screaming-in-the-streets

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easy, healthy smoothie idea:

1 frozen banana

1 pot of honey

1 piece of stardust

1 secret baptism

and a photo of a ghost

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two stars / lost in time

the astronomer catches a glimpse of another life

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the fact that David Ghost Quartet is punishing himself because he thinks that God thinks humans don't treat music as holy enough...and then the climactic song, about forgiving yourself, is called Prayer? Wild. Incredible. I am tearing out my hair and chewing on the furniture

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the bear is just like me fr (he just likes honey)

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two stars lost in time

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Absolute bonkers take for all those who are familiar with the musical ghost quartet and also have seen the movie brave, it is my personal belief that the baby stolen to be baptized to pay the bear grew up to be the witch in brave. My evidence is she has bear powers and the baby was baptized for the bear, that is all. Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

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rose red little sister antics

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I don’t think Rose felt guilty about killing the soldier. Not at first. It was a job for her, a means to an end. I think Rose pried the honey from Soldier’s bloody hands. I think she walked away and didn’t look back.

But it nagged at her.

She never saw soldier’s ghost. She had made a promise, after all— “I won’t come back to haunt you.” Either Soldier told the truth, or ghosts didn’t exist at all. It didn’t matter. It was the same either way. No ghosts, no ghosts.

Does Rose believe in ghosts?

Soldier was not killed nobly. She’d had her back turned when Rose pulled out the gun. She didn’t scream when she turned back. She didn’t speak when Rose pulled the trigger. There was no shock, no surprise, yet there was no acceptance either. She died gripping the honey with iron claws, as though she was trying to hold that last bit of life with all her strength. And Rose had pried each finger off. No tears. No ceremony. An unmarked grave for a nameless soldier.

That’s a lie. The soldier did scream. She is always screaming.

Rose never sees soldier. Rose sees soldier everywhere. She wakes up every night, terrified soldier will be on top of her, bloodied hands at Rose’s throat, back to take a ghostly revenge. That night has not yet come and it may never come. But every night, Rose cannot rest easy. Her fingers, her eyes, her screams—

Does the ghost haunt her?

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*eater than themselves

†iousness)

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staring into the mirror gripping the sink white knuckled. i will try to forgive myself for living in the dark, for my loss of wonder, for forgetting how to play. i will try to forgive myself for being absent in public, and bored before stars. for not remembering, for not being in my body. i will try to see myself as i am.

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I have polls now!

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But I will transcend...

(Woefully rough and belated Malloysical Secret Santa gift for @vernalloy! Starchild from Ghost Quartet rising from the sea.)

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Come here, Soldier.

[id: Digital sketch of Soldier and Rose from Ghost Quartet. A bar is seperating them but Rose is holding Soldier's hand on the railing. Rose is looking at her and grinning, cheek resting on hand. Soldier looks a little bashful. /end id]

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And here is my malloysical secret santa gift for @cyanid-apple! I procrastinated making this for....way too long, but nothing gets the art juices flowing like a fast-approaching deadline! I hope you like it, it's my first gq fanart so I Do Not know what I'm doing

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Then take me out back

And shoot me in the alley

For @screaming-in-the-streets for the malloysical secret Santa! Hope you enjoy!

Collage cut from a 2021 calendar of Japanese block prints by Kawase Hasui

#LITERALLY OBSESSED #this is gorgeous

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Hi there @appleflavoredkitkats 👀

I am your malloysical secret Santa, happy holidays!~ I hope you like this🥺💛

[id: Digital painting of Natasha Rostova fr great comet. She is sitting on a chair, looking at the viewer, wearing her white dress. She is holding an envelope. /end id]

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my submission for malloysical secret santa!

(also available on ao3)

this is my first (published) fan-fiction, so lmk if there’s better ways to format/ make accessible

written for @lobotomy-jpeg 

The first time Rose saw the Knight, she was more surprised than anything. She knew the likes that came into the establishment, and this one… wasn't one of them. Suits of armor didn’t belong in speakeasies. And then, when the Knight took off the helmet, the face held an even more out of place air. There was purity to it, a knowledge of what to do next, a light that made Rose want to follow into battle– until the Knight shifted, and the person looked just as tired and world-weary as any of the other patrons. Just as well, Rose thought to herself, I know what to do with weariness.

The Knight sat at a barstool in front of Rose with an air of exhaustion– no, more than that. This was a husk of a person now. The knight glanced up at Rose with big, doe-brown eyes, and smiled a sad, empty smile, and asked quietly if there was any gin in stock. Rose could feel herself blushing. Blushing? Since when did patrons, no matter how gallant, ever make Rose blush? She shook the thoughts off, and tended to the Knight. 

That night, Rose dreamt of a bear and the knight– the knight was fighting the bear— or was the bear fighting the knight? There was a man there Rose did not recognize who was screaming at the knight– wasn’t he? Why was the stranger screaming “Pearl”? Why did Rose feel so angry? The bear turned from the knight and charged at Rose. Both the stranger and the knight cried out. Why did either of them care if she got hurt? She hardly knew the one, and didn’t know the other at all? Why wasn’t she afraid of the bear galloping towards her? The bear roared as it approached. He was coming faster and faster, closer and closer. Why wasn’t she running away? Was it that she couldn’t? Wouldn’t? Rose steeled herself, trying to stand firm for the oncoming impact. The bear was close, she could feel it’s breath, hot and heavy on her face. It’s jaw opened, wider, wider, until Rose was sure it could open no further. The bear lunged, and as the moment of impact stared her down

She awoke with a start, sweating and panting. All she could remember was the overwhelming need for honey.

The next day was as dusty and gray as any before it. The Knight returned, once again, tired and woeful. The Knight– named Soldier, she said– and Rose made small talk over the moonshine Rose poured. In a lull of conversation, Rose remembered her dream. 

“Do you know anything about honey?” she asked Soldier, not really expecting an answer. After the initial shock wore off of the Knight’s face, she slowly reached into a pouch at her belt and pulled out a thin, clear vial filled with golden liquid. 

“In my time,” Soldier explained ruefully, “Our generals gave us these. They said they were filled with God’s blood that he spilled to encourage us that our bloodshed wasn’t in vain. Never stopped to question why we followed a god who could bleed…” The knight’s face twisted some, and then smoothed over with a shake of her head. “Regardless, one of the others broke, and then we all realized what it actually was. It was too late by then, the war had run its course, on our side and the other. No one won.” Soldier’s face had gone dark again, and Rose thought of the boys who had come home from their war–and the ones who hadn’t come home– and understood far more than the knight said. 

Rose had almost expected a dream that night, but the crashing visions that overcame her felt more like memories than stories made inside her head. This time, there was no bear, but instead a dimly lit treehouse. Rose could hear laughter filtering from the window, the crash of waves on the beach. Despite the apparent calm, Rose felt unsettled, angry. She ascended to the treehouse, each step pushing the anger further and further into her veins until she burst through the door. The only thing she could feel was rage, white-hot and burning. 

“You.” Rose couldn’t tell if she was screaming at the woman– Pearl, she knew her this time, her sister, how could she— or the man— the man, the Astronomer, her former lover, the man who took what was hers and passed it off as his own. God, it felt like she didn’t know anything other than the fury that burned inside her chest, the pounding of her heart against her ribcage, the agony behind it all. All she knew was these two would pay.

When Rose awoke, she knew what she had to do.

That night at the bar, they had a band playing. It was a small affair, playing songs that did nothing to alleviate the heaviness that settled with the night. When the Knight arrived, Rose felt the same spark of rage light inside her chest. She needed Soldier gone, and she needed that vial. She took her onto the dance floor, in the hopes that proximity would allow Rose to get to the vial. She was spinning in the dust with this stranger and all she could see is her sister’s face– but it wasn’t her but it was her and everything felt heavy and the knight was crying and Rose couldn’t stop and couldn’t reach the vial and everything was heavy and she felt the gun she had snuck under her skirt beat against her leg and—

Rose froze. She turned quickly, taking the steps out the back way, into the dark alley, in the hopes of seeing the stars, of gaining some sense, of catching her breath– Rose didn’t know what she had hoped for. Was she really going to kill some stranger because of some dream she’d had? No, no, that would be crazy, that would be wrong, she wouldn’t do that, would she? Could she? She wrenched the gun out, staring at the black metal. She spiraled, unsure of anything, when a gentle hand touched her back

“Rose,” Soldier whispered, with a look that felt knowing and forgiving and permissive. “Rose.” And with that, the Knight pulled her against her chestplate, wrapped in a hug: a hug of warmth and of friendship, a hug of understanding. Both of them seemed to be weeping, and Rose felt as if she’d known this Soldier all her life, all of her lives, and knew she loved this one more than anything, that this one loved her, and that was all that mattered. The flash of light startled both of them, and Soldier staggered back against the alleyway wall. “O-oh. Oh Rose,” the Knight looked up at Rose. “I’ll see you in the next one,” and the look on Soldier’s face was the same as the first glance— surety, purity— until it faded, leaking through a hole in the silver armor. 

Rose was never sure if the gun had gone off on purpose. All she knew is the blood stained vial in her fingers felt heavier than lead. 

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/43603726 the link I think?)

#ghost quartet #Dave Malloy #soldierrose #malloysical secret santa 2022