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NOW THAT HE'S HERE, EMBARRASSMENT AND DOUBT ALMOST ENTIRELY HER OWN, THOUGH PARTIALLY HIS, BEGIN TO CREEP IN.
Like the blood on his sheets is a silly social blunder. Like her breakdown is a faux pas that can be remedied with charm. She wants to fix this. She doesn't want this to be happening at all.
The thing is, she can't stop crying, and she can't stop bleeding.
If she'd hit a vein, or come close to it, Phil would have stopped her. Some part of Dafne that's surprisingly bitter recognizes this. He wants her chaotic and in disarray, at any given moment, for any given reason, to no end whatsoever, but he wants her alive. He wants her to do what her grandmother and mother could not do. He is not quite capable of impatience, but fuck, he's close, and Dafne will give him what he is owned, whether she likes it or not.
It is one of the only reasons she has been allowed to accept Tommy's kindness, to stay in his home at all. Tommy has a place in this, too. As far as Phil is concerned, anyway.
Combined, their sacrifices—Dafne's and Tommy's—would be enough to satisfy. Separated, they are nearly useless to him.
<<I don't know where to go,>> she gasps out, breathing erratic and unmanageable. Snot and salt tears stain Tommy's pillowcases. Tommy hadn't told her to go anywhere, but she feels like she has to. She feels like she could never belong here, like she never did.
But if not here, where? Where?
<<Don't say you love me, please. I can't hear that right now. I can't listen to that right now. It's so loud. He's so loud.>>
“i am here,” because he wants to be, because he will be, even if she tries to shroud herself. tommy will stay, crown to crown, listening to her breathing. tending her hand. <<“i am going to see.”>>
parasitic is her affliction. there is a tumor inside her in the shape of a voice, it whispers, and it grows. it tells her it has a name, it makes itself a person. it is not a person. it is an entity taking hold.
“i'm not going anywhere,” tommy swallows thickly, <<“i'm not leaving you.”>>
he can't cut the being out. he can't carve into her skull and drive him away. and even if tommy could whisper to phil, he isn't so sure what he could say to send him on his way.
sacrifice commands sacrifice. and it wants her. so desperately it wants her.
it's not a haunt. she is the haunt, and it is a ghost inside her walls.
he doesn't know what it's like. not exactly. but he does have an idea. tommy stays up at night, making sure she is asleep. he thought his place might be better to stay in, and for a while it was. but they're so far from everything here. how could he be her safe space?
what if she'd cut a vein?
he won't drive her away. she is the most important thing. he lingers by her side. gives her that space, but hovers close. <<“i love you, dafne,”>> he'll lie behind her, and he will listen for the demon's growl if he has to.
take me, take me instead. what of a willing sacrifice?
he doesn't tell her it's okay. but he does lean his crown against the ridge of her spine. featherlight touch.
<<"i'm gonna go where you go.">>
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parasitic is her affliction. there is a tumor inside her in the shape of a voice, it whispers, and it grows. it tells her it has a name, it makes itself a person. it is not a person. it is an entity taking hold.
— @handspike
#OOC.#I WAS THERE IN THE DARK WHEN YOU SPILLED YOUR FIRST BLOOD.#DAFNE STUDY.#dont think about dafne chavez for too long. you will feel a little unwell
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WOULD NOW BE AN IMPOLITE TIME TO POUR A GLASS OF WINE? Given that she just called him a sloppy drunk, I mean. Oh, well. Margot is checking the criss-cross rack on the counter—bottles readily available that don't need to be chilled in a certain fridge or stored in a certain cellar; she'd placed the rack here for her own convenience—for something that looks like it would taste alright. She taps her fingers gently against each label and seems to be ignoring Roman entirely.
"It makes you sound stupid," Margot eventually explains, not looking at Roman at all. She does not consciously realize how much her aversion to swearing was picked up from her mother. (Her father mostly thinks it's nothing, or funny.)
"And do you really want to help give off that impression? More than, I mean—" She pretends to consider politeness warranting an abrupt pause in her speech. "—well, you know."
She wonders if Frederick will have hidden all of the corkscrews. She begins investigating each bottle of wine in search of one with a screw top.
they're fast approaching worm territory now, wherein roman's made to feel like a worm and left with no option but to wait to be stepped on. she's too far away currently to run risk of doing it physically, but he can feel it coming on. tiptoeing around the anticipation of it, nausea and all.
the first real hint is sad. it's only a stone's throw from pathetic, which would be less stone than it would be grenade, in roman's case. he swallows around it because he's offended, he should be offended, but maybe he also wants to be relieved. which he so isn't, as fucking if.
❝ i love people all over the place, i'm just healthy enough not to be a fucking freak about it ❞, a convincingly petulant defence mounted by the least sad man on the planet. if you're listening.
it's see-through though, his defence. he can tell that she can tell. risky, but--
❝ oh no. are you gonna tell me swearing's offensive now? really? ❞ waiting for it, perhaps waiting, but he's still gotta thrash a little: ❝ what is this, the fucking fifties or something? ❞
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@l-ivestudioaudience // fallon said: family is crazy. i get that.
"Yeah, but I mean—"
Robert might be crazy, or difficult, or stern, or impossible to impress, especially at this point, but Cullen just—Cullen just feels like Kieran Glass is a completely different animal. Emphasis on the animal, really.
Cullen isn't sure how to articulate that to Fallon without being a mopey asshole. He just stares at her, intense and helpless and desperate, like that might help her read his mind. Figure it all out by osmosis, or whatever.
"—I mean, we don't have to get into it, Fal. I just—" He laughs dryly. "I want you to be prepared for anything without actually telling you what that could mean. And that's so unfair, I know. I know. I'm sorry."
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AS IF HORRIFIED, SHE REVEALS: "A total moron."
he doesn't know what she's implying.
" then i'm what. "
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"I work hard."
Oh, fuck off.
"Your body is fine. It was a suggestion."
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DAFNE RECOILS WHEN TOMMY TURNS THE LIGHT ON, LIKE SHE'LL WITHER AWAY AND DIE FROM THE MERE PRESNCE OF ITS RAYS.
<<Don't touch me, please.>>
Her voice sounds broken and warbly. So hoarse he may not be able to hear her.
It's not just that he was gone for so long. (Though make no mistake: Dafne did panic, and check the news (which Phil corrupted), and pace, and check the windows constantly for the headlights of his truck approaching the driveway.) It's what happens when she's alone. It's the fact that Phil has followed her from her apartment to Tommy's house. It's the fact that when it's just her and him, and it gets dark out, there's nothing else for him to do but make her completely and utterly miserable. To drive her insane.
She starts crying all over again, in full force. She doesn't deserve the way Tommy touches her. Really, she doesn't deserve any of this, doesn't deserve him, but Tommy's gentleness feels like the most egregious injustice of all.
<<I don't want you to see. I don't want you to be here. I don't want want to be here at all.>>
She curls in on herself, sobbing so loudly that the noisiness of it seems to shake Tommy's walls.
<<You have no idea, you have no idea—>>
tommy hadn't meant to be so delayed, but the winter storm had worsened on his drive back. it got so bad he popped a tire. there was no signal out here, no chance of reaching dafne, and explaining away any worries that might unfurl. he'd been gone for hours.
the groceries stayed nice and chilly in spite of the blizzard. by the time help arrived, it was dark. when he got home, it was dark.
darker inside. he set the bags by the door, and went forward. he knew his way through this house like the back of his hand.
“daf?”
crunch, crunch, crunch. he can't see, still he keeps walking. the crunching gets faster, because he's moving faster. scared. he flips a switch, and he spots her, so small on the bed. there's blood on the sheets. her hand is cut, still bleeding.
@vitalphenomena said, “I broke every mirror in the house.”
he approaches slow, his hand folds over her shoulder, to turn her onto her back. he strokes black hair from her cheek, thumbing strands behind her ear. “mirrors can be fixed,” he's grazing her forearm, “can i see?” he's talking about her hand, “i'm sorry i was gone for so long.”
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mabel.
dialogue prompts from season 3 of mabel, a podcast by becca de la rose.
you can save everyone else but you can’t save yourself, can you?
i broke every mirror in the house.
i looked and looked, but never found you.
do you think i am like you?
i have loved nothing and no one but you.
people are not half as complex as they think they are.
i am a lot of things, but i’ve never once been weak.
i don’t have any pity in me.
i never learned to drive. did you know that?
you don’t mind giving me some privacy, right?
i got more than i bargained for, that’s for sure.
have you ever been free in your life?
sometimes i wonder if anything outside of myself exists.
what wouldn’t i do to keep you?
i do not exist for you. i do not exist for anyone.
i want you to always be able to find me.
i should stop projecting, shouldn’t i?
i believe you. i believe in you.
what were your friends like?
you can call me whatever you like. it might even be true.
i am feeling uncharitable towards you.
what am i to you, really?
do you still want me now?
i am a sharpened, vitriolic thing.
i wish i was good, but i’m not.
you are your own. you belong to yourself.
i have made a religion of you.
i am never playing the game you think i am.
i am the labyrinth and i am also the minotaur.
i can’t imagine a version of myself that would not love you.
it isn’t your fault. none of this is your fault.
i’ll set myself on fire to give you light.
i’m here, aren’t i? so come on, let me in.
we can’t both be the sacrificial lamb. one of us has to be the knife.
you’re always so right. it must be such a burden.
i’m with you because i want to be.
i’m here because i want to be.
i know how to defend myself. i’m not sure i know how to respond to genuine affection.
i don’t know what you want from me. usually i know, but i don’t with you.
you don’t know what you mean to me.
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mabel.
dialogue prompts from seasons 1-2 of mabel, a podcast by becca de la rose.
i’d like to think you’re the kind of person who does things for a reason.
family is crazy. i get that.
i don’t think i’ve ever been so scared.
i feel like we’re on a first name basis at this point.
this is kind of what i imagine therapy would be like.
i guess it’s easier not to think about it.
it’s strange to miss someone you’ve never even met.
if you told me to shut up, i would.
you remember something like that, no matter how young you are.
the world is dangerous. it’ll chew you up if you don’t pay attention.
have fun, but never, ever let your guard down.
things shouldn’t have been so hard for you.
be careful when someone needs help, because sometimes they just want to know how to hurt you.
i don’t think i’ve been my real self for a very long time.
what you love protects you.
just because you can’t see the road doesn’t mean the road’s not there.
this isn’t funny anymore. i am genuinely scared.
i didn’t mean to leave you there.
there has to be something i can do.
this is reality for us. this is what we have to work with.
close your eyes and listen to my voice, okay?
you can’t get rid of me.
i’m little and i’m sturdy and i’m here in your pocket, here in the dark with you.
you don’t happen to have a cigarette, do you?
i wasn’t a real person then.
i think i’m only barely real now.
you touch someone’s heart and they die a little, become a different person.
i know you better than you know yourself, all hooks and curves and hidden passages.
i know you better than you’ll ever know me.
you can leave any time you want, and you don’t.
doubt comes more naturally to me.
maybe some people just aren’t meant to matter.
i’m important because of you.
everything hurts so much.
do you know that i love you?
i can feel your heartbeat if i press my hand up against my own chest.
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"Is there something wrong with my body?"
"You go to the gym, right?"
"You should go more."
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"I know what I like."
"I don't play sports. I don't play games. I do what I am meant to do. Get new floors."
"A long time ago."
The NES Family Computer, where he and his brother would play Super Mario Brothers—Harrison was always Mario, naturally. They ended up having it taken away from them because someone couldn't control their temper (Kenneth ended up with a busted lip).
"You should try it. Or take up a new sport, or something."
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WHEN DAFNE WAS ALIVE, PHIL WOULD MANIFEST HIMSELF WHENEVER SHE ATTEMPTED TO WATCH THE NEWS, OR STREAM A SITCOM. He would distort the dialogue, create horrific scenes out of whatever was actually supposed to play out on screen. That was sort of like a video game.
Phil shrugs.
"Have you?"
"I don't know."
"Have you tried video games?"
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so few votes for max theyer just shows me yall dont know that when i play min.ecraft i corral 2 cows, inbreed them until the pen glitches, slaughter them, and occasionally eat a piece of steak while observing them procreate and chew grass in the pen
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"And then what am I to do when I am confined to the house? When I must rest?"
"Get new floors."
Oh boy, no one wants that!
"No, no. I get it, I understand. Just keep the terrorising out of the house."
"The floors are getting scratched."
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the implication due to available icons that harrison is constantly dressing phil / phil is constantly dressing himself in a full tuxedo at any given moment
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stolen from jordy — which muse am i most like
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