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[embodies]

❛ do yourself a favour : don't talk. ❜ — @vi0lnt. ( damon salvatore / dean winchester )

ASK MEME TAG. ALWAYS ACCEPTING.

the laugh that breezes past unplanned is from gut response alone. he has witnessed some egos in his time ( his own included ) but this guy really takes the pie. a clash of personalities if there ever was one — let alone the supernatural elephant in the room. hunters and hunted were never meant to make flimsy alliances. ❛ no, no, no, no, no. if anybody's tellin' anybody to shut their cakehole here, it is not the vamp with a narcissist streak and too much hair gel, capeesh ? ❜ theirs is a strained relationship that he'll be eager to shuck, just as soon as they've both gotten what they need out of each other. and if the end of the line involves a stake in damon's heart, well . . . you won't catch dean crying at the funeral, he'll just put it that way.

[flowercrowngods]

something so monstrous pt.2

(in which kas feeds from steve and triggers a bad migraine pt.2)

🤍🌷 read part 1 here this part gets really intense on the migraine. descriptions of immense pain, fever dreams, and vomiting, some body horror imagery bc pain can be fun like that

Time and space lose all meaning as Steve remains on the precipice of something that is too violent to be called sleep, but not harsh enough yet to be unconsciousness. Real sensations evade him as everything turns into pain immediately. Even the twitch of his finger becomes a thundering blaze of blinding pain shooting through his body and settling behind his eye until he is sure he will wake up blind. 

The fear of that is everpresent, the blind spots too real to ignore every time it goes like this, and he imagines how they will grow. He imagines how they get worse every time until one day the pain inside his skull will be so immense it will take his eyesight in exchange for alleviation.

And even though it is unbearable, he opens his eyes whenever he can, just to make sure he can see still. It’s an added veil of terror that covers him whole and consumes him slowly but continually. 

At some point he notices something cold and wet being placed over his eyes, adding another layer of darkness that is welcome, even if it leaves an imprint of pressure and sensation on his forehead that makes his skin tear around it, his skull cracking and caving in beneath the touch. 

And still it helps a little, pulling him further toward consciousness but not further toward the pain itself. But Steve can only whimper weakly in response, six feet under a thick cloud of cotton-filled smog that even turns breathing into a chore, polluting his lungs with fear and horror and agony without compare.

He does fall into a fitful sleep at some point, grateful for the short reprieve, but it does nothing to alleviate his exhaustion. 

It feels like his eyeballs are being pushed into his skull for what must be hours upon hours, and the pain is so unbearable, so horrible, that he's not at all surprised when nausea rises in his chest, his body responding to its current state with confusion and a hard-reset. 

Steve keens, trying to roll onto his side, groaning at the flares of pain shooting up into his skull and down into his limbs. They only worsen the nausea and it's pure instinct that gives him the strength to sit up. 

"Kas?” he whispers, swallowing thickly against another wave. "Bathroom?” 

Instead of giving him directions or pulling him up to drag him there, Kas wastes no time. He gets up off the floor, approaching him with shuffling steps once more, and gently but quickly lifts Steve off the bed in a hold — firm, yet gentle — that brings another sting of tears to Steve's eyes. Pain and vulnerability and the need for everything to be over. That’s what makes him cry.

Still he manages to hold on, his head rolling onto Kas's shoulder, the skin of his neck blissfully cool against Steve’s overheated forehead pressing into him. 

Make it stop, he thinks. Longs. Aches. It’s supposed to be over. It’s all supposed to be over now. 

He whimpers again, and imagines that Kas is the one to softly shush him this time.

The coolness of Kas's neck is gone all too soon as the vampire sets Steve on the hard, uncomfortable bathroom floor. He doesn't go far, though, crouching down beside him and holding him up over the toilet. Steve can't see anything, but still he’s grateful that Kas left the lights off, the bathroom tinged in the same darkness as his bedroom. 

Pathetically, Steve rests his forehead on the toilet seat, chasing the coldness of it as pain and nausea reach their peak. It’s disgusting, but be’s not strong enough to care. A whine breaks from him, and he wishes Kas would leave. Even though the cold hand on his neck feels good, and even though he knows he wouldn't be able to hold himself up right now. 

I'm not weak, he wants to say. And maybe he does. But he can't recognise his own voice right now. 

"Not weak, maybe, but pathetic." 

No. 

"You know you are." 

Shut up. Go away. 

It doesn't make sense for Mr Munson to suddenly be here with them, to stand in the doorway and watch his nephew, who is more monster than human these days, holding up the pathetic form of Steve, who is more pain than human. More smoke than human. More vulnerable weakness than remotely human.

Go away. Eddie? I want him to go away. Tell— Go ‘way. 

The hand wanders, pulling Steve against cool skin again so his forehead rests against the toilet no longer, basking in the cold touch and the warmth of a body to hold him. 

"Safe," Kas says, and Steve wants to badly to believe him. Wants Wayne to leave, wants everyone to leave and just let him suffer in silence and solitude like always. 

Wayne starts talking again, but Steve can't hear him this time as he suddenly heaves and retches, throwing up what little he had to eat today. Over and over and over.

It goes like this for a long time. He has no idea how long. Has no idea where he even is anymore. 

The world tilts a few times when he loses his grip, his arms buckling, his hands spasming and giving out, and still he never falls. Only ever feels the cold, damp skin of Kas’s neck. 

Kas has to carry him to bed when he's done and on the brink of passing out again, and Steve doesn’t mind this time. Kas also hands him a glass of water or two before pushing him back to lie down again. That’s nice. 

The wet cloth returns, and Steve isn't aware of his surroundings for much more after that.

—— 

The next time Steve comes to, he feels like he was freshly dragged through Lover’s Lake until his lungs gave out. His head is pulsing violently, his senses are sluggish and everything feels foggy. He has no idea where he is, the room pitch black around him as he lifts a lukewarm damp cloth from his eyes. 

A soft groan falls from his lips as he stretches his aching, cramped limbs, rubbing his hands over his face and regaining the feeling in his body. Little pinpricks of phantom pain shoot through him, his mouth tastes like ash and his head protests rather violently against his pathetic attempt at sitting up. 

He is disoriented and something about his vision is still messed up, something in the depths of the room not quite right and leaving him with a dizziness he can’t quite shake, followed by a wave of anxiety that something’s wrong with his eyes. 

He blinks. Blinks again, finding more things in the strange room as he does, his sluggish brain slowly catching up and filling in the blanks.

It all comes back to him like a tidal wave when he suddenly finds himself blinking at a pair of red eyes, softly glowing and wide open. 

“Kas,” he croaks, his throat absolutely parched. 

One second he’s wincing at that, the next he finds a cool glass of water pressed into his hands before the eyes and the shadowy form they belong to retreat to the foot of the bed again. 

 “Thanks,” he murmurs, stalling as he takes a sip. Embarrassment rises in him, but he doesn’t want to apologise. The thought of that somehow makes the vulnerability that much worse, so he tries to ignore it. It’ll all be fine if they simply not acknowledge it. 

He wants to ask for the time instead, wants to know how much the migraine took from him this time, but he knows Kas doesn’t really understand the concept of it all, let alone know the numbers. 

A silence settles between them and it’s somewhere between welcome and uncomfortable. Just like everything that happens in Hawkins. It makes Steve feel like a ghost again, but this time he’s a ghost in the room, not just in his own head. He’s the one who’s out of place.

With a little sigh, he places the glass on the makeshift nightstand again and falls over onto his side. His head is mad at him for it, still feeling too fragile for sudden movements, but lying down feels better than sitting.

There’s a huff from Kas that sounds more amused than derisive, so Steve looks at him. Looks at the shimmer in those eyes before closing his own again, not wanting to be looked at right now. Not wanting to face it.

“You,” Kas says then, his voice quiet and without the edge of that animalistic growl. The sound of someone who’s not meant to speak at all. The souvenir of someone who was human once before Evil grabbed him and modified him to His liking. 

“Me,” Steve says, an automatic response, just as quiet. He’s listening. 

“How… How are…” Kas struggles, huffing in frustration at the words that refuse to come, but still it’s the most coherent Steve has ever heard him. It makes him sit up half way again; leaning his weight on one arm to focus all his foggy and cloudy attention on the vampire trying to ask him how he is feeling. 

No more words come, though, the question half finished in the air between them. But somehow it makes Steve smile. Just a little bit. This feels important. And huge.

“My head hurts,” he answers truthfully, amused when Kas’s eyes snap back to his. To search them. To communicate something.

“Hurts?” 

“Yeah. It will, for a while. Always does. Nothing to do about it, really.” He wishes he felt as indifferent to it as he sounds, but that’s just the tiredness clouding his tone. It’s fast approaching now that he knows he’s relatively safe. Now that he knows he can rest. His arm gives out and he slides, slowly this time, back to lie on the pillow. “But it’s not as bad. And the other pain is gone, so…” 

So. He could go home now. He should, probably. Ignoring the weakness in his bones and the exhaustion in his every fiber. If he closed his eyes again right now, he could fall asleep. Still, maybe he should—

“Stay,” Kas says again, and Steve really should have figured. He’s not quite well enough to really fight him on that, though, so he shrugs. 

“Fine,” he mumbles into the pillow, halfway back to slumberland already. 

There’s movement on the foot of the bed, and before he knows it Kas has tucked him in again, draped across the pillows as he is. It’s still unreal, that, but Steve won’t complain. What’s even more unreal, though, is the image Steve gets of Kas curling up by the foot of the bed in a similar position. As if he still means to keep watch. 

It’s ridiculous. A little weird. And sort of endearing.

——

The next time Steve wakes, everything around him is a little brighter, daylight fighting weakly to fill the room, but it stands no chance against the large wooden planks and thick curtains meant to block it out permanently. 

He blinks away the heaviness, taking stock of his body. There is a crick in his neck and burgeoning cramps in his side and hip from the position he’s still in, and this head still is a pulsing, aching mess — but no more than usual. 

He taps the pads of his fingers to his thumb before flexing his hands. Only then does he stretch the rest of his body and announce his wakefulness. 

Opposite him, at the foot of the bed, Kas is already awake and still in the same position that Steve saw him last. Did he even sleep? Does he need that? Or has he just been staring at Steve, watching him, ready to carry him to the bathroom again for round two. 

The thought of that makes his skin crawl.

“Hi,” he says to fill the silence that is all too inviting for his spiralling mind.

Kas grunts, but it sounds more like a hum. Sort of gentle around the edges. He doesn’t move, doesn’t seem at all fazed that they’re just kind of staring at each other. Steve swallows, not really sure how to go from here.

He fists the blanket and rubs the linen bedding between his fingers, feels the rough fabric catching on the callouses along his hands as uncomfortable seconds tick by. Still Kas doesn’t move. 

“Listen, man,” Steve says at last, thinking back to yesterday’s events and the vampire’s sudden care. “Thanks, alright? What you did, that was, uh. That was nice. You didn’t have to do any of that.” 

Another hum, and it occurs to Steve that Kas is back in his normal state, retreated back into his mind, hiding from the world himself now that it no longer needs him. It’s a strange thought, that Steve being hurt would be what brings him back. If at all. Maybe he’s reading it all wrong. Maybe it as just a coincidence, or maybe Kas tasted something in his blood that made him want to improve Steve’s physical state for selfish purposes. That’s probably more likely.

But it makes him feel even more wrong-footed than before, and it leaves him hyper-aware of the situation. Of their dynamic. Indifference and annoyance and… He doesn’t want it to change, doesn’t want some kind of debt between himself and Kas — especially not when Kas has no means to really settle it. But he also can’t feign some kind of gratitude when what he feels the most is mortification and embarrassment; and he sure as hell doesn’t want Kas to know that either. 

So he throws back the blanket and gets out of the bed, a little dizzy at first, but he doesn’t care as he slips into his shoes and hurries out of the room. 

He just wants to leave. Get out of here and go home, go back to bed and get over the mortification of having been seen like this. Of having been taken care of. By someone who doesn’t even like him. By someone who hissed and snapped at him one moment and then carried him to the bathroom the next. 

“It looks like there’s nothing human left in him, but we do have data that suggest otherwise.” Owens’s words echo through his mind as he crosses the living room. “It seems to be in hiding, the Munson part of him; that’s our hope at least. That you can get him back out one day, make him win over the vampire part. It could be like a self defence mechanism, I guess. We hope he can still be coaxed back into the land of the living. How, though, we don’t know.”

Was this what happened? Has Steve’s weakness triggered the human part of Kas’s tortured brain to take over? No, that can’t be. 

It seems unreal. Unlikely. Wayne telling him stories or Dustin talking about their campaign, that should have helped. Even Mike playing the guitar, or Robin rambling about something or other; all of that was much more close to who Munson was. Or used to be. Eddie Munson never struck Steve as someone who took care of people naturally. Someone who stepped in. He stepped up, sure, but only ever for the wrong reasons. 

It makes no sense. So it must be wrong; just Steve’s exhausted brain grasping at straws. It usually does that, anyway. Nobody knows if Eddie is even still in there. Part of Steve hopes he’s not. 

Just as he reaches for the front door, ready to just get out of here and pretend like nothing happened, he feels a presence behind him. Kas followed him out of the bedroom, standing in the doorway now with an unreadable expression. It's the blank one he usually takes on, but where before it was normal, it throws Steve off now. Maybe because he saw how Kas can look at him. How expressive his eyes can get.

He holds them, the red shimmer a little dimmer out here in the brighter living room. 

And maybe it's the blankness in those eyes, or the lack of judgment in Kas's every action, but whatever it is, it makes Steve let go of the door and turn to face Kas properly. 

"Why'd you do it?"

The vampire inclines his head. Listening. Always listening. Steve doesn't know how he never noticed that. It seemed so primitive before. Like how a dog will react to its owner speaking, but never process the words. Kas processes, though. So Steve keeps going.

"Why'd you... You kept saying that word. Safe. Do you, uh. Do you know what it means?" 

Slowly, his eyes growing a little less blank, Kas nods. 

Steve looks around the cabin, swallowing thickly, still feeling so out of place in here, still feeling the need to run and leave it far behind. But something makes him stay. Makes him want to understand. 

"You wanted me to feel safe?" Again, Kas nods. "Why?" 

There is hesitation there, and Steve wonders if it's because he doesn't want to tell him, if he doesn't know the answer, or if he doesn't know how to answer. It's a loaded question, maybe. 

"Pain," he says at last, his voice barely discernible from a growl, but somehow Steve seems attuned to it now. Maybe because he listens now. Because he wants to know. To understand. 

He waits, watching as Kas struggles for more words once more. Just like last night. 

"Know... Know... pain. Know.” He taps his temple with a clawed hand, and Steve's heart falls, his chest aching with realisation. 

Right. He would. He would know pain like that. If what the doc says is right, if what Vecna taunted them with is right, if every working theory the kids have is right, then… yeah. Kas would know. He’s know something about pain. More than any of them. Pain so intense it splits you apart from yourself. 

"Shit," Steve whispers more to himself than to the room, crossing his arms in front of his chest to hug himself and keep from digging deeper, keep his heart from falling further, and keep the horror at bay. 

He doesn't want to imagine the kind of torture Kas went through. Is still going through, if what the doctors say has even more truth to it. If Munson is still in there, still suffering because human minds have a way of holding on to pain — Steve knows soemthing about that, too. 

"I'm sorry," he offers. It's all he can offer. In the end, it’s all that’s left.

And still it's so lame. It's not enough. 

But Kas just nods again, a pained shadow of a smile appearing on his face. Something transpires between them in that moment, Steve can feel it, but he can't really define it. Maybe some kind of understanding. Some kind of safety. 

"I gotta..." he starts, motioning to the door behind him. "I gotta go. Will you be fine? Did you have enough, y'know, to drink?" 

Another nod, and the smile widens a little. Looks a little less pained this time. 

"Good," Steve says, stuffing his hands into his pockets, lifting his shoulders to his ears, trying and failing to seem casual in the face of those glowing eyes. "I’ll– I'll see you around, yeah?" 

And then he's out the door, his head spinning and aching, his steps heavy with the weight of whatever has changed between him and Kas in the past twenty-four hours. 

... sooo. part 3 anyone?

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround @pukner @i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic @bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently) 🤍 tagging for this work only: @forestnymph-666 @little-trash-ghost @jupitersgonemissing

[ilovedonnabeneviento]

This wasn't the first incident either..

[fatebinds]

starter for @godsunderfoot !!

"—oh, jesus, you startled me." not scared. he would never say scared. too much of a pussy word to be applied to him. "if i'm seeing people, i must be getting close to civilization, right?"

[k-is-for-potassium]

picrew tag game?? FUCK YEAHHH (<- that's the link btw)

make yourself as a kid and yourself now! (or just either one lol) feel free to include fandoms, interests, orientations, etc.!

(you don't have to make three, but for me this ranges from elementary school to now in chronological order)

and TAG PPL!! /lh you don't have to ofc!!

[byteofwhump]

to live without the dignity of people

(radmilla and elfreide belong to @dresden-syndrome ; thanks for letting me borrow them ehehehe. cw for noncon kissing, collars, muzzles, hair-pulling, creepy/intimate whumper. this is lady whump, dl;dr. if u saw the version where i mispelled elfreide's name no u didnt)

"you know, kitten," elfreide purrs, "from what i have heard, i expected more from you." she leans down, lifts a strand of radmilla's hair between her fingers, twisting it as if to inspect it.

radmilla glares, even as she can feel her eyes start to water. she wants to scream, to swear, to tear elfreide's throat out with her teeth. she wants to run, run as far from this place that was once her home to anywhere that will take her.

"all that talk," elfreide says, petting radmilla's hair with gentle touches, "and yet, for all you have lost, your precious comrades in arms have gained nothing. at best, they remain the same as they once were. at worst..." she slips a finger below radmilla's collar, a feather-light touch against her skin. "i do so hope they managed to catch the tall one. she would look marvelous on her knees, don't you think?"

radmilla growls, muffled by the muzzle across her face, and tries to swing her head up, pull away. elfreide's hand tightens, cutting off radmilla's growl into a gasp of pain. she pulls the girl's head back, tilts it up until her throat is bared, forces her to struggle to breath against the tension.

"you *lost*, little traitor," elfreide hisses. she flicks the tag on radmilla's ear, smiles to herself at the whimper it draws from the once-proud revolutionary. "now look at you." she forces radmilla's head to turn, angles it so she can see herself in the mirror, a pathetic *thing* kneeling on the floor, collar at her throat and muzzle across her mouth. "bound and gagged at the feet of the very enemy you sought to depose."

tears run down radmilla's face, dripping onto the muzzle. elfreide smiles, leaning down and bringing her lips to radmilla's ear. "*this*, my darling little rebel, is what it means to 'live without the dignity of people'." elfreide brings a hand beneath radmilla's chin, tilts her head so she can lean down and kiss her through the muzzle, licking her lips to taste the savory taste of radmilla's pain that pool there as she throws the girl's own words back in her face.

"i do hope," elfreide purrs, "that you will find it to your liking."

[transbb]

i have too much time and too little death note content. enjoy this kira speech, google forms edition <3

[laylcsaxena]

closed starter @nikhilxkohli

location: fright fest (haunted house)

She shifted her weight, peering at her phone to check for messages from her friends. They were running late, and now she was stuck in this awkward predicament where she was holding up the line. The ticket attendant called out again, telling her to move forward. Spinning around, she stumbled back, colliding with something solid. Looking up, her eyes widened when they landed on the last person she wanted to see tonight. Nik Kohli. Of course, it had to be him. Here. Now. When she was trying so hard to maintain professional boundaries after discovering his marriage status.

She fought the urge to step away from him. To run far away. But this place didn’t belong to him. Nope, she wasn’t running. "Well, if it isn't my favorite green card Romeo," she said dryly, with a saccharine smile. "Didn’t think you’d be interested in these sorts of places." Her stomach twisted with irritation—at her friends for being late, at Nik for showing up, and at herself for still feeling that pull toward him despite everything. "Well, this has been fun. See you," she gestured vaguely toward the exit, planning her escape. The last thing she needed was to be trapped in a dark haunted house with her client, who she so clearly had feelings for.

[sheryl-lee]

question for fellow gifmakers who use a macbook: what software are you using to screencap 1080p files now that the older version of mpv (that doesn't duplicate/skip frames) is no longer compatible with macos sonoma?

[louisegluckpdf]

jane, my beloved !!!!! may i have your goodreads please !!!! & may i be granted permission to boop you as well !!!!

yes and yes <3

[1stspectred]

LOG #01 . LIARA : @tempesttragedy , SC.

THERE IS AN UNSENT QUESTION AMONG THE CREW. could they trust liara ? they think of matriarch benezia, and wonder if this is some kind of secret ploy. one of saren's way to take them down from the inside. even the council had questioned her. but they hadn't seen liara trapped to protect herself. nor the geth and krogans saren had sent after to kill her if she didn't comply. besides, calliope knew a thing or two about people forming opinions of you due to your parents' legacy. in every ship of her entire navy career there'd been someone that either knew of or had served with one of her parents.

" dr. t'soni ? " it feels a bit strange to use her title after liara has seen inside her mind. but calling her by her first name seems unprofessional. " i wanted to check how you were doing. i figure it must be quite the change from your research. " a military ship, and on world missions must be a very different everyday life from archeological sites. and not to mention the revelations about the protheans and the reapers, that changed her life's work.

[embodies]

its home is but a hovel in the mire of the reservoir, cavernous and echoing with the howls of its experiments and the mournful cries of itself. the wails of whales are not unlike its own. the sludge of its enzymes covers the walls in a thick and pulsating goo, some dripping from the ceilings into slimy stalactites. one would have to hold some sort of death wish to come here voluntarily. a screw loose. mad as a hatter. nutty as a fruitcake. it likes fruitcake. but the thought of guests nonetheless titillates moreau, so when the woman presents herself unannounced and thoroughly out of place in such a pitiful residence, it works double time to ensure her needs are met. not quite swanning around the tunnels but rather trudging at a hurried pace, the sounds of its feet like wet jelly slapping upon the rocky floor. ❛ c-can i interest you in tea ? ❜ it waves an amphibian paw over a steaming vessel, more vat than teapot, the brew inside pungent and bubbling. those weak of stomach, do not look too closely. perhaps recognising its beverage's inadequacy before it can be pointed out, beady eyes search frantically for a more suitable alternative. spotting its bedside television remnants of cheese, it deviates.

❛ or . . . or is le fromage more your taste ? ❜ it has the urge to say mademoiselle, recalling a past life trying to court beautiful women with arrays of gifts and delicacies. the memories pile thick in its throat and it guffaws, unsavourily depositing a phlegmy pile at its feet. it clasps its own hands in shame, head habitually lowered so as not to meet her gaze.

@sacrificialmaiid. ♡

[romanwagncr]

closed starter @calliemontgomery

Sitting on the couch in his living room, Roman took a sip of his freshly brewed coffee and sighed contentedly. "Great stuff, right? I had to get a special order shipped in from Egypt every month." As he set his cup down on the coffee table, he peered over at Callie seated beside him with an easy smile on his lips. Their daughters were giggling and playing together on the floor nearby. It was only recently that he realized she was the same Callie from summer camp. They’d been talking and it came up. The world was too small.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I think you need to know this. I never told you before, but I used to have the biggest crush on you back at camp," He confessed, turning his body to face her directly. "The summers were always my favorite time of year because it meant I'd get to see the girl with the prettiest smile." He would be too embarrassed to confess this back then, but now that they were both adults, it was more amusing than anything. "I didn't have an ounce of game. You probably would've laughed your ass off if I'd tried to tell you. I still remember the first time I saw you. I was this scrawny, awkward kid and you were effortlessly cool. The moment I caught sight of you across the mess hall, it’s like angels sang. Don’t you dare laugh. I was a kid. You can’t laugh at a little boy.” 

[guardiandamned]

"You... how did you know that?"

There's genuine surprise in III's voice as he assesses the girl before him as if seeing her for the first time. He doesn't know much about her, outside of her being a classmate of Yuma's - and soon to be a classmate of his, if the transfer for Michael Arclight to Yuma's school goes through as planned.

But... she'd never seemed like anyone who was involved in the conflict between the Parallel Worlds. That's why, when he heard her say what she did, he was caught off-guard - and when he speaks again, there's a little urgency to his voice.

"Araceli...san, was it? I'm sorry - where did you hear that, again?"

@duelheld ( starter! )

[nostalgical]

" i don't relate to you. " kate attests. there is a mixture of confusion and anger evident in her tone. thanks to people like him and victoria, she was now a conversation piece here at blackwell academy. after years of flying under the radar, she's suddenly gained infamy. he can act like he hasn't played a part in making her life miserable. fine, whatever. but what he's not going to do is claim that they have anything in common. " you're a bully, nathan. "

lyric based starter ♫ happier than ever - billie eilish. (@thtree)

[strayslost]

"You..."

It's the first time Arthur has spoken aloud in a very long time... and yet his voice is clear and steady, showing no signs of strain or disuse. Perhaps it was quieter than he would've liked, but... it's only natural that he'd be out of practice, isn't it? After all, who has there been for him to speak to, as of late?

No-one perceives him, after all. Which makes sense, because Arthur Rimbaud should no longer exist in this world. To be precise, he's not exactly a ghost - ghosts don't have physical bodies, as far as Arthur is aware, and he's more than capable of interacting with the physical world. To an extent, anyway... people don't seem to notice anything unusual happening even when he does.

He doesn't understand it. Objectively, it's a fascinating situation he's found himself in, one that he can admit sparks his curiosity, but that brings him no comfort in the face of what it means. After all, with no-one to perceive him, nor acknowledge him, how can he even be sure he's Arthur Rimbaud at all? And... still without knowing what happened to him...

"Excuse me." he speaks again. His tone is polite, yet somehow it feels like it could make one weary just to listen to it. "The person you were speaking to... was it me, by any chance?"

@theircurse ( starter ! )