#vreesvreter

[hellishmoth]

@vreesvreter​

     "NOW, YOU must back up your words with actions.”

[hellishmoth]

our world is a magical smoke screen.

twin peaks, log lady intros | tv quote starters

     WHETHER DMITRI was talking about his own world (that Valentino hadn’t explored personally yet, if he had to be honest a rare case, really) or much wider an orchestra didn’t really matter - not when he’d agree in any case. Almost as if to underline the spider’s words, Valentino puffed out thick smoke, letting it cover his face for a few seconds. His eyes, though; those didn’t dim out. His sunglasses could make them look less threatening, but a closer look would reveal that they were still terrifyingly unnatural. Newbies always wondered if he could see at all through such weird eyes. The moment they misbehaved behind his back (or so they thought), they found out the harsh way.

     “That’s for sure.” He leaned back against the chair, his lower arms crossed on his chest. He looked so relaxed that it’d have been hard to think he was currently doing business with the Ringmaster’s emissary. The cigarette holder twirled between his fingers, drawing smoky hypnotic drawings in the air. “But those fuckers out there don’t give a fuck about that. As long as they can get their entertainment, they can put up with any kinda shit happening behind the scenes.” A long pause, a long drag, then he resumed talking. “That’s real power.”

[hyacinthsgirl]

@vreesvreter

     IT WOULD have been impossible to catch rumors as she passed by demons or stood too close to a group of them muttering to each other. It would have also been hard not to see the worn-out posters screaming through bright-colored letters at every corner she went round. A circus - in Hell, of all places. She had never been to one when she was alive (Father and Mother would never take her to one, and later on, when she had learned the fine art of running away, she had never had the chance to add that experience to her list), but even so, this one seemed different from those in books. It was rumored that dreams were the real attraction, if not the only one. How weird for creatures who seemed not to need sleep as much as humans. It couldn’t not catch her attention. The idea haunted her for days, while she was busy exploring other parts of the city and dealing with other demons. It was always there, pleading for her to listen to it constantly. She had to give in in the end. The moment she found herself with nothing to do, she rushed out of the city as fast as she could. A hyacinth-scented trail followed her, disappearing seconds after her passing - a ghost in a city of dead.

     She stopped only when the circus finally was in sight. She slowed down her pace abruptly, almost losing her balance and falling forward but stopping herself before the disaster. Golden eyes stared at the big top not too far from her, so similar to those she had seen in pictures and yet very different at the same time. It almost gave her the impression that it had a mind of its own and a mouth ready to swallow her. One more good reason to walk away and come back to town, but her feet were already taking her closer to the tent. All was silent. The sounds of the city were far behind her, and none came from her destination either. It took Chris half a second to wonder if there was anyone in there, and half a second to decide she’d find out on her own.

     She was still alone when she arrived in front of the entrance. The door-curtain oscillated lazily, its hem not touching the ground by a few inches. There was no hesitation in her hand when it grabbed the curtain and pulled it open, allowing her to step inside an empty ring. She hadn’t expected the show to be already ongoing (and now that she was thinking about it: did the posters even tell at what time the show was scheduled?), but that desolation was shockingly nonetheless. Once let go of, the curtain fell back in place behind her, blocking what little natural light coming from the outside. Two steps later, she stopped. Waiting for a sign - or someone.

[hyacinthsgirl]

“you are tired, aren’t you, sweetie?”

ghosts with teeth, peter crowther | sentence starters

     WAS SHE? Her eyelids did feel a bit heavier than before, but calling it tiredness didn’t sound right just yet. She’d have said she was just relaxing and enjoying the moment, even if she was in the company of someone she didn’t actually feel safe with. There was something off with Dmitri, and it wasn’t his eyes. It’d have been hypocrite of her to say his oddly bright irises unnerved her, when she herself had no less unusual (and unsettling, to some) eyes. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact detail, but she knew it was there, lingering between them. Nonetheless, she didn’t move from her spot on the bench and only turned her head to look at him. Even in almost complete darkness, his eyes burnt. Chris crossed her arms on her chest to seek warmth rather than to show distrust. “Not really, no. I’m used to being out late at night.” Now, though, she was curios. “What made you think so?”

[hyacinthsgirl]

vreesvreter liked your post:“shh, it was a dream. you’re safe. everything’s...

WAS IT YOU, DMITRI

[hyacinthsgirl]

spindly fingers walk up her spine all the way up

     IT’S EASY to mistake them for a breath of wind at first. But wind never presses on her skin, even if so lightly, it doesn’t crawl up her spine like a hiker, it doesn’t come this unnoticed and invisible, without being announced by a cloud covering the sun or a leaf rolling at her feet. One more second is all she needs to realize they are fingers. She freezes for a fraction of second, as a shiver runs down her spine in the opposite direction, then she abruptly turns and sees bright orange eyes - like the last sunsets the world will ever see. She can’t not remember who they belong to. Back then she repressed her discomfort, but if she focuses she can feel his tongue running on her skin, as if he were foretasting her. Still, she smiles at him. His fingers are far from the back of her neck now, but their phantoms keep dancing there, tickling her. 

     (has anyone ever told him his fingertips seem to be covered in spiderwebs)

     “… Hi again.”

[vicoliciechi]

oh so gently grips him by the neck and licks him behind the ear

     IT IS so easy to lull oneself into a false sense of comfort and safety. At first, peace seems only a different kind of trap, made only to strike when he less expects it, but then days pass and nothing happens. Nights pass and everything remains quiet. He wakes up with a startle every time someone passes by his alley in complete darkness, but they rarely approach him - and when they do, their eyes don’t shine like jack-o’-lanterns. He doesn’t want to let go of the walls of thorns and shadows he’s built around himself, but in the end, he’s still a child. Used to street life, nonetheless a young creature, looking for a breath of quietness. Little by little, his fists open. His eyelids are heavy again during his sleep. Wariness steps away without making a sound, believing he can be left alone. It’s wrong. He’s wrong. 

     Sometimes the worst trap is the one set by chance itself.

     This evening holds nothing peculiar. It’s a chill Autumn night and he’s trembling in his clothes in front of a small bonfire where newspapers and fliers burn side by side. (he doesn’t sit too close to it, though: fire makes memories twitch in the back of his head, shaking them but not quite awakening them. That time hasn’t come yet.) He blows air on his hands and rubs them, looking for a sparkle of warmth. He doesn’t have any reason to worry at the moment. The spider man has left his thoughts months ago, and even if sometimes his instinct tells him to turn and search for that familiar figure, he doesn’t feel as threatened in the past. At least not by a creature who seems to have lost all interest in him.

     Of course, he’s always been wrong. He knows it when a cold hand takes hold of his neck and squeezes it to keep him in place. He knows it when his eyes widen in sheer terror and he feels a movement behind him - someone squatting to the ground and pushing their body closer to his, till their chest is pressing against his spine. He knows it once for all when an long, well-known tongue is slowly dragged on the portion of skin behind his ear - to better savor you, my dear. It freezes him on the spot - he can feel ice crawling up his legs and chest, as thin as spiderwebs, as subtle as eight-legged animals. He grits his teeth and, under his breath, he groans - and it sounds more like a whine. 

     (He’s never been free from nightmares, has he?)

[hyacinthsgirl]

@vreesvreter

     COLORS AND shapes swirled in front of her, imprinting themselves in her retinas, unable to be erased. Even if she closed her eyes, she still saw them. Even only thinking of rubbing them to make all that mess vanish tired her. Her mind felt so light, her body felt so heavy. When no one was in the room with her, she floated towards other lands, other seas, trying to find a handhold to come back to reality and failing. The boy took care of her, but not like she wanted to. He called her my lady, did not comprehend her requests of help and injected more venom in her veins. She could barely tell where he carried her sometimes. All was a blur.

     (get me out I’m not what you think)      (please make the lights stop)      (tired)      (so tired)

     She could barely move. She lied on her bed for hours, perhaps in what they thought to be divine bliss, trying to keep her reality together. Every piece escaped her grip. She was trying to turn water into solid earth. Inside her eyes, she could not find any tears to cry.

     It took her a few seconds to realize a key had been turned inside the lock and the door had been opened, and even when she did she did not focus on whoever had come in. Her eyes remained on the white ceiling, looking for any crack she could use to slip out of there. She did not find any. She would keep searching.