of course!!! you're the daft to my cunt <3

[tueurloup]

Come on. Let's get you home.

𝐲𝖔𝖚'𝖗𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖚𝖈𝐤 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖒𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖜.

neon lights, vibrant & pulsing in time with drug laced blood in her veins, appear much like heaven's holy celestial glow in lestat's euphoric state. she'd left cynthia in the crowd some time ago to . . . sample the local delicacies – that is, the blood of a young couple in a nearby restroom that had sent him on this delicious high – this modern era suits lestat well, she thinks ; in all its fast - paced energy, always in search of the next fad, the hottest topic, an idol to bow to who will ease the constant influx of terror on their screens. & all of that, lucky for them, just so happened to be wrapped up in shimmering eye shadow & a waist - hugging corset . . . high as hell without the use of the cloud gift in a sweat - soaked nightclub.

he's far from steady on his feet, feeling good & liquid, shifting their shoulders from side to side, hips swerving in tight circles – he has to laugh at cynthia's suggestion – a high, shrill sound from his throat, head thrown back, nearly stumbling backwards – no matter how good - natured it may be.            ❝     now, cyn, why the hell would i ruin a good evening with that, hm ? your concern, it is touching, truly, i may cry --    ❞     they wipe at tears at aren't there, then to take her hand in his, lifting it high up to give cynthia a twirl.            ❝     numerically speaking, i may not be young, but the night very much is !    ❞    

[runecast]

As we know Cyn calls him baby all the time, but sometimes she’ll toss in angel and love uwu (and of course the occasional tau o taku ate because I will never get over the literal translation being the resting place of my heart)

oh, so you want him to cry, huh? what do you mean he gets a special pet name that's meaningful to her? that's so much ... he will start weeping.

give that old man a nickname ... a pet name, even. @runeread

[cur4tor]

he's aware she's very much indulging him. and if she'd said no, kit wouldn't have been visibly sad or disappointed ; the last thing he ever wants to do is guilt cynthia into doing anything, especially for him. but when he handed her the vintage dress and asked, sheepishly, if she'd try it on for him, she seemed excited. kit is waiting outside of the bathroom, hands crossed so he doesn't fidget, waiting patiently for her to show him if he'd made the right choice for her. 'does it fit?' kit calls quietly, rubbing a thumb over a hangnail. 'if it doesn't, that's okay, i can always take it in or out,' @runeread.

[cur4tor]

CYNTHIA HARDY: 3AM. A DARK GRAVEYARD THICK WITH PETRICHOR, WELL BEYOND VISITING HOURS.

the scent of rain hangs thick in the damp air, recent downpour leaving the graveyard cloaked in a suffocating mist. and standing over a tombstone that is bigger than most of the others in this cemetery is kit, frame hunched so tightly into itself that he almost looks broken. dark eyes are glassy, gazing at the carved stone and reading the words across it: here lies elena maria alegria, loving mother and wife, siempre en nuestros corazones, dios te tiene en su gloria. he’s spent the last hour silently weeping into the early morning, tears streaming hot down his face, unraveled by the weight of his own anxiety and the lingering shadows of his upbringing. he couldn’t save her. he didn’t kill his step father until after it was too late, and now kit will live with this feeling forever, only taking it out on those who are just as bad as he was.

a soft rustle of grass nearby breaks the silence. kit quickly wipes his face, though it doesn’t quite clear his skin of its wetness. hyper vigilant as always, his head snaps up, frantically searching the gloom around him - only to soften as his gaze lands on cynthia. if she were anyone else, kit might feel embarrassed for sobbing. he doesn’t much enjoy crying in front of others, always hiding his breakdowns away where no one can witness his fragility. but cynthia is different. she’s never made him feel weird or wrong for his emotions, and so he has no reason to hide them from her. glancing over her features, he doesn’t know what spirits she might be seeing drifting between the headstones, but cynthia’s presence is the only thing he cares about, right now. ‘what are you doing here so late?’ it’s murmured her way, as if she couldn’t ask him the same question. but she knows he’s here for his mother, and he knows she’s here because he is. which, somehow, makes him feel worse. after a brief pause, he shrugs off his jacket and starts forward to drape it over her shoulders. ‘it’s freezing out here, take my coat,’ @runeread.

[runecast]

mark associations: blowing dust off the cover of an old book, low lamplight, the musty smell of the artifacts of so many lives gathered in one place, moss, the curve of lips as they smile into a kiss, tweed, the color green, the ticking of a grandfather clock

oh my god ... oh my god!!! you get it soooo hard dude i'm gonna screammmmm