[🗝‎ ]‎‎ ,‎ ‎ an 𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 blight

no hymn songs 𝕹O 𝕴NNOCENT 𝕯IRT

[unsister]

𝑃𝐴𝑅𝐴𝑆𝐼𝑇𝐼𝐶 𝐿𝐼𝑃𝑆; 𝑊𝐻𝐴𝑇 𝑂𝑁𝐸 𝐶𝐴𝑁𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝑅𝐸𝑆𝐼𝑆𝑇 𝐼𝑆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 [ ! ]  a selective and private blog for grey hollow from krystal sutherland's house of hollow ( book compliant )   *  {   WITH INFULENCES FROM:  jeff vandermeer's annihilation,  t. kingfisher's what moves the dead,  kathryn harlan's fruiting bodies  &  holly black's the darkest part of the forest

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A GLIMPSE INTO . . .  coming back wrong,   plight of the eldest,   the parasite consuming the host,  nature as humanity's uncanny mirror, theseus and the minotaur, continued katabasis, alluring flowers, botanical abomination,  &  incurable charm

[unsister]

gonna be here over the weekend have some verses i want to flesh out so stay tuned for that <3

[unsister]

please don't follow my blog to mine it for inspo for your "oc" it is very obvious and honestly very disheartening and exhausting for me

[unsister]

𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 !   a selective and private blog for grey hollow from krystal sutherland's house of hollow  ━   stitched by corazón . . . WITH INFULENCES FROM:  jeff vandermeer's annihilation,  t. kingfisher's what moves the dead,  kathryn harlan's fruiting bodies  &  holly black's the darkest part of the forest  𝑇𝑂 𝑀𝐴𝐾𝐸 𝐻𝐸𝑅 𝐿𝐼𝐸 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇

[ofsoul]

“ evidently,    ” oh sore spot for the demon !   her patriarchal disappointment on how ineffectively her inheritance of this world has been never ceases to hurt her ego,    specially because she is often the main culprit of her failure.    she gives grey nothing,    not a speck of light in her duplicated irises,    not a sincere twirl of lips.    although this rotting woman cradles the most charm - filled needlework for hands,    raven has still not chosen where she swings in the pendulum of animosity.    although her father would say,    lack submission is hostile by default,    and those pearly knees do not seem to be crumbling into penance anytime soon.    “ i am not omnipotent.    ” at least,    she finds the pretty invader has some pride to exploit,    or vanity,    and even if that escapes her domain,    it is close enough she might grace her sharp nails against it and see if it can bleed.   

“ i sense you would not give me the same courtesy you ask if i were to show myself as…  ” with a twirl of her wrist she wears her human body as if showing a new accessory,    “ … something more palatable.    ” unnaturally,    her face smiles,    squinting her fragile appearance into something macabre,    yet still not distorted.    if the prey - hood of her mother can be a detonative force to get anything from grey,    otherwise,    the return of her flesh,    red and true,    will be as succinct as a dying bolide.    her speech,    however,    does not alter into a softer voicebox.    it still bites and echoes,    and it is not nearly as riddled with melancholy. her eyes still puncture the darkness of the other’s unending pupils.   

“ you are a creature that deals with souls too,    are you not    ?    i can see the stains,    ” metaphysically,    intangible,    very real for a soul - seer,  visibly out of reach. she has no ( ungory ) means to know what are the bounds of the other if she has to remain in the periphery of her psyche.   “ what is your business with them    ?    ”

[unsister]

         A LACK OF WHOLENESS LEADS TO A LACK OF DIGNITY,    then it came right back around to perfect delusion.     grey hollow has met her match though the inverted sister shows no signs of curbing her own curiosity.    for a moment she does contemplate groveling but it simply goes against the parasite nature to endure.    crush this flower under foot only to find its home is stored in the root tunneling into the soil below.       ❛   really?    that's quite unfortunate for you then,   makes me far less impressed too.   ❜  which was scarcely saying much,   dirt-streaked fingers itch for a pen for crisp paper to soak up her ink.     A MUSE HAS ALIGHTED;   SHE WEARS MIDNIGHT FOR A GOWN OVER HER POMEGRANATE SKIN.    endeavoring to commit this configuration of darkness to memory she meets those rows of eyes;    a mutual dissection.    

         ❛   you assume i didn't find you palatable before.    i tire of mortal guises…   i've worn my fair share there is no need to play pretend with me.      ❜  still there is the raising of fair brows at the flickering of feature    ━    a girl for a moment and then the demoness.    she is impressed then,   by the efficacy of the illusion,   how quickly it falls and then comes back into place.    there was some humanity to be found here but that is not what holds her intrigue captive.    this dueling of selves,   the acidity of a blood orange split in two.       ❛   they're quite fetching,    don't you agree?      ❜  grey is no woman of halves,   she arrives in a body with utter totality.     those marks,   those curling edges of her own soul,   are from prey who clawed against control and lost.    

         shrouding her purpose serves no one now.     has she not been well and truly had in this position?     what is asked of her is not so simply expounded upon but she does so;     low and lyrical.         ❛   i steal them,   i eat them,   i shape them,   i give them a home.    it depends on my mood.    it's thankless work really    ━      ❜  for what is left once she is through?   

[raniatsaran]

[proditeur]

"just because something is human-shaped doesn't mean that it is." something that the mortal world seems to have forgotten; the gods weren't subject to such disrespect in ancient times. perhaps the reason why many of them have faded away into myth. legend, they call him! fairy tale, they accuse! he has learned to laugh at what might have otherwise come as a great offense.

"i might mistake you, for example, for a mortal morsel... were i not wiser."

small mythos starter @unsister

[unsister]

       ❛   human-shaped…   mortal morsel?   you do me so much kindness with your unyielding praise.   ❜  the vessel with her thread and needle,   silver scissors in and tearing through fabric in place of flesh.   the precision of the movement could not go unnoticed; meticulous with this act.   putting down her weavings she fixes the demi-titan with the full force of her starless gaze,   inkwells devoid of light as the depths of tartarus.   

       he is lunar where she is earth,   some unholy spawn of gaia.   ❛   shall i reward you for such wisdom,   godling?   ❜   although she has a trickster's mischief unbecoming of the all-mother.   her offense is only skin-deep as is most of her person.  

[unsister]

in another life i truly believe grey would have made a brilliant surgeon... her steady hands? her way with a needle and thread? her complete lack of squeamishness surrounding bodies and all the inside bits? her voracious need for knowledge and penchant for research? and of course her god complex njsebdrnbny

[pietistics]

❝  perhaps not at all,  ❞   eli shot back coolly,   irritability taking a backseat to something more self-assured.   he may have forced it,   the resurgence of this sudden,   eerie calm,   but now that it had taken root,   it would be hard for anyone to rattle him again.   

❝  i don't think you understand.   having my attention isn't a good thing at all,   grey   —   because it means that i'll never stop looking for you.   you won't survive this.  ❞   as eli spoke,   his knee bounced restlessly and his fingers gripped the firm outer lines of his cell phone,   not necessarily out of anger or frustration,   but urgency.   a sudden need for thrill to break the growing monotony that had very recently become his life.   ❝  that won't be necessary,  ❞   he laughed.   and then,   his voice sinking self-righteously low:   ❝  you know,   i can make it quick.   painless.   aren't you tired of running?  ❞

[unsister]

          ❛   don't be like that,   darling.   it's okay to miss me.   ❜  too quick his reply comes   (   got you   )   her fox grin reflecting back at her through the misted window.   understanding a killer comes from a place of personal experience.   grey's murders were simply the more elegant sort,   typically done at a distance while keeping her hands immaculately clean.   

          ❛   anything worth doing takes a risk.   besides,   hiding is no longer an option… so why not make this interesting for the both of us?   ❜   dashing her drawing with a swipe of her hand yet the evidence of it was still there in invisible ink.   he no longer was pretending to be amused,   good.   this worked better when they were both honest with one another.   keeping him to his word the accusation is pure steel between pearl teeth.   ❛   you don't want that   ━   stop pretending you do.   that would be too easy and do nothing for your ego.   ❜  there was a nobility in simplicity,   in making things neat.   eli liked to believe he was tidy but that could not be further from the truth.   ❛   i'll be sure to draw this chase out,   just for you.   ❜

[unsister]

gonna attempt a meta on grey's soul stitching abilities but i am going to be real with y'all the book leaves the intricacies of the process extremely vague. the horror of it is really less about the logistics of the act and more about the weight of it. the fact she is quite literally ripping a soul from its body; cutting the skin away, destroying whatever remains of the host, and then stitching it back around her decaying self. the mo from there is taking total control which is a standard parasite situation where the host's health and influence wanes as grey's roots dig further in.

[ofsoul]

“    please,    girl,    my arrival here was effortless.    ” condescending,    the prideful entity,    banished from humanity     (     dormant,    it bleeds and dies every second she’s in this serene evil       ),    sits by the metaphysical throne of her own cosmic glory.    “ places are unimportant to me,    i bend them to my will.    ” that wretched nature inspires her to show off:    their surroundings alter,    descending in darkness between flashing realities,    each more ugly and obscure,    before subduing the light enough to leave them in a black void.    meant not to fester fear,    but pace any growth.    life and death,    and all the stages in between exist in face of the sun and oxygen:    this dim fabricated dimension is pseudo - peace,    nothing exists where brightness dies.   

superbia in raven,    rightful and sole heir to trigon’s oblivion, inspects the decay - embroidered woman with nonchalance,    stepping close   (    too close   ) ...    in this vessel,    they are the same height,    uninspiring,    but what that crimson tetrad gaze conceals is the innocent curiosity of the knowledge - fed mist that she is behind all this glamorous cruelty.     with closer inspection,    a dark nail lifting gently the charcoal - eyed changelin's chin ( unnatural and tender,    she reeks of her fragility even in roughness ),    the corrupted empath rolls her eyes.    she does not release her,    yet exerts no force,    tacit permission of retreat.    and follows with words spoken in a calm,    omnipotent soon - to - be empress manner.

  “    i cannot feed from you.    your mind is tainted.    it might not be a mind at all.    where do you keep your pain,    empty girl      ? ”

[unsister]

         ❛   aren't you a lucky bird?   ❜   terror makes an unhealthy companion to her natural impishness,   this constant call towards indignation.   grey hollow was far outmatched in this instance yet her mouth could not quite catch up to her mouth despite the occasion   (   said occasion being:  a demon upon her doorstep   )   for that is what this threshold was,   a boundary line she was beginning to learn as a second residence.   ❛   or perhaps not...   ❜   pitch black descends and they are dithering amidst a river of ink.   the halfway becomes a vision of the past. perhaps this should broaden her already sizable disorientation but she is more fascinated by the flux state.   here the only safety she possessed was her guise and even that did not seem a thick enough armor against this particular interloper.   

         there was no flinching away from the needle point of extended claws.   in the woods she had danced with her fair share of devils.   the fae roots of her personhood curse her with a penchant for mischief and she is pixie-like in her grinning.   ❛   flattery will get you nowhere,   i'm afraid.   although,   if you're so clever and all-powerful,   why do you need me to explain it to you?   ❜  her head tilts to the side,   a curious expression   ━   as if they were studying one another.   on the precipice of a second death perhaps yet all the changeling can manage is the sly tilting of her eyes and a fervid hand wrapping around a damned wrist.   ❛   i'm just a vessel,   love.   sorry to disappoint.   ❜ 

         now this she understood;   the open-mouth of hunger.   strange cravings and epicurean desires.   almost,   just a smidge she could be sympathetic.   ❛   i would appreciate it if you took me to dinner first before you tried to take a bite out of me at the very least.   have you ever heard of the decency of offering a final meal?   ❜

[unsister]

happy vday my sweets! hope you all have a silly goofy time today with your partners or besties 💗💗

[unsister]

on one hand grey would never get married... on the other hand i feel like she gives off major divorcee energy so like maybe?

[lionfloss]

by to_zhe_samoe_

[daylighterarchived]

it would've been good tv, but it was just real life. ( from grey! )

the soldier in him could have bristled, but it was the snake who maintained a fanciful smile; a flute of champagne in one hand, the morphed canines beneath the veneer of a smile to match, as the thunder of lights fell down like stars over the single-file tributes that arrived to plead their case in the way of a talent show. a scatter of men and women draped across the settees. they were laughing, covering their wrinkles with powder, and clapping at every arc of a thrown hammer and contortionist miracle. @unsister was standing and preening like a bird beside him in her gossamer, but through his coat, he knew she could sense the rigid irritation of his natural composure.

‘ really, ’ he said blithely, as if he were astounded by the assertion, his arm careening around her waist quickly so that his lips were at her ear, and they appeared no more than two friends having a ball. ‘ because it feels like one and the same thing in this shit-hole now. ’

which was the other thing: the introduction of sponsor favours had skyrocketed in popularity, with just about every news channel covering extensive ad-reels and profile interviews of the generous elite who had stepped forward with their equally formidable egos. to make matters worse, they had enabled bribery that knew few ends. as he looked across the dais through the glass, a young and dark haired girl approached: no more than fifteen she was, scrawny to the bone and frightened. he thought of his sister, then, and felt his bones twist inwards with rage.

‘ they're well and drunk, ’ he hissed the words out, and a glance around revealed how carelessly the sponsors had gorged themselves on arrogance and pure delight. grey's notes, stitched inside every new outfit she publicly gifted him, had directed him to a new person of valuable interest for the cause: the new head of security for the upcoming games. ‘ found what i was looking for. we're done here, come on. ’ he caught her wrist as the the electronic bell chimed overhead, suggesting that the young girl who had stepped in had finished her play. ‘ if i stay here any longer i'll kill them with my hands. ’

[unsister]

         A SPECTACLE IS A WELL-WOVEN WEB OF ARTIFACT.   holding the wealth of contradictions in both hands and holding on hard to incongruity.   with him the illusion is more elusive in the pageantry of sequined savagery.   not even the disguise could detract from the truth of him,   the woodsmoke scent remained underneath it,   the rough hands from years of manual labor scraping by her hip   (   once she had those palms too,   before it was all scrubbed away   )   she adds to the applause as this charade hinged on focus the tributes could draw in.   it is why the business of the games brought her to the capitol's very doorstep despite such humble beginnings.   

         ❛   don't be like that,   dear.   we're still in mixed company.   ❜   patting the gloved hand which had snaked around her waist,   a call for caution.   obsidian eyes lined with a thick coat of violet trace the fringes of the room.   observing her handiwork as the donors and politicians alike became more rancorous with each added sip   (   the wonders of a mild hallucinogen!   )   

         scoring fell on the wayside as each child arrived and left in the training facility with little fanfare.   this is what she had spared her sisters from,   the sheer possibility of this,   though they resented the eldest for abandoning their district.   loyalty was a constantly shifting line.   ❛   i might have slipped something extra into the wine to help hasten that...   process.   ❜   new formula,   her own sponsors had funded it unbeknownst to them that they would function as her test subjects as well.   

         ❛   maybe we should linger,   i'd like to watch that rather than this.   ❜   allowing herself to be led away although not before she blows a flurry of kisses to those in attendance.   they lost all subtly then as a pair but it was entirely in character for the stylist.   ❛   you can never take a joke.   tragically serious as always.   ❜   with the whole affair in their wake the corridor is an utter hush in comparison and so is the walk to her studio which also functioned as the front to her laboratory.   ❛   don't leave me in suspense.   what did you dig up after receiving all my bread crumbs?   ❜   

[unsister]

𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 !   a selective and private blog for grey hollow from krystal sutherland's house of hollow  ━   stitched by corazón . . . WITH INFULENCES FROM:  jeff vandermeer's annihilation,  t. kingfisher's what moves the dead,  kathryn harlan's fruiting bodies  &  holly black's the darkest part of the forest  𝑇𝑂 𝑀𝐴𝐾𝐸 𝐻𝐸𝑅 𝐿𝐼𝐸 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇

[rainystarters]

⭒˚｡🖁‧₊˚ 〖 down these mean streets . . . 〗 a collection of scene prompts inspired by n͟e͟o͟-n͟o͟i͟r͟, v͟i͟o͟l͟e͟n͟c͟e͟, c͟o͟n͟t͟r͟o͟l͟, e͟t͟c͟. some prompts usfw. add +reversed for the receiving muse to be "the sender" instead. adjust details as necessary.

dead end. there's nowhere left to run; the sender has cornered you at last. anonymous. disguising your voice, you call the sender to threaten/warn them. loose ends. you thought you killed them! but there's the sender, walking your way. ashtray. your cigarette smokes as you extinguish it on the sender's skin. deck. you lick the sender's blood from your knuckles, still stinging from the punch. backstab. end of the road, pal—you reveal you're double-crossing the sender. blunt. hidden in the shadows, you press your gun to the sender's back.

heel. you stare at the sender from across the room and beckon them to you. fix. not looking like that—disapproving, you fix the sender's appearance. tilt. you take the sender's chin in your hand and make them meet your gaze. staccato. irritated, the sender drums their fingers against you beneath the table. listen. the sender disobeys and you swat their curious hand away. fasten. just something i picked up—you clasp a necklace/tie/etc. on the sender. quiet. you press a finger to the sender's lips and tell them to be patient.

vomit. you can't handle this; you vomit as the sender groans about leaving evidence. wink. don't worry—you wink as you assure the sender you have no morals to offend. up front. the sender's job is a doozy; you demand half the payment now or you walk. hush. talk is cheap but you sure aren't. you accept the hush money from the sender. crossfire. you realize the sender asking you to put out a hit is your next target. gulp. hard to argue with a bullet; you agree to the sender's demands. jugular. you hold your breath as the sender uses you to demonstrate how the murder weapon was used to strangle the victim.

patron. you know the sender is hired to keep you spending but you linger anyway. last call. the sender has one final cigarette in their pack; you take it without asking. loose lips. the sender pours you another glass as you finally confess. bills. it's on me—you pay for the sender's meal. cozy. there aren't enough seats open; you pull the sender onto your lap with a grin. coffee. you look like hell—you press a cup of coffee to the sender's hands. waiting. you duck into the bus stop to escape the rain, intruding on the sender.

gutter. the trail of blood ends and you find the sender broken on the ground. speak up. you press the knife in deeper as the sender swears they didn't betray you. plaster. it's not pretty but it'll do; you wince as the sender patches your wounds. empty. you laugh at the sender as you throw your gun aside, finally out of bullets. rat. the sender falls to their knees and agrees to tell you everything they know. smother. you clasp a hand over the sender's mouth to keep from being heard. cut our losses. the sender won't make it; you leave them to die.

voyeur. you know the sender's watching; you open the blinds so they can watch. slip of the tongue. the sender whispers another's name against your skin. sign here. the sender traces a finger over [your choice], asking you to leave a mark. desk. your most enticing assignment yet: the sender bent over your desk. handcuffs. the sender dangles the key, teasing, but you hope they take their time. window. you press the sender against the glass, watching the city watching them. harsh light. what's worse? the hangover or that you can't recall the sender's name.