#* verse / night consumes light & all I dread; reminds me what to do before I'm dead : vtm:b.

[samuelroukin]

UC anon. The song you posted reminded me of the Queen of the Damned soundtrack and in combination with that sun/moon-coded post I feel like Before I'm Dead by Kidneythieves could be a really good GhostSoap song. This verse sounds like Soap POV to me:

Moon hangs around A blade over my head Reminds me what to do before I'm dead Night consumes light And all I dread Reminds me what to do before I'm dead Comparing the moon to a blade is chef's kiss. Ghost moon-coded in that it's like a sickle, hanging over you, about to strike. Night/Ghost consuming light/Soap. And this sounds like Ghost POV: The sun reclines Eats my mind Reminds me what to leave behind Light eats night And all I never said Reminds me what to do before I'm Ghost feeling like Soap is eating at him just as much, at the things Ghost as trouble saying out loud. (and Soap sure does recline for Ghost, eh). The rest is both of them: Epochs fly, reminds me What I hide, reminds me The desert skies Cracks the spies Reminds me what I never tried The ocean wide salted red Reminds me what to do before I'm To see you To touch you To feel you To tell you Both of them realizing that they need to use the time they have because either of them could die at any point. Which might also fit the vibes of your time loop fic. Slept So Long could also fit. Gives me "Ghost resenting Soap for making Ghost love and yearn for him" vibes. (there's a movie version and one by Korn fyi)

god yeah that's so good?? obsessed actually. the metaphors man!! also "soap sure does recline for ghost" made me crack up lmao

slept so long is excellent too, love the resentment and ache of it

[onlyliberty-a]

   Inviting Naomi to crash at her place might’ve been the best idea she’s had in a while. Coming home to something other than the buzz of the radio, and actually having someone to talk to when the loneliness kicks in has been a blessing in disguise, even though when Anne was leaving for work, she was only getting up. A quick peek into the kindred’s bedroom once had seen it barren, save for the bare neccessities. 

   Anne had been very careful about waking her before dusk hit, and that had given her plenty of time to unpack the fruits of her labour -- bedding, pillows, a few trinkets here and there that might add a little bit of character to an otherwise dull looking room. There’s a thud from the room in question, and Anne yells in:   Naomi, could y’come here a sec?”

@wxyfxring   ♥’d for a small starter.

[onlyliberty-a]

@divinitiism asked: ‘ Once you learn your answers, you can never unlearn them. ‘ / beckett!  AMERICAN GODS SENTENCE STARTERS  /  ACCEPTING.

        Anne learns things about night that she thought only exists within the realm of fiction. She is told of vampires -- kindred, they call themselves -- and about what she has become. A ghoul. It’s funny, when she thinks back on the stories her mother had told her as a girl. She spoke of wraiths and ghosts, with rotting skin and soulless eyes waiting and ready to steal her off into the night if she dared come home after the streetlights flickered on. She has always been an unusual girl. No true moral compass dictating right and wrongs; living for herself and herself only. The concept of wanting and yearning to be fed the blood from a wrist just like this man’s very own felt like a peculiar dream. James had seen to it that she didn’t suffer the withdrawal of going without. It burns and itches through her veins like battery acid. Vicious enough that she’d clawed the shit out of her arms at first trying to alleviate the want for it. 

       This wasn’t her. It wasn’t in her nature to be something beautiful but weak. She’d woken the next morning and the itch was still there. The clawing of her skin had healed until only a red welt remained. A suggestion of what it once was - bleeding and raw. Had it not been for the blood on the sleeves of last night’s sweater, she could have sworn that she’d dreamt it all. The blood, the existence of vampires. Their society which had been danced over and warned her not to worry her pretty little head over it. 

        That felt particularly archaic in its delivery to her. Where men did the thinking and the women sat pretty and beautiful on the arm of her husband. Anne is far too headstrong to sit around waiting for answers to be spooned into her mouth. That spoon could be made of solid gold and she would still find herself with ants in her pants and going and hunting for the answers that she had yet to be given. There were no true indicators of what they were. Her eyes were untrained, but the closer she looks the more she realises that there were more people with the most peculiar eyes. Their colour looks carved from diamond, clear and cold and not quite natural. 

         Anne has to bite her tongue to stop herself from snapping at him. She was not his responsibility. She never would be, but if she wished to understand what the fuck was happening with her... she had to begin somewhere. “That’s kinda the point,” she replies, trying her hardest not to fidget as she tends to when she’s worried about something. A bothersome habit, really. “I ain’t lookin’ to blow the lid on everythin’, I jus’ wanna know what... bein’... this involves. I ain’t one’a yer kind, but I... I don’t know how to put it without soundin’ like an uneducated neanderthal.” Her nostrils flare on her sharp exhale. “The fact of the matter is, I drank some blood - I still show up in mirrors and I don’t poof into dust when the sun touches me. Reckon I’m somethin’ right in between.”

[onlyliberty-a]

@truthsecn asked:  “Oh darling. What am I going to do with my time now?” // from VTM!Lucille to VTM!Anne. Ima be real she’s teasing her now cause everyone knows that she’s with Jim now. Charlotte where are you to reign her in?

Endings were often bittersweet. There would always be a small part of her that would miss the time spent with Lucille - people whisper about her behind her back, but under Charlotte’s guidance Anne manages to find a sweet spot where she could avoid triggering her rage as others do. She’s a smart woman, a beautiful catastrophe that left Anne wondering just what she has known in the length of her lifetimes. Kindred were frightening in a beautiful kind of way and since making the acquaintance of James Kidd, Lucille Sharpe and Naomi Abellan, it had opened up an avenue for discussion that one would be unable to find outside of conspiracy theorist groups or the internet. 

She’s never really understood them all that well. How they live and how they think feels like its worlds apart from what she’s known in her twenty-five short years walking this earth. She’d dreamt of being a princess once, when she was flouncing around her living room to an audience of a mother and father , but given the chance she wouldn’t trade anything that’s happened for the world. She might not marry James Bonny and her body wouldn’t be as scarred as it is from loving him, but were it not for her escaping the man ... she might not have found herself in Seattle and keeping the strange bedfellows that she does now. 

Anne smiles at Lucille and props her cheek up against her upturned palm. “Don’t suppose a friendship’s out of the question, is it?” A far-fetched idea to some, when the woman holds enough power in her pinky finger to see her dead in seconds. Anne has always been fearless. “Unless that’s in bad taste.”

[onlyliberty-a]

@truthsecn asked:  “So you are that worker that Mr. Kidd is so infatuated with.... You know I once found the /reincarnated soul/ of the man who I loved so dearly in my mortal life.” Words come with the set of her eye. “I killed him.” (From VTM Lucille) 

There’s the briefest of moments where Anne considers laughing. Reincarnation? That’s ridiculous. But the same could be said for vampires, werewolves and ghouls. Suddenly the notion doesn’t feel as amusing and it takes a second for what Lucille is saying to truly sink in. In hindsight, it did seem odd for this handsome stranger with a soft smile to pluck her out of any and all of the scantily clad women in vesuvius. She hadn’t thought she was special, but thought it was luck that he would take a liking to her. He walked her home that first night and she remembers wondering why he watched her so intently.

Suddenly, something so gentle was making her feel sick to her stomach. He didn’t love her for her, she realises. If it were anyone else she wouldn’t have cared, she would have compartmentalised it and kept things in the physical and not in the emotional... but he was the first little peace of quiet she knew in a world that was screaming at her to do better, to be better, to achieve great things that don’t involve taking her clothes off.

Anne can hardly look at Lucille, but she manages. If the way she looks at her is to be read correctly, there was the vague hint that it dawns on her that she was woefully unaware of her ignorance in that particular matter. It’s fleeting, but a small flash of hurt sneaks into her eyes. “Did ye now?” She replies flatly, not bothering to muster up any amount of enthusiasm. “’Scuse me, Miss Sharpe, but I gotta go talk to someone about somethin’.”

[onlyliberty-a]

@divinitiism asked: ‘ I want to be alive again. Not in this half-life. I want to be really alive. ‘ / Knox!       AMERICAN GODS SENTENCE STARTERS / NOT ACCEPTING.

       The sentiment is not lost on her. They understand one another a little better than they had when they first met - they know of kindred but outside of that, Anne knows very little. The night is not a world she is well versed in, nor does she claim to know everything about what lurks in the dark. Anne wonders vaguely, at times, if it would be worth asking Knox for answers but that would not be a position that she would enjoy putting her in. The night has grown quiet, and the air is chilly enough that Anne pulls her coat tighter around herself. 

        Is that what they were living? Half-lives? Not quite dead, not quite alive but dancing tirelessly between? People talk about flirting with death but they never spoke about what happened once death flirted back. Anne had been laying in a back alley drowning in her own blood when she felt its grasp, once. Now all she can think about is how someone else’s blood tastes and it makes her mouth water and her thoughts foggy. Chewing idly at the corner of her thumb, she fixes Knox with a look that’s equal measures understanding and pitying.

       “I wouldn’t say that you’re really dead,” she replies. , though there is uncertainty there, hidden deeply beneath the misunderstanding and the curiosity of it all. “But I don’t really know much about anythin’. Don’t suppose ye’d fancy takin’ a dander? Streets are quiet enough at this time of night that we’re likely not to be disturbed.”

[onlyliberty-a]

@wxyfxring​ asked: # send me “#” for cell phone headcanons about our muses.

a) what is her name in her phone?

She just has her name because she’s not entirely sure just how she would take being given a cutesy nickname, but it’s Naomi 🧛. Yes, she uses the vampire emoji because she thinks it’s funny. Sue her.

b) what is her picture?

See, Anne’s not one for springing surprise selfie time on her friends because most of the people she knows are just anne, get that gd camera out of my face, so she likely asked Naomi to send her one! 

c) what’s her ringtone?

She really likes the song that’s most commonly played in The Asp Hole - the bar’s really her scene and it reminds her of the first time they met: Anne had just gotten off of work in Vesuvius and Naomi needed a place to network. Firm friendships ahead? Likely.

d) what’s the last text?

[SMS:   Naomi 🧛 ]  honestly I literally can’t believe it, lad just came in, stared a bit [SMS:   Naomi 🧛 ]  and left again like nbd [SMS:   Naomi 🧛 ]   I hate to ask u for anything but would you mind meeting me from work [SMS:   Naomi 🧛 ]  got a really weird feelin and would appreciate it x